Page 43 of Better than Yesterday
A sharp knock sounded at the door at seven o’clock. I took a steadying breath, my reflection a faint ghost in the dark office window, and opened the door. Braden stood on the threshold dressed in a button-down shirt and gray cargo shorts. Hair damp and clean, shoulders broad and strong. He made my knees wobble.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“Hey yourself.” I stepped back, gesturing him in.
He stepped inside, his gaze immediately drawn to the massive map dominating the room, then to the vibrant photos of the reef life I’d pinned to the wall. A flicker of interest crossed his face before he shuttered it away.
“You weren’t kidding.” He studied the mess on my desk. “That’s a big map.”
“And I have no idea where to start.” I held out a green dry-erase marker. “So—if money, politics, and zoning laws were no object, where would we put it? The main center. The place that has the research lab, the public-facing education wing, and the boat dock.”
For a moment, he just stood there, thinking. Then, with a slow exhale, he took the marker. The tension in his shoulders eased as he leaned over the table, his brewer’s mind, so good at seeing systems and processes, immediately engaged.
He walked the perimeter of the map, his finger tracing the coastline. “You need deep-water access for the research vessels, but you want the education center to be easily accessible for tourists and school groups.” His focus was so complete, so intense, it was like watching him create a new recipe. He moved to the northern edge of the main island. “What about here?” He drew a rough circle on a patch of coastline just north of Driftwood Beach. “It’s undeveloped, right on the water. Belongs to the town, but they’ve never figured out what to do with it. The channel is deep enough, and it’s enough land.”
A jolt of excitement shot through me. “A blank slate.”
His expression turned pragmatic. “But a blank slate is expensive. You’re talking new construction from the ground up. Utilities, infrastructure… it’s a five-year project, maybe ten.”
“Okay, that’s not ideal. So what’s the alternative?”
He scanned the map again, and I watched his gaze settle on the spot he’d mentioned earlier and that we’d seen early on in the project. “I think the McGregor place could work.”
“Right. You mentioned it earlier. The old compound south of Sunset Siesta?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “It’s got history. People know it. And it has that huge, old deep-water dock that could be restored. The structure is probably a teardown, but the location is perfect. It’s iconic.”
He took the marker from me, his hand brushing mine, and the brief contact was an electric shock in the charged air. He drew a second, confident circle around the McGregor property.
We both stood there, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the map. Two green circles. Two possible futures. We weren’t just brainstorming anymore. We were building alegacy for Dove Key, and the sheer permanence of what those circles represented seemed to crash down on Braden all at once.
He took a physical step back from the table. The collaborative energy vanished, sucked out of the room as if a vacuum had been turned on. The wall was back, higher and colder than ever.
“You’re planning something that will take years to build.” His voice was flat. “Foundations, permits, fundraising, construction.”
I turned to face him, my excitement dissolving into a familiar ache. “Yes. That’s the point. To build something lasting.”
“Right.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He ran a hand through his hair—a gesture I recognized as caged frustration.
This was it. The precipice. “This is what it’s about, isn’t it? This is why you’ve been distant.”
He finally looked at me, and the raw fear in his eyes stole my breath. “Tessa, what are we doing?”
“We’re planning a conservation center.”
“No.” He stepped toward me, hands clenched at his sides. “Us. What are we doing? We’re standing here, drawing lines on a map for a future. And you haven’t even decided if you’re going to be here to see it happen. I thought I could handle this, but I can’t. I can’t stand here and map out the next five years with you, let myself believe in it, get used to it… and then watch you pack your bags. I did that once. I won’t do it again.”
The agony in his voice shattered my defenses. I closed the distance between us in two strides and placed my hands flat on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart under my palms. “I’m scared too.”
“Of what?” His words were almost a scoff. “You’ve gotthe world at your feet. The Great Barrier Reef waiting for you. Your dream.”
“That GBR project isn’t a reality yet. And I’m scared I’ll make the wrong choice. I’m scared of disappointing my parents, of throwing away a career I’ve worked for my entire adult life. But most of all,” I said, my voice breaking, “I’m scared of this wall you’re building because you’re so sure I’m going to leave that you’ll cause it to happen.”
I reached up and cupped his jaw, my thumb stroking the tense muscle there, forcing him to hold my gaze. “I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know what my life looks like in six months, let alone ten years. But I’m not running. Not from you and not from this.” My eyes flickered to the map, then back to his. “I am trying to figure it out. And I need you to trust me while I do. Please.”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched mine, and war raged in him—the desperate desire to believe me warring with twelve years of ingrained self-protection. His jaw tightened under my thumb, and for a second, I thought he would pull away.
“I know what I’m asking.” My voice dropped lower, more intense. “I have a contract with an end date. It feels like a pattern, doesn’t it? Like graduation day all over again.” He flinched, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “But that was a choice a teenager made. This is different. I’m different. I can’t promise you I’ll stay. Until recently, it never occurred to me. But I promise to make this decision as a woman, not a girl.”
