A Love Written in Tides

Chapter 7: The Ash on the Wind

The luxury SUV felt like a high-speed coffin as it tore down the darkened highway toward Oakhaven.

Inside, the silence was suffocating. Isla sat as far from Noah as the leather seats allowed, her eyes fixed on the blurring trees outside. The midnight-blue dress was a cruel joke now, the sequins digging into her skin, reminding her of the "mermaids" who drowned in old sailor myths.

Noah’s hands were clamped onto the steering wheel so hard his knuckles looked like white stones.

"Isla, talk to me," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

"There’s nothing left to say, Noah. Victoria told me everything I needed to know."

"Victoria is a snake. She’s trying to dismantle the only thing I have left that isn't a transaction."

He glanced at her, his storm-gray eyes flashing with a mix of fury and something that looked suspiciously like fear. "The Hale deal was a contract I signed when I was twenty-one and starving. It’s paper, Isla. Just paper."

"And the demolition?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Is it just a coincidence that my home disappears the same day your new life begins?"

Noah didn't answer. He just pressed the accelerator harder, the engine screaming in the quiet of the night.

They reached the crest of the hill overlooking Oakhaven thirty minutes later.

Isla’s heart stopped.

A jagged, orange glow illuminated the fog, casting long, dancing shadows across the dunes. It wasn't the café—not yet—but the construction trailers at the edge of the property were engulfed in a roaring, hungry orange.

The fire was a living thing, feeding on the dry wood and the blueprints of Noah’s "new world."

Noah slammed the car into park and was out the door before the engine had even stopped. Isla followed, her heels sinking into the sand, her expensive silk hem dragging through the dirt.

The heat hit them like a physical wall.

"Get back!" Noah shouted, grabbing her arm as a small explosion—likely a fuel tank—sent a shower of sparks into the black sky.

Construction workers and a few local volunteers were throwing sand and using small extinguishers, but the wind was working against them. The fire was jumping, reaching for the dry grass that led straight to the porch of the Blue Anchor.

"It’s going to reach the café!" Isla screamed, trying to pull away from him. "Noah, my mother’s photos—the old ledger—everything is inside!"

"I’ll get it," Noah said.

He didn't hesitate. He stripped off his tuxedo jacket, tossing it into the sand, and grabbed a heavy wool blanket from the back of the SUV.

"Noah, no! It's too dangerous!"

He didn't listen. He had always been like this—rushing into the flames if it meant he could control the outcome. He soaked the blanket with a water jug from the trunk and draped it over his head.

"Stay here, Isla! If you move toward that building, I swear I’ll have the guards lock you in the car!"

He disappeared into the smoke, a dark silhouette swallowed by the orange haze.

Isla stood on the dunes, the wind whipping her hair into her eyes, the salt air mixing with the acrid stench of burning plastic and old wood. She watched the porch of her childhood catch fire, the small, decorative anchors she had painted years ago curling into black ash.

Minutes felt like hours.

The local fire truck finally arrived, its siren a lonely wail against the roar of the blaze. Just as the firemen began to roll out the hoses, a figure stumbled out of the side door of the café.

Noah emerged, coughing violently, his white dress shirt charred and clinging to his skin. In his arms, he held a heavy, fireproof lockbox and a small, wooden crate.

He collapsed onto the sand a safe distance away, gasping for air. Isla ran to him, falling to her knees regardless of the dress.

"You're hurt," she sobbed, seeing the angry red burns along his forearms.

Noah ignored the pain. He pushed the wooden crate toward her. Inside were the framed photos from the mantel—the ones of her mother—and the old, hand-written recipe book that had been in her family for generations.

"I got them," he wheezed, his eyes watery from the smoke.

"Why?" Isla whispered, clutching the crate to her chest. "You’re tearing it down anyway. Why risk your life for things you were going to destroy?"

Noah reached out, his soot-stained hand cupping her cheek. The contrast of his dark, dirty skin against the blue silk of her dress was a perfect image of their life.

"Because I'm a monster, Isla, but I'm your monster. I can destroy the building, but I won't let the fire take the parts of you I can’t replace."

Isla looked from him to the burning trailers. The fire was under control now, the orange glow fading into a dull, smoldering red.

"Who did this, Noah?"

Noah’s face hardened, the vulnerability of the moment vanishing behind a wall of cold, corporate steel. He looked at the scorched remains of his blueprints.

"Someone who wants me to stay in the city. Someone who knows that as long as Oakhaven exists, I have a reason to turn my back on the Hales."

He stood up, swaying slightly, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun was just beginning to hint at a new day.

"The thirty days aren't just for you to get to know me, Isla," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, jagged pitch. "They’re for me to finish the war. And after tonight? The gloves are off."

He looked at the ring of sea glass in his pocket, then at the girl in the ruined blue dress.

The café was still standing, but the war for Oakhaven had officially turned bloody. And Isla realized that the fire in the trailers was nothing compared to the fire Noah Blackthorn was about to ignite in the city.