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Prologue: James

I used to think jumping was the hard part.

That sick, weightless feeling the second your feet leave solid ground. The split-second of terror where you don’t know if you’ll make it out okay. That’s what I used to be afraid of.

Now I know better.

Jumping is easy. It's trusting others to take the leap with you that's terrifying.

Chapter 1: Bailey

Inhale….Exhale… Breathe in… Breathe out….

These quiet moments at the shop are the difference between surviving and thriving as I prepare for another day of madness in the start of summer tourism.

Belle Harbor is one of the East Coast's greatest treasures. Families and singles worldwide flock to Belle Harbor to find small-town charm, sanctuary, and enlightenment.

Being a local, I have a love-hate relationship with tourist season. As a business owner, my livelihood year-round depends on it. As a single mom, it can become tiresome quickly.

The scent of espresso reaches me before the machine finishes its first drip: warm, sharp, and unapologetically necessary.

Steam curls into my glass like a lifeline, like maybe the world can be gentle with me today.

Some say love is the finish line. The goal to reach. Those who say that clearly haven’t met the coffee bean.

This stuff?

It’s my life source.

Warm. Steady. Dependable.

Everything I wish I didn’t still hope to find in a man.

As the sun begins its ascent over the downtown strip, I take note of all my to-dos:

• DON’T forget Aubrey at dance class… again.

• Place order with merchants so we don't run out of said favored life source- resulting in a town-wide meltdown.

• Talk to Jessica about taking on greater responsibility this season now that Aubrey is here.

• Keep my peace. Create nuggets of time to get grounded.

• Fix that rickety chair in the corner to avoid being sued.

As I take my first sip of my first iced latte of the day, I step outside to breathe in that cool morning, saltwater air. A small breeze takes hold of my sundress and the early sun kisses my skin.

Breathe in... Breathe out... Inhale.... Exhale....

Business is good. Inhale. People are kind. Exhale. You are a good mom. Inhale. This wasn't your plan, but it was the plan. Exhale. See people purposefully.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

I open the umbrellas for outdoor seating. Water the flowers along the picket fence. Walk inside, flip the open sign, take one more deep breath, and prepare for a day of chaos and joy in tourist season.

* * *

"Sorry!!! Sorry. Sorry. Sorry—I'm sorry." Jessica says as she comes running into the shop fifteen minutes after she was supposed to be here. The line is officially out the door, and I'm scrambling around like a chicken with my head cut off.

"What happened this morning, Jess? Is everything okay?" She looks sheepishly at me as she rushes to put her apron on and prepare the plethora of orders already placed.

"I left a light on in my car last night. My battery was shot this morning. I ended up riding my bike into town.” She puts a to-go cup on the counter. “SUSAN! Iced chai, black tea, and a ham and Swiss croissant. Susannn!"

"Yikes—glad you made it in one piece. I’m barely keeping my head above water over here, so stick with me, and we’ll climb out of this mess together."

For another 30 minutes, we were non-stop. Backed up, no sitting room in or out of the shop— people are addicted to Caffeine & Alchemy. They’re totally hooked on the one-of-a-kind drinks and blends we dream up here.

The vibe between the books, local goods, and caffeine sources is relatively low-key when the line isn’t out the door. People of all ages come in to commune, learn, and grow.

Inhale... Exhale.... I can breathe.

As the last customer heads out and the buzz fades, I give the counter one final swipe and turn to Jess. I take a deep breath as I wipe my forehead with my forearm and try not to feel like I'm a burden as I ask my friend,

"Are you planning on being at the Get Grounded event tomorrow night? Josie was going to watch Aubrey but got sick, so I was hoping you could cover me."

Jess turns to face me, sipping on her peach blossom latte. She pulls out her phone, shooting off a quick text. "I am now! What do you need from me, Bailey-girl?" She smiles brightly at me. Jess has been my ride-or-die since the Playground Punch Down of second grade—when Joey Stevens told me my hair looked stupid and he hated my dress, resulting in Jess punching him square in the nose.

Her older brother had been teaching her how to fight the summer before, and it paid off. We've been inseparable ever since.

Her presence the past year as Aubrey and I have adapted to our new life together has been my saving grace.

"The kits are ready for Sunny’s Aftercare, and the meditation is nearly complete. I’d planned to explore presence—the quiet, sacred kind we offer to ourselves and to each other; and the healing that blooms from that. But if your heart’s leaning elsewhere, follow it. This is your space, too."

