Page 54 of What Remains of Grace

Cole felt his mouth curve before he could stop it. “Yeah. They like this pass.”

Another surfaced, then another, cutting slow, easy lines through the morning water. Sunlight skimmed over their backs like silver paint.

Jenna pressed a hand to her chest, breath catching. “I forgot what that feels like.”

He didn’t ask what she meant; the answer was written all over her.

That feeling, the one that loosened something tight inside a person. The kind of joy you didn’t earn, didn’t chase, didn’t even expect. The kind that just showed up, like a blessing.

He watched her eyes instead of the dolphins, saw the years fall away from her shoulders for a moment. The grief, the worry, and the tight, careful posture she’d been carrying since the day he met her all slipped, just a little.

She looked younger. Lighter. Almost free.

He swallowed the urge to say something, anything, that might keep that expression on her face longer. But speaking would only break it.

So he stayed silent, paddling slow, steady strokes while the dolphins escorted them through the pass.

And he let her have that moment, something simple, something unbroken, because he knew she didn’t get many of those anymore.

* * *

About halfway around the island, he felt her watching him. Not glancing, watching.

Her paddle slowed. Her breathing hitched. Her lip caught between her teeth.

He could almost feel the heat of her stare on his skin.

“Careful,” he said, not looking at her. “I’m going to have to start charging you for looking.”

She whipped her gaze away and sighed, sounding disappointed to be caught. “Put it on my bill.”

He laughed, too loudly, too reflexively, and the sound cracked something open in him. He didn’t think. He didn’t weigh it. He just said it, “If that swimsuit was any more revealing, I’d have to give you a credit.” Her eyes widened.

Shit.

Too much. Too honest. Too fast.

He splashed her before she could respond.

“Oh my God!” she sputtered, laughing and outraged. “Did you just—?!”

“You were asking for it,” he said, backing away on his board.

“You started it!”

She splashed him back, water arcing into sunlight.

For a few minutes, they were nothing but laughter and spray and a breathless truce.

* * *

After one full lap around the island, they arrived back at Lone Oak Point. It was the kind of place people overlooked: coarse sand, close mangroves, nothing manicured or convenient about it. But that was why he picked it. No crowds. No noise. No expectations.

The sand stretched out in long, untouched sweeps, pale as sifted sugar, the surface ridged from last night’s tide. Heat shimmered at the edges where the dunes rose in soft, uneven mounds, sea oats bowing in the breeze like they were greeting whoever managed to find this hidden strip of shoreline. Behind them, the mangroves formed a tangled green wall; in front of them, the Gulf opened into an endless blue that bled straight into the sky. Not a single footprint except their own and the light drag marks from their boards. A calm there wasn’t empty; it was warm, alive, the kind that made you want to whisper without knowing why.

He unpacked the cooler, sandwiches, fruit, and chips, while she slowly took it in, like she knew she’d want to remember this exact morning for the rest of her life.

“You came prepared,” Jenna said, amused.