12
865 Words
Chapter 12
Promises Written in Sand
The storm never came.
Instead, the morning broke with clear blue skies, warm sunlight spilling across Seabrook like nothing had happened.
Leah stood outside the bookstore with a box of new arrivals balanced in her arms.
"Need a hand?"
She smiled before she even looked up.
"I was wondering when you'd show up."
Marco took the box from her effortlessly.
"You were expecting me?"
"I always expect you."
The words slipped out before she realized what she'd said.
Marco paused.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"I like the sound of that."
Leah laughed, ducking her head.
"Don't make it weird."
"Too late."
---
Business was slow that afternoon.
Mrs. Whitmore watched Marco browse the shelves for nearly twenty minutes without choosing a single book.
"You know," she said, folding her arms, "most people actually buy something."
Marco looked guilty.
"I was waiting."
"For?"
He glanced toward the back of the shop where Leah was organizing a display.
"Her lunch break."
Mrs. Whitmore chuckled.
"I figured."
When Leah emerged carrying two sandwiches wrapped in paper, Mrs. Whitmore waved them toward the door.
"Go."
"We're still working."
"I'm your boss."
She smiled knowingly.
"I'm giving you both an hour."
---
They ate on the beach with their shoes kicked off and their feet buried in the warm sand.
A little boy nearby struggled to build a sandcastle.
Each wave knocked it down.
After the third collapse, the boy burst into tears.
Marco stood.
"I'll be back."
Leah watched as he knelt beside the child.
Instead of rebuilding the castle for him, Marco handed him a small bucket.
"What if we build it farther from the water?"
"But I wanted it here."
"I know."
He smiled gently.
"But sometimes moving doesn't mean giving up."
The little boy sniffled.
"It doesn't?"
"No."
"It means you're protecting something important."
Together, they rebuilt the castle higher up the beach.
This time, the waves never reached it.
Leah smiled to herself.
He always knew the right things to say.
---
That evening, they walked barefoot along the shoreline.
The tide rolled lazily around their ankles.
Leah reached into her pocket and pulled out the tiny driftwood bookmark Marco had carved.
"I've been carrying this everywhere."
Marco smiled.
"I noticed."
"You noticed?"
"You touch it whenever you're nervous."
She stared at him.
"You really do pay attention."
"I pay attention to you."
The honesty in his voice stole her breath.
She looked down at the bookmark.
"No one's ever made me feel... seen."
He stopped walking.
"You deserve to be."
She looked up.
"So do you."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Leah stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
He hugged her back without hesitation.
No words.
Just the steady rhythm of the waves.
---
As dusk settled over Seabrook, Marco reached into his backpack.
"I have something."
Leah raised an eyebrow.
"Another surprise?"
"This one's small."
He handed her a tiny glass bottle sealed with a cork.
Inside was a neatly folded piece of paper.
"A message in a bottle?"
"Open it."
She carefully pulled out the note.
In Marco's slightly crooked handwriting were just six words.
**For every tomorrow we get.**
Leah blinked rapidly.
"You wrote this?"
He nodded.
"I know it sounds silly."
"It doesn't."
She looked at him with shining eyes.
"It's beautiful."
She slipped the note back inside and held the bottle close to her chest.
"I'll keep it forever."
Marco smiled.
"I was hoping you would."
---
When Marco finally walked her back to Mrs. Dawson's, the porch light was already on.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked.
"You'd better."
He laughed softly.
"I don't think I know how not to."
She stood on her toes and kissed him.
It was quick.
Gentle.
Comfortable.
The kind of kiss that already felt like home.
"Goodnight, Marco."
"Goodnight, Leah."
She disappeared inside.
Marco waited until her bedroom light came on before turning toward home.
Halfway down the street...
He noticed a white envelope lying on the ground near the gate.
His name wasn't on it.
Leah's was.
Frowning, he picked it up.
The envelope wasn't sealed.
Inside was a single photograph.
Leah.
Asleep in her bedroom.
Taken through her window.
Marco's blood ran cold.
On the back, written in neat black ink, were four words.
**Come home willingly.**
He stared at the photograph, every instinct screaming that something was terribly wrong.
Without another thought, he ran back to the bed-and-breakfast.
---
Leah was just locking her bedroom window when frantic knocking echoed through the house.
Mrs. Dawson opened the front door.
"Marco?"
He was breathing hard.
His face had gone pale.
"Where's Leah?"
She hurried downstairs.
"Marco? What's wrong?"
He held out the photograph with trembling fingers.
The color drained from Leah's face.
She recognized the handwriting immediately.
Her father's.
The room fell silent.
Mrs. Dawson looked between them.
"What is this?"
Leah couldn't answer.
Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the photograph.
Marco looked at her, fear filling his eyes.
"Leah..."
His voice was barely a whisper.
"...who are you running from?"
For the first time since arriving in Seabrook...
She was scared.
- Writer