Jess takes a few notes on her phone, looks up at me brightly, and full of confidence, assures me, "I've got this, Bailey. You and Aubrey have a girls night and forget about this place. Everyone will be in great hands, and I'll even save you a Sunny’s Aftercare".

Relieved, I give my bestie a hug.

“So… I’ve been thinking.”

I lean back against the counter, wiping my hands on a towel.

“Everything is changing. Aubrey and I are still trying to figure out our new rhythm, and I can’t be everything she needs and still run this place at full throttle through peak season. Something’s gotta give.”

I glance at Jess, heart thudding.

“I was wondering if you’d want to take on more here. Like… officially. I’d bump your pay, obviously. And if you’re open to it, we could even start talking about part ownership down the line.”

I take a breath.

Jess looks contemplative. I fidget with my apron, anticipating the letdown. I've asked her for too much already. This is where she cuts me off. She's going to tell me she can't do any of this anymore. I've run her ragged. I no longer offer value to the relationship; I just take, take, take.

“No pressure, Jess. If that’s too much, I’ll figure something else out—I swear.”

I shrug, trying not to sound like I’m begging.

“I just wanted to ask you first. Before I started looking outside. You’re the heart of this place as much as I am.”

Her lips curl up to the right. “Ha! Like I’d let someone else swoop in and snag this? Not a chance.”

She grins, practically vibrating.

“I was literally just telling Josie I wanted more responsibility around here. This is going to be a blessing for both of us, Bailey-girl. Truly.” Her smile is warm as she wraps her arms around me in the sweetest of hugs. My grounding. My safe place. My steadfast friend.

Inhale... Exhale...

I'm not on my own. Everything is not all on my shoulders. I've got this.

I head back to my office in the lull of the afternoon to begin ticking things off of my to-do list. Aubrey had a sleepover at my mom's last night and they're spending the day together at the beach before dance.  I told her to find the most vibrant shell on the beach and bring it home for our collection.

Leaning back in my creaky old office chair, I roll on my anti-anxiety essential oil blend and massage the most delightful, tallow moisturizer on my hands and up my arms. My hands dry out so easily with ten thousand washes a day.

I open my office windows to let in the comforting breeze and the scent-sation of the saltwater air. I breathe deep.

Opening my phone I find the portal for the caffeine dealers and consult with my inventory list. I make sure we have enough on hand to carry us through the first two weeks of peak season. Any further out and the beans and leaves would not be up to the peak freshness standards I demand and my customers have come to expect.

Following that ghastly purchase—thank you inflation—I reach out to my favorite local leatherworker to ensure my journal order for Get Grounded is ready. I love seeing the look on patrons' faces when they are presented with their new meditation journals.

The past year has shown me so much about the importance of grounding. Finding peace. Breathing through the chaos, and documenting every feeling and mindset shift.

Relying on the truths and expelling all the lies.

There has been no other way to heal.

My therapist has said it a hundred different ways, but it always comes back to this: “You’ve got to feel it to heal it, Bailey.”

She reminds me constantly how important it is to walk through the hard stuff now and to bring Aubrey with me.

So she’s not left unpacking it, alone and confused, twenty years from now.

After giving that broken chair the ol’ college try, I decide it might be better suited as firewood for our next bonfire. S’mores do sound pretty appetizing—and I will absolutely be Aubrey’s hero.

I’ve never met a kid more addicted to sugar than Aubrey Jane. That girl could eat Willy Wonka out of house and home.

The bell rings as someone new walks in.

I shove back from my desk, ready to greet them, but then I see him.

Tall. Broad. Dressed in black riding leathers like some kind of broody magazine ad for heartbreak. He turns to face me after leaving his helmet by the door, and time stops.

My breath catches.

James stole my heart when I was nineteen, Bennett.

No. Nope. This is not happening. This is a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and too many espresso shots.

My stomach flips. My heart swan-dives.

What is he doing here?

Why does he look better?

Why do I look like I’ve been rolling around in spilled cold brew?

I move toward the counter on autopilot, my jaw somewhere around my knees, limbs functioning without any official authorization from my brain.

Someone send help, I think I might pass out.

Chapter 2: June 4, 14 Years Ago
Bailey

“Come on, Bailey! We’re going to miss it!” Jess yells, sprinting barefoot across the parking lot toward the boardwalk that leads to Summer Splash.

