Chapter Two: Tides of Memory

The attic was hotter than Emma had expected, filled with the musty scent of old wood and the faint tang of salt that seemed to cling to every surface in Harbor’s Edge. Dust motes floated lazily in the streaks of sunlight filtering through the small circular window.

Emma shoved another box aside, her hands covered in grime, and sighed. She hadn’t even scratched the surface of her grandmother’s belongings.

She’d thought this would be easier—come in, box everything up, and leave. But every object seemed to hold a memory, tugging at her when she least expected it. Like the weathered seashell necklace she’d found buried under a stack of letters. She still remembered the day her grandmother had bought it for her, back when she was a curious, wide-eyed ten-year-old who believed the ocean held magic.

A sharp knock on the front door interrupted her thoughts. Frowning, she dusted off her hands and made her way downstairs.

When she opened the door, Lucas Hale was standing there, holding a large crate filled with what looked like fresh seafood.

“I brought dinner,” he said with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Emma blinked, caught off guard. “You… brought dinner?”

“Technically, I brought ingredients for dinner. There’s a difference.” He lifted the crate slightly, as if that explained everything. “You’ve been back for three days, and you haven’t even stepped into Marla’s market yet. Figured you might be running on cereal and coffee.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m perfectly fine,” she replied, crossing her arms. “I’m a grown woman. I can feed myself.”

“I’m sure you can.” His grin widened. “But I bet you can’t make crab-stuffed flounder like I can.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he’d already stepped past her, setting the crate down on the kitchen counter. He moved around the small kitchen with a confidence that annoyed her as much as it intrigued her, pulling out cutting boards and knives as though he’d lived here his whole life.

“You know,” Emma said, leaning against the doorframe, “most people would wait for an invitation before barging into someone’s house.”

“Good thing I’m not most people.” Lucas glanced over his shoulder, his easy smile disarming. “Now, are you going to stand there and glare at me, or are you going to help?”

Her first instinct was to kick him out. She didn’t need—or want—company. But something about the way he stood there, so at ease in her grandmother’s kitchen, made her hesitate.

With a sigh, she stepped forward. “Fine. But if this ends up tasting like seaweed, you’re cleaning up.”

Lucas chuckled, the sound warm and unguarded. “Deal.”

As they worked side by side, Emma found herself softening despite herself. Lucas had a way of filling the silence with light conversation, sharing stories about the town and its eccentric residents. His laughter was infectious, and by the time the meal was ready, Emma realized she’d spent more time smiling in the past hour than she had in weeks.

When they finally sat down to eat, the crab-stuffed flounder was, admittedly, incredible. But what surprised her more was how natural it felt to share a meal with someone again.

As Lucas leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin on his face, Emma couldn’t help but wonder: had the ocean breeze really blown her back here just to pack up and leave? Or was there something more waiting for her in the tides?

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