CHAPTER ELEVEN

April"s eyelids fluttered open to the discordant symphony of hurried footsteps and muffled voices that seeped through the walls of her room. It was a new day, one she wasn't sure she was ready for. She lay still for a moment, allowing the reality of the day ahead to settle over her like the heavy quilt she pushed aside. The bed and breakfast was already astir, buzzing with an energy that felt both frantic and expectant.

With a sigh, April swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool wooden floor. She stood and moved to the window, peering out at the grey curtain of rain that obscured the usually vibrant landscape of Dune Island. It was a downpour so dense that it swallowed the sound of its own fury against the glass.

She dressed quickly, choosing comfort over style—a necessary armor for the long hours ahead. Her reflection in the mirror hinted at the weight of the day; her eyes held the determination of a woman who had weathered many storms, both literal and metaphorical.

As she stepped out into the lobby, the volume of life hit her full force. Guests huddled in groups, their faces etched with concern and curiosity about the hurricane"s wrath. Among them, the avid bird watchers, identifiable by their khaki vests brimming with pockets, approached with an urgency that matched the tempo of the rain.

April"s mind raced for reassurances she didn"t possess, but before the worry could knit her brow too tightly, Jackson appeared beside her. He was the quiet in the storm, his presence an anchor. The steaming cup of coffee he handed her was more than a beverage—it was a silent message of solidarity.

Holding the mug close, April let the warmth seep into her palms. As Jackson addressed the guests with a steady voice that promised vigilance and updates, April found herself drawing a deep breath of gratitude for the man who knew just how to still the waters of her soul.

The bird watchers, clad in their all-weather gear, absorbed Jackson"s words with a nod and dispersed like a flock of starlings, retreating to the higher sanctuary of their rooms. April watched them go, her heart unclenching as the lobby"s chaos ebbed into a manageable tide. She turned to Jackson, his eyes meeting hers with that familiar twinkle of shared understanding. Without a word, she rose on tiptoe, pressing her gratitude to his lips in a kiss that promised more than mere thanks—it was an acknowledgment of partnership in the day"s unpredictable dance.

As they parted, Jackson"s smile etched a line of warmth across her chest, a silent chuckle escaping her as he gently chided her for finally grasping their unspoken pact of solidarity.

"It'll be okay," Jackson told her.

"I know," she said, though she wasn"t sure how much she believed it. The storm was getting really bad, and it was said to only get worse from here on out.

The morning waltzed on, carrying with it the scent of fresh coffee and the hum of tense anticipation. In the dining area, the clatter of silverware provided a staccato rhythm to Uncle Eamon"s booming laughter, which erupted with volcanic gusto. The source of the merriment sat before him—a plate where eggs were intended to be sunny-side up but had turned out more akin to a cloudy day. Julia stood adjacent, her arms folded, an expression of exasperation painting her features as if she had orchestrated the egg fiasco just for this moment.

Uncle Eamon pointed at the culinary clouds with a theatrical flourish, his eyebrows arching high enough to challenge the ceiling. The room drew into their bubble of humor, patrons" worries momentarily forgotten in favor of this unexpected breakfast comedy. April lingered at the periphery, her lips curving upward, silently thanking the family"s inherent ability to find joy even when skies threatened to fall.

April watched as Uncle Eamon"s laughter, once a beacon of levity, began to fray at the edges. His jovial face reddened, his chuckles morphing into gruff huffs as he realized his niece Julia"s patience was wearing thin. The playful banter over breakfast eggs had taken a slight turn towards irritation, the air between them crackling with the onset of a family squabble.

"Come on, Eamon, seriously?" Julia replied. "You said you were a pro at making eggs. The boys aren't going to eat any of this."

"Tell your boys to be a little less picky," Eamon replied with a smirk. "Besides, it's just eggs. It's good for them."