The sand burns and slices at my feet as I try to keep up. The signature scent of the beach hits me full force—sunscreen, saltwater, BO, and fried food from the boardwalk. Belle Harbor’s Welcome to Summer! bash is already in full swing, like it is every first weekend of June.

Jess is moving like her life depends on it; to be fair, in her mind it might. Derek, my older brother, is competing in the boogie board contest, and Jess has been obsessively in love with him since she was ten. Now that she’s nineteen, it’s honestly becoming a problem.

“Jessica Louise May!” I shout, breathless. “If you don’t slow down right this second, I will tell Derek you’re in love with him!”

She doesn’t even flinch. Just barrels ahead with single-minded purpose. Apparently, missing the competition would be worse than public humiliation.

We finally push through the crowd just as the event kicks off. Jess wedges herself between two strangers for a front-row view of her man. She clasps her hands under her chin, giddy with anticipation.

And then… Derek takes off running.

Trips.

Face-plants in the sand.

Jessica gasps, clutching her perfectly pink cheeks like she’s witnessing a national tragedy. Her blond hair blows dramatically in the breeze, as if nature itself is mourning Derek’s downfall.

I keel over, laughing so hard I have to brace myself against my knees. My ribs hurt. I can’t breathe. It’s the greatest moment of my life.

Derek, to his credit, growls something unintelligible as he scrambles to his feet, brushing sand from his face with all the grace of a man publicly humiliated. The embarrassment radiates off him—but so does the stubbornness. He gives it another go, charging back toward the waves with a look of pure determination.

He finishes in dead last.

Not for lack of trying, he just barely caught a micro-wave before flopping back to shore like a sad sea lion.

Defeat and frustration are coming off of him in waves as he trudges through the sand, dripping and dejected. Shoulders slumped, head down, he weaves through the crowd, desperate to get himself out of the spotlight.

His girlfriend, Alexa, runs up, throws her arms around his neck, and plants a nausea-inducing kiss right on his lips. It’s like watching a train wreck, only louder and with more lip gloss.

Jess’s face crumples. Disappointment and heartache radiate off of her in waves.

I gently rub her back in solidarity. Is Derek gross? Absolutely. Do I question my best friend’s taste? Daily. Do I want her heartbroken and pining after a human Golden Retriever with the emotional range of a sea sponge? Never. And is Alexa the most irritating, shallow person I’ve ever met? A solid 100%.

After the competition, we wander down the beach toward the kites, searching for shells as we go. Sweat beads down my brow, the sun beating on us like it has a personal vendetta.

Jess chatters beside me, going on and on about how she’s obviously a better match for Derek than Alexa ever could be. I nod when appropriate, but mostly I tune her out because I love her and also because I value my sanity.

I scour the shore, eyes cast down, darting left to right, right to left, hoping to find something truly special. Camouflaged against the sand, a cream shell with chocolate spirals catches my eye, like it was made just for me. So easy to miss, nearly impossible to find against the grainy backdrop of the beach. My heart stutters. Is that—?

Just as I bend down to grab the most beautiful Stimpson’s Whelk I’ve ever seen, I slam headfirst into something hard.

Rubbing my forehead, I look up—straight into the face of the cutest boy I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Commence: humiliation.

Dark brown hair. Eyes to match. Taller than any guy I’ve ever seen in real life. And the smirk?

“Watch it,” he says, peering down at me with a glint of amusement and just enough irritation to make me flustered. “There are other people on the beach, you know.”

I can feel the blood rushing to my face.

“I... I’m sorry. I was distracted by this Stimpson’s Whelk, see? It’s nearly perfect. Incredibly rare. Stimpson’s Whelk sea snails live in deep waters, so they’re not often found here on the beach—”

I glance up mid-ramble, only to find him looking thoroughly uninterested.

“I don’t care about shells,” he says flatly. “I’m here to toss the football and find girls. Keep an eye out next time. I wouldn’t make a habit of running into strangers if I were you.”

Excuse me?

I straighten, one hand on my hip, the other shielding my eyes from the sun as I prepare to tell this guy exactly where he can shove it.

“Oh, oka—”

He’s already walking away. Doesn’t even look back.

“Well, that was incredibly rude,” Jess says, arms crossed beside me. I’d honestly forgotten she was even there. He was... all-consuming.

