By the time we left the café, the whispers had grown louder. Not literally—no one was shouting across the street—but they drifted after us in that strange, sticky way small-town gossip always does.
A glance here.
A smile there.
The abrupt hush the second I turned my head.
If whispers were tangible, they’d be tugging at my sleeves.
Cole didn’t seem to notice or care.
He walked as if being watched was part of his natural habitat—as normal as breathing, as easy as blinking.
But I wasn’t used to that.
Spotlights at charity galas? Sure.
Paparazzi hiding in hedges? Annoying, but familiar.
Though—this was suspicion, not admiration. And it chilled me more than the ocean wind.
At the souvenir stand, the woman behind the counter eyed us with a polite curiosity that felt like rummaging.
“