She moved through the room, her presence unobtrusive yet steady, like a ship"s captain navigating choppy waters. Her hand rested lightly on Uncle Eamon"s shoulder—a silent but effective anchor—while her eyes met Julia"s with an understanding that spoke volumes. The message was clear: this storm shall pass, just as the one brewing outside would.

"It's alright, everyone. Breakfast will be better tomorrow," she tried to reassure them. And she knew it was true because she would make the breakfast tomorrow instead of Eamon.

With a deft touch and a nod, April redirected Uncle Eamon's attention to the steaming pot of coffee nearby, suggesting its power to soothe more than just sleepiness. Julia, catching on to April"s subtle cue, allowed a small smile to reclaim her features.

The momentary crisis averted, April turned to face her mother, Caroline, who approached with a furrowed brow, her smartphone clutched like a lifeline. The concern etched in her face was mirrored in her stance—rigid and bracing for impact, much like Dune Island itself against the relentless storm.

"April," Caroline started, her voice tight with worry, "what do I say to everyone about the wedding?"

Before April could formulate a reply, Grandma Vera appeared at their sides, her expression as weathered as the coastline, and chimed in with a nonchalance that only years of experience could muster. "Tell "em there"s a hurricane, dear. Life"s full of surprises."

Caroline"s lips pursed, a clear sign of her discontent with Vera"s cavalier response. Her fingers danced over the screen of her phone, ready to deliver news but paralyzed by uncertainty.

April took a breath, the kind that steadies nerves and centers the soul. She placed a comforting hand on her mother"s arm, conveying reassurance without the need for words.

"Mom, just don't tell them anything," April said, pretending as though Vera hadn't chimed in at all.

Caroline scoffed. "I can"t do that. The people need to know what"s going on. If the wedding is canceled, all of my friends will be disappointed. They"d better know now instead of later."

"Then I guess I don't know, mom," April said.

Caroline stared blankly at her daughter, waiting for a better response. April knew that look, as she'd received it many times before. There was something more she needed to say, but she wasn't sure what it was.

She couldn't lie to her mom, but she could try to give her something more.

April swept a strand of hair from her brow, the weight of her mother"s expectant gaze pushing her towards an answer that would soothe the brewing anxiety. She stepped closer, her presence a bastion of calm amidst the tempest both outside and within these walls.

"Mom," April said with gentle firmness, her eyes locking with Caroline"s, "just tell them we"re holding steady. The wedding will happen, hopefully this weekend. We all need to be patient and let the storm pass." Her words were like anchors, grounding Caroline"s fears in the certainty of April"s resolve.

A moment hung between them, charged with unspoken understanding, before Caroline nodded, a silent acquiescence to the plan. She turned away, her fingers once again dancing across the phone screen, dispatching messages infused with newfound optimism.

With her mother"s worry momentarily assuaged, April allowed herself a brief reprieve, only for it to be interrupted by the aroma of coffee and the sight of Jackson carrying a plate toward the table. His smile was a sliver of sunlight on a cloudy day, easing the tension from April"s shoulders.

Jackson set down a breakfast that looked like a portrait of comfort—a promise of normalcy. Something better than Eamon's eggs. Which meant that April's promise would come true earlier. Jackson would take care of breakfast.

April approached the table, her appetite returning as she admired the care he"d put into the meal. The first bite hovered near her lips, the warmth of the food fogging the air before her.

Then, a sudden rap at the door sliced through the morning quietude. April"s heart skipped a beat, the comfort of her imminent bite forgotten. Her gaze shot up to Jackson, whose own concern mirrored hers. Together, they moved toward the sound, urgency propelling their steps across the creaky wooden floor.

The door swung open, revealing the storm"s wrath in the figure of a drenched young man. Alex"s silhouette, blurred by the rain, seemed to waver as if he might dissolve into the downpour itself. Concern etched deep lines in April"s face, while Jackson"s posture shifted into one of protective readiness. They stood as sentinels at the threshold, bracing against the chaos delivered to their doorstep.