He looked like he belonged on a teen drama.

He acted like I was a fly he couldn’t be bothered to swat.

Hopefully, I won’t run into him again.

So. So. Humiliating.

And so. So. Rude.

Good riddance.

“He must be from out of town. I’ve never seen him before, and he didn’t even know or care how rare this Stimpson’s Whelk is,” I say, still staring after him.

“Yeah, and did you catch that accent?”

“Honestly, I was too distracted by his stupidly pretty face and his condescending attitude. Guy sure knows how to make a girl feel super special.” I roll my eyes, but my fingers still cradle the shell like it’s a jewel. My beloved Stimpson.

Jess and I continue down the beach toward Nonna’s Sips N’ Sweets for some strawberry lemonade—for hydration, obviously—as we settle in to watch the kites.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch that boy again, tossing a football with a group of kids that look to be around our age. Every once in a while, I notice him glancing over. Probably thinks I’m a weirdo.

Still, that doesn’t stop my heart from fluttering like one of those kites every time I catch him watching.

Jess nudges me, pulling me out of it. “So, your brother looked real cozy with Alexa. I guess there’s no chance they’ll be breaking up this summer?”

I groan and roll my eyes. “Jess, Derek is three years older than you. He’s known you since you were nine. You have zero chance with him. You’re nineteen. He’s twenty-two. Get a grip.”

Jess gasps, clutching her heart like I just told her Santa isn't real. “But Bailey, we are soul mates. One day, he’ll see me. We’ll be together, and you’ll be my sister, choking on your words of doubt and disgust.”

All I can do is laugh. “Ookay, Jessie May.” I raise both hands in surrender.

“Heads up!”

Whack.

Pain. Sharp, immediate, right to the crown of my head.

“Ow.” I wince, clutching the spot.

“Bailey, are you okay?!” Jess scrambles beside me, eyes wide.

Still holding my head, I manage a flat, “Yep.” I glance up to see grumpy stranger guy jogging over, reaching out a hand for the traitorous football that had just assaulted me.

Picking it up, I cock an eyebrow, casually tossing it up and down. “You should be more careful where you throw this thing. There are other people on the beach, you know?” Check. Mate.

He stops in front of me, a little sheepish, a little breathless. “Yeah… okay. I get it. I was a jerk before. I’m sorry.” He pauses, adjusting the angle of his hand to block the sun. “I’m James.”

“Bailey,” I say, offering my name like a warning.

“Jessss,” she sing-songs in return, ignoring the very obvious do not engage energy I’m throwing her way.

James chuckles. Chuckles. Like he’s charming or something. “Well, Bailey, can I have my ball back?”

Jess throws me a look dripping with mischief. My stomach flips. No. She wouldn’t.

“Oh yes, James,” she says sweetly. “You can have your ball back… if you can catch it.”

Butterflies? Meet heart. Panic. Real panic. What is she doing? And why is she keeping this Grade-A A-hole around? Sure, he’s the most beautiful A-hole I’ve ever seen—but still. An A-hole. A very smirky, confident, tall one.

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest like a jerk-shaped statue of arrogance. “What? Is that supposed to be a challenge? Getting my football back from a couple of girls?”

Jess props her hands on her hips. Eyebrows raised. Pure chaos incarnate. “You seem pretty confident, James. Loser buys the winner snow cones from Glacier Shack.”

His smirk sharpens. “Deal.” His voice is laced with cockiness… and something else. A new kind of lightness. Like maybe, for just a second, he’s not so broody after all.

Quickly, I toss the ball to Jess, who catches it with the confidence of someone who’s been training for this moment her entire life. She sidesteps James, hurls it high into the air, and drops it straight into my waiting hands.

I duck under his arm with a grin, sprinting back toward Jess, tossing it lightly her way. She follows up with a long arc down the sand that has both of us racing side by side to catch it.

Twenty feet: we’re neck and neck.

Ten: he’s gaining.

Five: I owe James a trip to the Glacier Shack.

Camped out on the boardwalk wall, chipping away at our snow cones, the ocean stretches endlessly in front of us. James tells us he’s here for the summer, staying with his grandpa—Mr. Bennett, the one who owns the general store with the old-fashioned sodas. He’s from Boston. His parents are business moguls with no time for him. After begging them not to shove him into another summer of unpaid internships, they finally let him come here to soak in his last real break before he’s expected to take over the empire.

