Tell Dawn I’m leaving the sadness here. Just bringing the lessons.
Three dots appeared, then:
Good. Because we have enough ghosts in Westerly Cove already. We don’t need yours too.
He laughed. When had he last laughed about Traci? About Austin? About any of it?
He typed:
See you tomorrow
Vivienne Hawthorne
Looking forward to it
Brooks set his phone aside and opened his laptop. Sullivan had sent him the official offer letter for the permanent position. Detective, Westerly Cove Police Department. Salary, benefits, vacation time. Standard terms for a small-town cop.
He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.
He signed the digital paperwork and sent it back. Effective immediately.
The flight the next day was smooth. Brooks spent it reading Vivienne’s grandmother’s journals—Emmeline had documented decades of Westerly Cove history, including details about the Aldrich family that had proven invaluable during the investigation.
One passage caught his attention:
The gift manifests differently in each generation. Josephine saw visions in water. I read impressions from objects. Cordelia heard the dead singing. And my Vivienne will see the patterns that connect past to present, death to truth.
I’ve seen who will come for Vivienne. A boy who visited my shop once, frightened and grieving. He’ll return as a man who needs saving as much as she does.
They’ll save each other, if they’re brave enough to try.
Brooks read the passage three times. Emmeline had seen him at thirteen and known he’d come back for Vivienne. Had known they’d need each other.
The old woman had been right about everything else. Maybe she was right about this too.
When the plane landed, Brooks collected his bag and headed for arrivals. He spotted Vivienne immediately—auburn hair catching the afternoon light, gray-green eyes scanning thecrowd. She wore a teal dress and boots, the same outfit from the day they’d met.
When she saw him, her face changed. Not a polite smile. Real joy.
Brooks closed the distance between them, and for a moment they just looked at each other.
“Welcome home,” Vivienne said.
“Good to be home.” Brooks meant it.
They walked to her car together. She updated him on the town—the Mystic Cup was busy, Dawn was managing well, Martha Morgan had stopped by to thank Vivienne again.
Brooks talked about Austin. The conversations with Rodriguez and Marcus. The closure he’d found in saying goodbye properly.
“You’re different,” Vivienne observed as they drove north along the coast. “Lighter somehow.”
“I feel lighter. Like I’ve been holding my breath for three years and finally exhaled.” Brooks watched the ocean appear between buildings. “Coming back here feels right. Not like running away. Like coming home.”
“To Westerly Cove, or . . .?”
“To the work we’ve been doing. To whatever comes next.” He looked at her. “If you’re still willing.”
“I’m willing.” Vivienne’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Scared, but willing.”
