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Felicity snorted. “Are you ready to go home?”

The words were barely out of her mouth when her phone lit up.

Her heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t him.

Instead, it was her boss. Ex-boss?

She answered, trying to inject some levity. “I see Rae’s enlisted you in her campaign to drag me home?”

“What’re you talking about?”

Oops. She sighed. “Rae asked me to be back for Thanksgiving.”

“Right. She mentioned that. But that’s not the reason for my call. Although I’d like you back by then, too.”

Felicity straightened. “What’s happened?”

“Collins is retiring next month. His position is yours. If you want it.”

Collins.

Chief Collins. Under Sheriff.

“Shit.”

He chuckled. “Not quite the response I was hoping for.”

She rubbed her forehead, a headache developing.

“Don’t take too long, Deputy. The job’s yours if you want it. And I’d prefer not to have to argue with you about accepting the position.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She stared out at the ocean. “I’ll think on it.”

“See that you do.”

He disconnected.

Felicity lowered her phone, unsettled.

Taking the job meant returning, staying in Clearbrook.

And facing Ronan.

*

The weather turned somewhere south of Charleston. A slow-moving Atlantic storm rolled ashore, bringing driving rain, gale-force winds, and flood warnings. The storm itself didn’t bother her. It would blow itself out eventually, but after a miserable night rocking in the van while the pugs glared accusingly at her, Felicity gave in and rented a small beach cottage on the outskirts of Charleston.

The dogs weren’t any happier, but at least there was room to move around. Not that they strayed far. Nope. They remained glued to her side like burrs.

Which, inevitably, made her think of him.

Not that Ronan was ever far from her thoughts.

But still.

After everything, would he still be waiting for her?