“We knew right away you weren’t from around here,” Jess says, licking cherry syrup from her thumb.

James arches a brow. “Oh yeah? What gave me away?”

“For one,” I say, glancing at him over my snow cone, “no local would ever disrespect a Stimpson’s Whelk like that.”

He smirks around a bite of tiger’s blood. “Guilty.”

“And second,” Jess chimes in, “that accent was a dead giveaway. You haven’t misplaced your cah-keys, have you?”

I giggle, elbowing her. “Have you tried the chowdah yet?”

James groans, but he’s smiling now. “Looks like I’ve got a lot to learn this summah. Any chance a guy can get a good cup-a-cawfee around here?”

The laughter lingers, even as the memory begins to fade like the last light of day melting into the sea.

That summer was chaos. Wonder. Magic.

And remembering that laugh again now, all these years later, makes it feel like no time has passed at all.

Present Day

“James?”

Am I alive? Am I breathing?

I hear my heartbeat in my ears. There’s an elephant camped out on my chest. The rest of the world blurs into shadow and static. All I can see, all I can feel, is him.

I close my eyes for one second.

Inhale. Exhale.

Still there.

“Hey, Bails,” he says quietly.

His voice hits me like a sucker punch to the ribs.

His eyes are tired. His shoulders are slumped. He’s breathtakingly handsome. So much so that it almost hurts to look at him. But he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“James!” Jess screeches, snapping the moment like a dry twig. “James Bennett. Put me in a blender and call me smooth. To what do we owe the honor?”

She’s practically bouncing. Completely oblivious to the fact that you could cut the tension between us with a butter knife.

Chapter 3: James

Cruising down Route 1 on the back of my Ducati, with nothing but the contents of my backpack and all the time in the world, I take my first real breath in years.

Getting out of Boston, especially under life-shattering circumstances, is something I wasn’t sure I’d ever have the courage to do again. It’s like I forgot I was allowed to make choices for myself.

Stepping down from my CFO position at my parents’ company sent shockwaves through the East Coast. Hearing my parents berate me, questioning every decision I’ve made? Predictable. Watching them choose business over family—again, and without hesitation? That’s just page one of their playbook. Honestly, I would’ve been more surprised if they had prioritized this moment with the gravity it deserved.

Their shame. Their disappointment. The ever-growing chasm between who they want me to be and who I actually am has been there since I was a kid. But this time, I’m not shrinking under it.

This time, I’m choosing differently.

I’ve got about five hours before I pull into Belle Harbor for the first time in nearly twelve years.

Which means I’ve got five hours to brace myself.

Five hours to try and steady my heart for the moment I see her again.

Bailey Reeder. The girl. The one who got away. The one I left. The one I loved.

She’s almost certainly moved on by now.

How could she not? She’s brilliant. Sarcastic. The most infuriatingly gorgeous human to ever grace the planet. The kind of woman you don’t just get over.

But I’ll be polite. Distant, if I have to be. Let her live her life. I’m not coming back to stir the past. I’m coming to bury mine.

I was an idiot. I am an idiot.

How do I even begin to forgive myself for letting my parents’ expectations steer the course of my life?

I thought I was protecting them.

I thought the sacrifices I was making were noble. Necessary. That choosing their approval over everything else meant I was doing the right thing.

But the truth? I lost people. I lost time. I lost family.

All because I was too afraid to live a life they wouldn’t sign off on.

And now? That time is gone.

The clock does not rewind, no matter how desperately you pine for the past.

No matter how many nights you spend haunted by the what-ifs.

This exodus of Boston is my wayfinder. This trip back to Belle Harbor is my genesis. I won't disappoint Gramps any longer. I won’t let this opportunity pass me by. I will honor him with each step I take moving forward.

With the sun beating down on my back, these riding leathers are bordering unbearable. Without the wind fighting against me, I’m not sure I’d be able to handle the heat, and it's only the end of May.

Hopefully, Gramps elected to get AC in his home at some point over the last decade; otherwise, I'm not sure if I'll survive the summer. Is that diva behavior? Yes. Are there certain things I won't compromise on? Also, yes.

Blazing down the interstate, I take in the enormous clouds, the lack of haze, and the snippets of ocean that try to peep through. Joy rides have not been part of my life in some time. I have barely even gotten the Ducati out this past year.

I have been run ragged by deadlines, numbers, expansions, and layoffs.

