Page 65 of Better than Famous

I snagged my smartphone from the counter to check the time. A small crescent moon icon stared back at me from the top of the screen. My Do Not Disturb setting had been active since I collapsed into bed last night. Swiping the screen to unlock the device revealed a single missed text notification.

I recognized the number from the burner phone immediately, and I nearly dropped the phone in my haste to read Sutton’s text. The words stole the oxygen straight from my lungs. I read the end three times.

When the dust settles, I’d like to see you again. I miss you. I hope you miss me too.

The crushing, iron weight pressing on my sternum disappeared, and air rushed into my lungs in a desperate, ragged gasp. She saw right through the martyr act. The cold, indifferent mask I’d worn when she left hadn’t fooled her. A massive surge of hope ignited in my gut.

My thumb mashed the call icon. Dialing the new number from her text, I paced the length of the kitchen. The line rang twice before clicking over to an automated voicemail greeting.

“Goddammit.”

I tried not to read too much into her not answering. She was probably busy making her big moves. Ending the call, my fingers flew across the digital keyboard. The words poured out in a frantic, unedited rush.

Ben: I miss you too. I was an arrogant, selfish bastard to take your choice away, and I am so sorry. You don’t need saving. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.

I hit send, and the message swooshed into the digital ether. After I dropped the phone back onto the counter, the cottage suddenly felt too small. Sitting around and waiting for a reply was completely impossible. Restless energy hummed through my veins. The isolation of the dead-end road was no longer a comfort. I needed noise. Distraction.

Thirty minutes later, I stepped into Tidal Hops. The Sunday lunch crowd was steady but not overwhelming. Stepping through the heavy wooden doors, the smell of fried seafood and craft beer offered a familiar welcome. I’d already determined that Austin and Eli were out on the water running their respective fishing and diving charters.

Braden stood behind the mahogany bar, wiping down the taps with practiced efficiency. Tessa sat on a stool across from him, a laptop open amidst a scattering of blueprints and legal pads. Since moving in with Braden and starting the new marine conservation center, Tessa had seamlessly integrated into the Coleridge orbit.

"Hey, stranger," Braden called out, tossing his bar towel over his shoulder. He grabbed a clean pint glass. "You look marginally less murderous than you did on Friday night."

"I feel marginally less murderous." Slipping onto the stool next to Tessa, I offered her a quick nod. "How’s the reef project?"

"Funding proposals." Tessa blew a stray lock of dark red hair out of her eyes. She tapped her pen against a legal pad covered in aggressive red ink. "We’re finalizing the educational outreach budget for the new coral nursery. If I have to write the word synergy one more time to appease these grant committees, I might actually throw this laptop into the Gulf."

Braden set a tall glass of ice water in front of me, sliding a fresh coaster underneath. "She’s a menace when she’s dealing with bureaucracy. I offered to bribe them with free beer for a year, but apparently, marine biologists have ethical standards."

"Integrity is a burden," Tessa agreed, flashing Braden a warm, brilliant smile. He returned it with that slightly bewildered look he got, as if he couldn’t believe they were officially a couple.

My phone vibrated violently against the wood of the bar. The screen illuminated with Sutton’s name. This morning I’d added her official contact. The ambient noise of the pub vanished from my awareness. Snatching the device, I slid off the stool so fast the heavy wooden legs scraped loudly against the floor. "I need to take this."

Dodging a server carrying a tray of fish tacos, I ducked around the end of the bar and pushed through the door into Braden’s back office. The room was a sanctuary of neat, orderly stacks of invoices and promotional boxes. Pulling the door shut, the heavy wood muffled the pub chatter.

I swiped the screen and pressed the phone to my ear. "Sutton?"

"Hi." Her voice was soft, slightly breathless, and absolutely perfect.

"I tried calling earlier"—I rushed the words out, desperate to close the distance between us—"I got your text this morning."

"I’m sorry I didn’t answer." A muffled, echoing announcement sounded in the background on her end. "I was in the air with Mindy on the jet. We just landed in New York."

"New York?"

"I have some things to do."

"Sutton, listen to me." Leaning against the edge of Braden’s desk, I stared blindly at a stack of inventory sheets. "I was wrong. Pushing you out the door to protect you from my mess was arrogant. Eli called me out on it. He told me I was protecting myself from losing you rather than actually protecting you, and he was right. I wish I’d never done it."

"You were scared," Sutton replied softly. The lack of anger in her tone was an unexpected gift. "I was angry at first. Really angry. But I get it now."

"You have every right to be angry."

"Maybe." A wry, confident note entered her voice. "But I actually needed the push, Ben."

My brows drew together. "What do you mean?"

"The anger forced me to put my plans in motion. You gave me my voice back in that cottage. You helped me remember who I really am when the cameras are off. But hiding on the island wasn’t going to fix anything. I have to show everyone else who I am now. I have to finish this."