Page 19 of Unspoken Love

Damn.

He was already thinking like this was his. Like he’d finally found where he belonged.

He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and turned in a slow circle, taking it all in again.

It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t impressive.

But it felt right, like home.

And he hadn’t felt that in a long, long time.

He took another step toward the edge of the yard and let the wind roll over him, carrying the briny ocean scent and a thousand unspoken possibilities.

Yeah. He could see his future right here.

Chapter Seven

Faye’s first week at the Brew-Ha-Ha flew by in a blur of coffee orders, bookshelves that needed to be stocked, and rain-soaked afternoons. Each day brought new challenges, but also small victories—mastering the register without freezing up, remembering how to make a proper blended iced coffee, and, most importantly, learning the names of the locals.

She’d met many of them at Max and Juliette’s wedding, but everything had been overwhelming then. Her hearing had disappeared a few years prior and her attention had been split between lip-reading, smiling, and silently panicking about missing something important. But with the cochlear implant, she was beginning to feel more grounded, more here, despite its occasional pitchy protests.

Out of all the surgeries she’d had over the years, this was the only one that had given something back to her.

She’d been overwhelmed when Iian Jordan stopped in for his usual double espresso and smiled as if they were old friends. His wife, Allison, had come by the next day and chatted with her like she’d known Faye for years. Who could forget them? Allison was one of Oregon’s most celebrated artists, with dreamy, evocative paintings that hung in galleries from Seattle to Paris. And Iian? Well, his name was splashed across food and wine magazines as one of the Pacific Northwest’s top chefs.

Pride had had its fair share of quiet star power even before her brother had moved here.

The mayor, Lacey Stevens, was Iian’s sister—warm, approachable, and always smiling, especially when she came in with her husband, Dr. Aaron Stevens, the town’s main physician. Todd Jordan, the eldest Jordan brother, owned a few businesses around town, including the marina and the largest new neighborhood in Pride, Hidden Cove. He had introduced himself with a firm handshake and a teasing remark about “watching out for Nate’s charm.” His wife, Megan, had come in later with their grandchildren in tow, offering a kind smile and tips on when and where the local yoga classes were held. She owned the bed and breakfast she had seen from the beach, with its half a dozen small brightly painted cabins.

Faye thought she had the family tree figured out—sort of. But then Lilly and Riley had come in with their children for reading time. She wasn’t entirely sure where they fit into the Jordan puzzle. Cousins? Siblings? Married into the family? It was like trying to solve a friendly, good-looking, overachieving Rubik’s cube.

Still, it was comforting in a way she hadn’t expected. All the locals were very kind to her and went out of their way to introduce themselves.

There was a rhythm to Pride. A soft, dependable heartbeat that pulsed through the town with every familiar wave, every hello that actually meant something. People noticed things here—when you were new, when you seemed tired, when your coffee order changed.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that kind of attention. The good kind. The kind that made you feel seen. Not judged, not pitied—just seen.

No one made fun of her for her slight speech issues or asked her about her implant. Some of the townspeople she remembered from the wedding even used sign language to communicate with her.

She knew a lot of townsfolk knew ASL because of Iian, and she was thankful it wasn’t weird.

As she drove home from work that evening, the sky was still bright with the last embers of another gorgeous sunset. She paused at the top of the bluff and soaked in the view. She took a few photos on her phone of the town below. The shops were tucked neatly along the coastline, their windows glowing warmly like welcome signs. Pride wasn’t just pretty—it felt alive. Lived in. Loved.

The view from the top of the lighthouse was breathtaking, or so she’d been told. Maybe she’d get up the courage to climb up the spiral staircase and watch the sunrise someday.

That night she had plans for a quiet evening in, something that felt comforting after the buzz of her first full week in town. As much as she enjoyed the chatter of the Brew-Ha-Ha, her head needed a break, and her body was ready to slow down.

She kicked off her shoes as soon as she stepped inside. The house smelled like lavender, a scent she was beginning to associate with this new chapter of her life.

She enjoyed making a satisfying meal of salmon filet with lemon and dill, sautéed zucchini and cherry tomatoes in olive oil, and a couscous salad with feta, cucumber, and mint. She poured herself a glass of wine that she had picked out from the cellar and sat at the dining room table and gazed out the window, letting the coastal breeze drift in as she ate.

Afterward, she curled up on the sofa with a thick knit blanket and flipped on the TV, landing on one of her favorite home renovation shows. It was the kind where some wide-eyed couple turned a crumbling shack into a dream home with reclaimed wood, exposed brick, and just enough shiplap to make her sigh in contentment.

At some point, she fell asleep. One moment, she was watching a couple argue over backsplash tile, and the next she was half-sitting, half-slumped on the sofa in the dark, the soft glow of the paused screen flickering across the room. Her neck ached slightly, and her implant buzzed gently, then loudly, then piercingly.

She winced and stood too quickly.

She knew that a small percentage of people who had the implants took a while to adjust and hated that she appeared to fall in that category.