Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

I retreatto the makeshift bar set up on the beach, the sound of the waves and laughter behind me fades into a soft hum, replaced by the rhythmic thud of my heart. I can"t shake the feeling of disbelief, of serendipity, that Claire, the woman who unwittingly became the center of my thoughts on that flight, is here, now, in my world. It"s as if the universe, in its infinite wisdom and mischief, decided I hadn"t been shaken up enough lately.

Life, I"ve learned, has a way of throwing curveballs, of changing courses with the same unpredictable fury as a summer storm over the Gulf. I"ve gotten good at rolling with the punches, at navigating the unexpected turns with a semblance of grace—or at least a good sense of humor. But Claire"s sudden appearance here, in Mystic Hollow, feels like more than just a coincidence; it feels like a challenge, an opportunity.

I"m not one for long-term entanglements, a preference born out of a lifetime of experiences. The idea that Claire might only be here for a fleeting moment, a transient figure against the backdrop of my life, is, in a way, relieving. No strings, no complications. Just a chance to know her, to peel back the layers of the intriguing woman who managed to sleep on my shoulder thousands of feet in the air.

As I pop the cap off a glass bottle of Coke, the fizzing sound barely registers. My hands move on autopilot, fixing a Jack and Coke with the ease of countless repetitions, but my mind is elsewhere, with Claire. I can see her from here, even without looking; her presence is like a beacon, drawing my attention with an inexorable pull.

She"s nervous, I can tell, even from this distance. The way she fidgets with her necklace, the occasional glance around the gathering as if seeking an anchor in the unfamiliar swell of faces. My sister, Eliza, is talking to her, no doubt filling her in on the ins and outs of Mystic Hollow life, but it"s clear Claire"s mind is only half on the conversation.

Jasper walks over, a lazy grin on his face as he reaches for another beer. He says something to me, probably a jest or a casual observation, but the words wash over me, unregistered. My focus is singular, honed in on Claire with the intensity of a hawk"s gaze.

Pouring the whiskey into the glass, I allow myself a moment to wonder what's brought her here, to this little pocket of the world where magic and reality intertwine like the roots of the ancient oaks that line the shore.

With the drink ready, I take a deep breath, steadying my pulse. It"s time to rejoin the party, to step back into the role of host and friend, and to see if I can figure out what it is about this woman that I can't seem to let go.