Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

M egan pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to focus on the legal brief in front of her. The words seemed to blur together, refusing to hold her attention despite the pristine silence of her office. Outside her window, San Diego's skyline stretched toward a cloudless blue sky, so different from the intimate coastline of Palmar Island.

She caught herself doing it again—comparing everything to the island. With a quiet sigh, she straightened in her chair and forced her attention back to the documents. This was what she'd wanted. A prestigious firm, a nice office with floor-to-ceiling windows, the promise of partnership down the line. She wouldn't let homesickness derail her focus.

A knock at her door startled her from her thoughts. She glanced up, expecting her assistant with the case files she'd requested, but the words died in her throat.

Scott stood in her doorway.

For a moment, Megan wondered if she'd finally crossed some line between memory and reality. If all those nights spent thinking about him had somehow conjured him from thin air. But no, he was real. Solid. Present. His familiar frame filled her doorway as though he belonged there, though his casual clothes stood in stark contrast to the sleek modernity of her office.

"Hi," he said softly, and that one word carried so much weight it nearly broke her.

Megan rose slowly, her legs unsteady. "Scott?" Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "What are you—how did you?—?"

"Miss Doris," he said, offering a small smile. "She might have mentioned where to find you."

Of course she had. Megan's heart thundered in her chest as Scott stepped into her office, closing the door quietly behind him. He held something in his hands—a small wooden box with intricate carvings.

"I know I probably shouldn't have come," he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty she could see in his eyes. "But there are things I need to say. Things you need to know."

Megan gripped the edge of her desk, needing something solid to ground her. "Scott?—"

"Please," he interrupted gently. "Let me do this while I still have the courage."

He crossed to her desk, setting the box down between them. His movements were careful, deliberate, as though he was trying not to spook her. "I had this ready for New Year's Eve," he said. "But things didn't go quite as planned."

Megan stared at the box, her throat tight. "Scott, I?—"

"Open it?" His voice was soft, almost pleading. "Please?"

With trembling fingers, Megan lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on soft velvet, lay several papers. Her breath caught as she read the letterhead.

James Winter Law Practice.

"I should have told you sooner," Scott said as she lifted the papers with unsteady hands. "James is opening a new practice on the island. He needs someone with your experience, someone who understands both corporate and family law. The position's flexible. You could work as a paralegal while studying for the South Carolina bar."

Megan's vision blurred as she found the bar exam paperwork tucked beneath the job offer. "You did this?" she whispered. "When?"

"Between Christmas and New Year’s," Scott admitted. "I saw how torn you were about staying. I wanted you to know you had options."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

Scott ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it made her chest ache. "You'd already made up your mind," he said quietly. "The offer in San Diego... it seemed like everything you wanted. Who was I to complicate that?"

His gaze dropped to her desk, then lifted again. "And then I got your letter."

Megan's breath caught. The letter she'd left, filled with all the feelings she'd been too afraid to speak aloud.

"You saw me with Kara that evening," he said softly. "My sister." He paused, searching her face. "I texted you, tried to explain, but you never replied. You sent me away on New Year's Eve."

The memory of that night twisted in her chest—the fairy lights in his truck, the careful plans he'd made, the pain in his eyes when she'd told him they were leaving. "I was scared," she whispered. "Scared of hoping for something I couldn't have."

Megan sank into her chair, the papers trembling in her grip. "I thought... I convinced myself it was better this way. Simpler."

"Simpler?" Scott moved around the desk until he stood beside her chair. "Maybe. But since when has simple been the same as right?"

"Look at me," Scott said softly. When she did, the tenderness in his eyes nearly undid her. "I've spent weeks trying to convince myself I did the right thing by letting you go. That you and Ruby would be better off here, with all the opportunities San Diego can offer. But I can't do it anymore."

He crouched beside her chair, bringing them eye to eye. "Every morning, I walk into my workshop and see projects I started with you in mind. Every time I pass the coffee shop, I remember the way you'd scrunch your nose when the foam hit it. And Ruby—" his voice caught. "I miss her laugh, Megan. I miss the way she'd tell Cupid her secrets, thinking no one could hear."

Megan's eyes filled with tears. "She misses you too," she whispered. "She asks about you every day."

"Then come home," Scott said, his voice rough with emotion. "Not because of the job offer, or because it's practical, but because Palmar Island isn't the same without you both. Because I—" he broke off, searching her face. "Because every day since you left, I've realized more and more that home isn't a place. It's wherever you and Ruby are."

A tear slipped down Megan's cheek. "I'm scared," she admitted. "What if it doesn't work? What if I'm not enough?"

Scott reached up, brushing the tear away with his thumb. The gentle touch sent warmth spreading through her chest. "You've always been enough," he said. "More than enough. I'm just sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

Megan's breath hitched as his hand cupped her cheek. "I thought I was doing the right thing," she whispered. "Coming here, starting over. But it feels... it feels like we're just going through the motions. Ruby and I, we're surviving, but we're not living. Not really."

"Then stop surviving," Scott said softly. "Start living. With me."

The simplicity of his words, the depth of feeling behind them, broke something loose inside her. Megan leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. "I've missed you," she breathed. "So much it hurts."

Scott's other hand came up to frame her face, and then he was kissing her. Not like their first kiss, tentative and sweet, but with all the longing and fear and hope of the past weeks poured into one moment. Megan's hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as everything else fell away—the office, San Diego, all her careful plans for the future. None of it mattered. This, right here, was real.

When they finally broke apart, Scott's eyes were bright with emotion. "Come home," he whispered again. "Let me love you both the way you deserve."

Megan looked at him—really looked at him. At the man who played Santa to bring joy to children, who carved dolphins because she loved them, who had flown across the country just to show her she had choices.

"Yes," she said, and for the first time in weeks, her heart felt full. "Take us home."

Scott's smile was like sunrise breaking through clouds. He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, holding her close as though he'd never let go. Through her window, the San Diego skyline sparkled in the afternoon sun, but Megan didn't see it. Her eyes were closed, her face pressed into Scott's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of cedar and home.