Meetings. Meetings. Meetings.

Each responsibility a crippling weight, taking one piece of my soul after the other. Slowly but surely, I didn't even recognize myself.

I barely made it to the gym anymore.

Literally leaving work, only to end up at home eating a microwave meal, sitting on the couch to watch whatever game was on, and falling asleep there.

I no longer had a point to life.

Simple existence was the best I could offer myself. My cleaning lady came once a week, made herself nearly invisible, and offered the same for my miserable existence.

Reflecting back on one of my last conversations with Grandpa, I can’t help but tear up. He was right. He was always right. He saw right through my bullshit. He could see from 300 miles away that life wasn't working for me.

That trying to please my parents, make them proud, and make good on old deals was slowly killing me from the inside out.

“James, life is so much more than the 9-5 or, in your case, 5-9. The success and future of the world doesn't depend on whether or not James Bennett takes over Bennett Enterprise. You're hurting, son. You're not thriving. I think you need to come home and reset. Figure out what it is you need. Not what your parents expect of you.”

I blew him off.

I thought I'd have more time.

I had forgotten that the only home I've ever truly known was Belle Harbor. The only place I’ve felt fully loved, purposefully chosen, was under Grandpa's roof.

While I’m getting closer to the town I tore from after blowing up every relationship I’ve ever cared for, the sun begins its steady descent; fleeing the ocean as I race toward it.

Beginning to take note of landmarks I had long forgotten, it becomes glaringly evident the changes that have taken root.

Time stops for no one, a thief in the night. Older buildings are left to rot, while new businesses are springing to life.

* * *

Before I head to Gramps’s house, I stop by the general store to grab a few necessities for the night ahead.

The moment I step inside, I’m robbed of breath.

It’s as if Gramps sealed this place in a time capsule, waiting for me to come home.

My safe place.

A soft landing amid the sharp edges of a life I thought I had figured out.

It’s all still here. Familiar and unchanging. Predictable in the best way.

Helping me ease back into this slower rhythm.

This more peaceful pace.

This way of old.

“Welcome in! Let me know if I can help you find anything!”

A teenage boy, no older than seventeen, calls out from across the shop. He’s tall and lanky, with a face full of acne and shaggy dark hair that hangs in his eyes.

“Thanks, man. I haven’t been here in a while, but I should be able to find my way around.”

I work my way through the store, gathering the essentials.

From the cooler: milk, cheese, eggs, a few yogurts.

From the shelves: a jar of instant coffee and protein bars.

Then a couple of frozen burgers, a mixed salad bag, bottled water, and a beer.

Enough to get me through a few days, until I can make a proper grocery run once I’m settled.

Approaching the counter, I catch sight of a photo on the wall behind the teenage boy ringing me up.

It’s of Grandpa and me. His arm is slung around my shoulders, a fishing pole in his other hand, and I’m holding a  massive black sea bass out in front of us.

Every Sunday, he’d close up the general store and take me fishing. We’d talk about everything: dreams, fears, family… her.

He never made me feel stupid. He was generous with love and guidance—and just as quick with a well-placed reality check when I needed one.

As the kid tallies my order, I suddenly remember.

“Hey, do you guys still make your own root beer here?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, man. No matter how many other suggestions came down the pipeline, old man Bennett wouldn’t hear of any changes. Said his root beer was here to stay—that it was his grandson’s favorite and it’d be waiting for him when he came back.”

The breath whooshes out of me.

A wave crashes: love, sadness, guilt, grief.

All the years I missed. All the Sundays.

And still, he never stopped leaving the light on for me. Never stopped showing up. Even when I gave him every reason to forget about me altogether.

“I’ll have to grab some next time I stop in,” I say quietly.

I stuff the last of my groceries into my already overstuffed backpack, cramming items into jacket and pants pockets that are now stretched to the limit.

Then I head out, gingerly making my final approach to the house that raised me.

The one that became my first.

My favorite.

My only true home.

* * *

Walking into Grandpa’s house for the first time since I was twenty-two feels like stepping through a portal to safety.

Behind me: a raging war.

In here: peace I haven’t known since the day I carelessly walked out.

The scent of his aftershave still lingers in the hallway—sharp, clean, familiar.

The furniture is exactly where it’s always been.

Unchanged. Unbothered. Unmoved.

Stewardship was one of Grandpa’s core values.

