Chapter 2 Driftwood and daydream

The morning sun spilled over Saltwater Cove like honey, gilding the waves that lapped at the shore below the Harper house. Lila sat cross-legged on the deck, her sketchbook balanced on her knees, a pencil tucked behind her ear. She wasn't an artist-not like Evan, whose architectural drawings could make a building feel alive-but she'd always doodled when her mind wandered. Today, it was a half-finished sketch of a starfish, its arms curling like a question mark.

She traced the lines absently, her thoughts drifting to last night: Evan's gaze under the stars, the brush of his fingers, the way her heart had stuttered like a skiff caught in a riptide.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the memory. He was her stepfather, for God's sake. Her mother's husband. But the truth sat heavy in her chest: Evan didn't feel like family. He felt like... something else. Something that made her palms sweat and her dreams restless.

The sliding door hissed open, and Evan stepped out, two mugs of coffee in his hands. He wore a white T-shirt and faded cargo shorts, his hair still damp from a shower. "Morning, early bird," he said, his voice warm, like the first sip of coffee on a cool day. He handed her a mug, the ceramic warm against her fingers, and settled into a chair across from her. "What's that? New species of starfish?"

She laughed, tilting the sketchbook away. "Hardly. Just messing around. Don't judge my lack of talent."

He leaned forward, his eyes teasing but kind. "Let me see. Can't be worse than my first blueprints. I once designed a house that looked like a toaster."

She snorted, relenting, and turned the sketchbook toward him. His gaze softened as he studied the starfish, his fingers brushing the page. "Not bad, Harper. You've got an eye for detail. Ever think about illustrating one of those marine biology papers you're always writing?"

Her cheeks warmed at the compliment, and she tucked a curl behind her ear. "Nah, I'll stick to science. My doodles are just... therapy, I guess."

He nodded, sipping his coffee, his eyes never leaving hers. "The ocean's good for that. Makes you feel small, but in a way that's freeing."

She smiled, her heart doing that strange flip again. "Exactly. Like it's big enough to hold all your worries."

They sat in companionable silence, the waves below a steady heartbeat. The deck was their sanctuary, a place where the world felt simpler, where Claire's absence and the weight of their roles faded. Lila sipped her coffee, savoring the hazelnut notes-Evan always remembered she liked it sweet. It was a small thing, but it felt like a gift, one of the many quiet ways he made her feel seen.

"So," Evan said, setting his mug down, "any big plans for today? Or are you just gonna sketch starfish and brood about the future?"

She rolled her eyes, but his teasing coaxed a grin. "I'm not brooding. I was thinking of heading to the tide pools. There's a low tide this morning, and I need to collect some data for my internship project."

His eyebrows lifted, impressed. "Tide pools, huh? That's the glamorous life of a marine biologist?"

"Very glamorous," she said, deadpan. "Me, some seaweed, and a notebook. You jealous?"

He laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. "Maybe a little. Mind some company? I could use a break from drafting plans for Mrs. Ellison's beach house. She wants a spiral staircase now. I'm losing my mind."

Lila hesitated, her pulse quickening. The idea of Evan joining her at the tide pools felt... dangerous. Not because he'd done anything wrong, but because being alone with him made her feel too much. Still, the word slipped out before she could stop it. "Sure."

An hour later, they were picking their way down the rocky path to the cove, the air sharp with salt and kelp. Lila carried a backpack with her notebook and sample jars, while Evan hauled a small cooler with water and snacks. The tide pools were a mosaic of life-starfish clinging to rocks, anemones swaying like tiny green dancers, crabs scuttling in their private dramas. Lila knelt by a pool, her fingers trailing the water, her eyes bright with focus.

"Look at this," she said, pointing to a purple urchin nestled in a crevice. "They're so delicate, but tough. They can survive almost anything."

Evan crouched beside her, close enough that she could smell his cedar-and-salt scent. "Like you," he said, his voice soft, almost lost in the waves.

She glanced at him, startled, and found his eyes on her, steady and warm. Her breath caught, and she looked away, focusing on the urchin to hide the flush creeping up her neck. "Flatterer," she muttered, but her heart was racing.

They worked side by side, Lila jotting notes while Evan handed her jars or pointed out a hermit crab scooting across a rock. He asked questions-good ones, about ecosystems and conservation-that showed he'd been listening to her rants over the past two years. It was easy, too easy, to fall into this rhythm with him, to forget the lines that were supposed to keep them apart.

"Ever think about what you'd be if you weren't saving the oceans?" Evan asked, tossing a pebble into a pool, watching the ripples spread.

She tilted her head, considering. "Maybe a writer. Not novels or anything-just stories about the sea. What about you? If you weren't drawing houses?"

He grinned, leaning back on his hands. "I'd be a sailor. Live on a boat, chase the horizon. Probably get seasick and regret it."

She laughed, the sound echoing off the rocks. "You'd be a terrible sailor. You'd sketch the boat instead of steering it."

"Guilty," he said, his eyes crinkling. "But I'd have you as my navigator, so I'd be fine."

Her laughter faded, and the air shifted, charged with something unspoken. His words hung between them, simple but heavy, like driftwood washed ashore. She wanted to say something, to break the tension, but her throat felt tight, her heart too loud.

They moved to a shaded spot under a cliff, spreading a blanket from Evan's cooler. He pulled out sandwiches-peanut butter and jelly, because he knew it was her favorite-and they ate in silence, the ocean's rhythm filling the space. Lila watched him, the way his jaw moved as he chewed, the way his fingers brushed sand from his shorts. He was so present, so real, and it made her ache in a way she couldn't explain.

"You're staring," Evan said, catching her eye with a half-smile. "What's up?"

She flushed, scrambling for an excuse. "Just... wondering how you survive on PB&J. Thought architects ate fancy stuff, like quinoa."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Quinoa's overrated. Give me a sandwich and a view like this, and I'm set."

She nodded, looking out at the sea, but her mind was on him-on the way his laugh made her feel like she was floating, on the way his presence felt like coming home. It was wrong, wasn't it? To feel this way about the man married to her mother. But sitting here, with the tide pools sparkling and the world so quiet, it didn't feel wrong. It felt like the sweetest thing she'd ever known.

"Lila," Evan said, his voice softer now, like he was testing the waters. "You ever feel like... you're waiting for something, but you don't know what?"

She turned to him, her heart in her throat. His eyes were on her, searching, and she saw something there-vulnerability, maybe, or a mirror of her own longing. "All the time," she whispered. "Like I'm holding my breath for it."

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the blanket, his fingers tracing a seam. "Yeah. Me too."

The moment stretched, fragile as sea foam, and Lila wanted to reach for him, to close the distance. But a gull cried overhead, sharp and sudden, and she jerked back, the spell broken. "We should... head back," she said, her voice unsteady. "Tide's coming in."

"Yeah," Evan said, standing, his expression unreadable. "Let's go."

They packed up in silence, the weight of what wasn't said settling between them. As they climbed the path back to the house, Lila's heart pounded, not from the effort but from the truth she couldn't outrun: Evan was becoming her horizon, and she didn't know how to stop sailing toward him.