I dragged a fry around my plate, the intensity of her sparkling green-and-blue eyes making me want to cower. “Depends who you ask.”
Claire’s smile didn’t falter, but I caught the faintest arch of her brow. She leaned closer to Rhett, pushing a wave of her perfume adrift across the table—something like vanilla andmusk, but much more expensive than anything I could get at the Cove Market.
“Didn’t you say you used to sneak into the summer festival? With your friends?” she all but purred to him.
“Alone.” Rhett corrected, rubbing the back of his neck. “My uncle wasn’t too happy about that one.”
Her graceful laugh rang out, turning heads at the next booth. “Oh, I can’t picture you as a troublemaker.”
“He still is,” I muttered before I could stop myself. I could imagine a younger Rhett begging his uncle to let him off work and go to the Summer’s End Festival. What kid wouldn’t want to go? It almost made me grieve for him.Almost.
Both of them turned to me. Rhett’s mouth twitched, which I’d come to know was him fighting a smile. Claire tilted her head and openly studied me.
“Really?” she asked neutrally. “Rhett’s only been here a week.”
I tried to match her smile—I really did. But not even the drained chocolate milkshake to my left seemed to be perking me up.
A couple of high schoolers “casually” wandered by our booth, pretending to search for songs on the juke box while blatantly eavesdropping. One of them whispered—far too loudly—“Is that her? The fiancée?” before being smacked by his friend.
My heart squeezed. Claire didn’t flinch. She reached for Rhett’s arm with delicate calculation, resting her hand there as if it was perfectly normal. “Small towns,” she said, amused. “News travels faster than light here, huh?”
Rhett shifted under her touch, gaze darting toward me as he slipped from her hand and leaned onto the table.
I forced down a sip of water, wishing it was something stronger.
Claire leaned back as Ruth returned with a steaming bowl of chowder. “This looks divine,” she declared as it slid before her. “Honestly, I don’t know how you all don’t weigh three hundred pounds with food this good.”
Ruth beamed. “Metabolism, darlin’. Or farm chores.” She decisively tapped her pen on the table before disappearing across the diner again.
Claire’s eyes slid to me. “It really is lovely here. And I can see why Rhett wanted me to visit. He’s always spoken so fondly of Bluebell Cove.”
My glass slipped from my hand, wobbling on the table before righting itself. Rhett winced.
Claire didn’t seem to notice. “Of course, I insisted on helping with the festival. I have some experience organizing large events—charity galas, corporate fundraisers. Nothing as… cozy as this, but I do think some polish could elevate it. Don’t you agree?”
I bristled. “Cozy has been working fine for us.”
For the first time, her smile dropped. “Naturally. I only meant—”
Rhett jumped in. “Claire’s got great ideas. She’s good at this stuff, trust me.”
The words landed with a sharpness that I wasn’t willing to confront yet.
I drew a long breath and began to scoot out of the booth. “Excuse me. Easton needs his walk.”
“He’s asleep,” Rhett replied.
I glowered at him. “Then I needair.”
Before either could stop me, I abandoned my dinner and urged Easton to follow even as he whined in yawn-addled protest. The diners’ stares burned between my shoulder blades as I pushed into the cool night.
The evening breeze kissed my skin with brisk salt and the telltale smell of impending rain, a sharp contrast to the stiflingatmosphere I’d just escaped. Easton trotted beside me, still yawning, the jingling of his tags filling the silence as I made for the beach. The knot I’d grown familiar with steadily tightened inside my chest, demanding my attention no matter how hard I fought it.
Claire. Smiling, perfect Claire.
And Rhett—the man I couldn’t claim, yet seemed intent on driving me to madness.
I stopped short on the sidewalk of Harbor Street and collapsed onto a bench. The tide lapped at the sand in the distance, moonlight scattering over the water with a million roiling slivers of pure silver. To my left, down the dark, narrow road called Mariner’s Way, was Bluebell Point. At the end of that lean peninsula, partially disguised by a layer of fog, rested a towering lighthouse shooting up from the massive, sea-beaten rocks.