“Why replace something you can take care of? Why upgrade when the original’s better?”

The old record player still rests beneath the living room window.

The fridge from the sixties? Still humming away like it doesn’t know it’s ancient.

After putting away my modest collection of groceries, I head upstairs, each step creaking like it remembers me.

My room is exactly how I left it.

Perks of being the only grandchild.

Was I lonely growing up? Yeah.

But when I was here, I was treated like treasure.

Unloading my things, I stumble upon old sweatshirts.

My favorite cutoff.

The worn sandals I lived in that last summer with Gramps and Bails.

The memories crash in, relentless.

Good ones.

Hard ones.

All of it layered in the photographs, the faded albums, the chipped paint, the olive-green bedspread that somehow never changed color or comfort.

* * *

After a restless night, thanks to sleep eluding me because of the emotional time warp I’ve apparently been launched into, I get up early for my first Belle Harbor morning run in over a decade.

It’s everything I remembered: the salty breeze, the sound of waves in the distance, the familiar ache in my legs as I hit my stride.

Back home, I take a quick, cold shower, something I’ll need to investigate later. I’m pretty sure the water heater is on its last leg. One thing at a time.

Today is the meeting with Grandpa’s lawyer. The estate. The decisions I’ve been avoiding. All waiting for me in a sterile office just down the street.

On my way into town yesterday, I clocked what looked like a new coffee shop. Caffeine & Alchemy. Creative name. I can only hope the coffee lives up to the hipster-level branding.

It’s a few blocks from the law office, which makes it the perfect place to stop in, regroup, and maybe breathe for a second before the weight of the day fully settles on my shoulders.

Riding my bike through this small town is quickly reminding me why I fell in love with it in the first place.

What was supposed to be a quick trip to Caffeine & Alchemy turned into a two-hour oceanside cruise down back roads.

Thankfully, I gave myself extra time before the meeting—something old James never would’ve done. The rush of Boston traffic has a way of stealing the joy right out from under you.

Belle Harbor?

Here, even the air moves slower. The road rage is nonexistent, the pace a balm to every frayed edge in me.

I find an out-of-the-way spot to park, one where I won’t have to worry about someone backing into my bike.

Helmet in hand, I round the corner toward Caffeine & Alchemy.

The downtown strip has had a facelift since I left.

The buildings are painted in bright, welcoming colors, and fresh signage gives the place an almost postcard-perfect vibe.

Shops I don’t recognize line the street, each boasting of their success in the early weeks of peak season.

Tourists with iced drinks in hand weave between locals greeting one another like old friends.

The hum of conversation, the scent of ocean salt and fresh pastry in the air. It feels like Belle Harbor has bloomed in my absence.

Closing in on Caffeine & Alchemy, I take in the outdoor seating area—inviting and thoughtfully arranged. There are wide umbrellas for shade, bursts of wildflowers tucked into planters, and a white picket fence offering a little privacy from the steady stream of downtown wanderers. It’s the kind of place you could easily lose track of an afternoon. A far cry from the sterile office towers of Boston.

I can already picture myself here: laptop open, a strong cup of coffee in hand, figuring out what life looks like now that I’m no longer the CFO of a billion-dollar corporation.

The bell dings as I push open the door, helmet in hand.

The scent hits first. Espresso, warm vanilla, fresh-baked something I can’t quite name.

And then—

Bailey.

Bailey Reeder.

The air evaporates from my lungs. I swear the earth tilts.

After twelve years. A million choices. A lifetime of regret built in a city I hate. Bailey Reeder is still the most beautiful girl—no, woman—I have ever laid eyes on.

She looks at me with the same deer-in-headlights expression I’m sure I mirror myself. Then I hear it. That voice.

Soft. Familiar. Fractured.

“James?”

Her saying my name? It shatters me.

Trepidation clings to her tone, laced with fear, confusion, hurt, and wonder.

Bailey.

Bails.

My undoing.

“Hey, Bails.” My voice cracks the moment her name leaves my lips. I can barely get it out. The weight of it nearly overtakes me.

“James! James Bennett.”

Cue Jess: Bailey’s childhood best friend. Unwavering chaos in human form.

“Put me in a blender and call me smooth! To what do we owe the honor?” she chirps from behind Bailey, practically vibrating with glee.

I barely register her presence. She’s there. She’s loud. But all I see is her. Bailey Reeder. My Bailey.

My girl.