Chapter 3 TIDES BETWEEN US

Days passed like waves-quiet, steady, and strangely healing.

Mia found herself falling into a rhythm she hadn't known she needed. She helped Nancy at the diner in the mornings, washed cups, and served coffee to sun-weathered men who tipped in stories instead of dollars. No one asked who she was or what she did before the Dungeon. That kind of peace was priceless.

Jackson showed up now and then-always with something to carry, build, or fix. He never stayed long, but he'd nod at her with a soft grunt that might've meant "hello" or "I see you." Either way, it made her smile.

They didn't talk much, but when they did, it mattered.

One afternoon, Mia walked along the edge of the beach, kicking at driftwood. A group of kids raced past her, their laughter rising with the wind. She was about to head back when she spotted Jackson sitting alone on an overturned boat.

He looked up. "Walking off another bad cup of coffee?"

Mia chuckled. "Nancy's coffee isn't bad. It's... nostalgic."

He smirked. "That's one way to say it tastes like motor oil."

She hesitated. "Mind if I sit?"

He shifted to make space. "Free beach."

They sat in silence for a while, the kind that didn't beg to be filled. Just the sea breathing around them, steady and sure.

Jackson broke it first. "You ever plan to leave?"

Mia's fingers toyed with the frayed hem of her hoodie. "I don't know. I came here trying to escape something. But... maybe I found something instead."

He nodded slowly. "Peace?"

"People who don't pretend." She glanced at him. "Like you."

He didn't respond at first. Then: "Pretending takes too much energy. I used to try. Before... everything."

She waited, sensing he might share more.

"My ex," he said finally, "told me I was going to be a dad. I built everything around that idea. Sacrificed. Gave her everything I had. Turns out the kid wasn't mine."

Mia's breath caught. "Jackson..."

He shrugged, but his jaw tightened. "DNA test confirmed it. She left. Took most of what I owned. I came here with what was left in my truck bed."

"I'm sorry," Mia whispered.

"Don't be. I'm better off. Just... not good at trusting people anymore."

She nodded. "Me neither."

He looked at her. "Want to talk about it?"

Mia hesitated. Then-because he had trusted her with his story-she spoke.

"I was with men who only saw me as a wallet. Or a way up. They'd charm me, love me, then drain me. Money, attention, everything. And I let them, because I thought maybe if I gave enough, I'd finally be enough."

Jackson's eyes softened. "You are enough, Mia. You always were."

Her throat tightened. "Why is it so hard to believe that when someone says it?"

He looked out at the ocean. "Because we've only ever heard it from people who didn't mean it."

The waves rolled in, sighing against the shore, as if the world itself agreed.

That evening, Jackson showed up at Nancy's diner with a basket of fish and a half-smile.

"For the woman who thinks my life tastes better than her coffee," he said.

Mia laughed. "Are you trying to bribe me into trusting you?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I just thought you'd cook it better than I could."

Nancy raised a brow from behind the counter. "Careful, Jackson. That almost sounded like flirting."

He rolled his eyes and muttered something about nosy old ladies before disappearing into the kitchen.

Mia stood frozen with a grin tugging at her lips.

Was he?

Later, they ate on the porch. The fish was salty and fresh, paired with some grilled vegetables Mia had found in Nancy's fridge. The old wood beneath them creaked with the night breeze, but neither of them minded.

Jackson leaned back in his chair. "You know... it's strange."

"What is?"

"I came here to forget. You came here to run. But somehow, we ended up remembering who we are instead."

Mia smiled, setting down her fork. "And who are you, Jackson?"

He looked at her, serious now. "A man who didn't think he could care again."

She swallowed. "And now?"

His gaze lingered on her a moment too long.

"Now I'm not so sure."

When Mia went to bed that night, the ocean sang her to sleep.

But this time, her heart didn't feel so heavy.

It felt like it was learning a new rhythm-one that matched the gentle tides between them.

The next morning, Mia woke before the sun.

The motel room was still and cool, the only sound the faint cry of gulls wheeling above the sea. She pulled on a sweater and slipped outside, barefoot, letting the wet sand cling to her toes.

The ocean stretched before her, endless and aching. She watched as the first light broke the horizon, painting the world in pale golds and soft pinks. A new day, unwritten. Maybe a new Mia, too.

She was so lost in the moment that she didn't hear the footsteps until Jackson was standing beside her, coffee cup in hand, his flannel shirt rumpled and sleeves pushed up.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

Mia shook her head. "Didn't want to miss this."

They stood together in the hush of dawn, the kind of silence that asked for nothing but presence.

Jackson offered her the extra cup he'd brought. She took it, fingers brushing his. Warmth bloomed there, low and slow, like coals rekindling after a long winter.

After a while, Jackson spoke. "I used to think healing was about forgetting."

Mia glanced at him.

"But it's not," he said, staring out at the water. "It's about remembering without breaking."

Mia's throat tightened. She hadn't been ready to hear that, but maybe she needed to.

They sipped coffee side by side, watching the world wake up.

Finally, Mia whispered, "I want to be someone who remembers... and still hopes."

Jackson's mouth curved into something small and true.

"You already are."

Later that day, Mia helped Nancy paint the porch railings at the diner. White paint smudged her jeans and streaked her arms, but she didn't care. She hadn't laughed so much in months, maybe years.

Jackson drove by once in his pickup, slowing just enough to toss a wave and a lazy smile her way before rumbling off down the lane.

Mia's heart tripped over itself, silly and startled.

Nancy caught her blushing and just chuckled. "That boy's been broken, honey. Same as you. But sometimes two cracked hearts fit better than two perfect ones."

Mia dipped her brush again, pretending to focus on the wood.

But inside, a seed of something tender was taking root.

Not love, not yet.

But something close.

Something ready.

Something that, with time and trust, might just grow into the kind of love that doesn't demand perfection-only presence.

And in the gentle tides between them, Mia dared to hope-

That maybe, just maybe, she had found something worth staying for.

That evening, after the last coffee cup was wiped clean and the porch gleamed under a soft sunset, Mia wandered down to the docks. The air smelled of salt and woodsmoke, and the tide lapped against the posts like a whispered song.

She wasn't surprised when she spotted Jackson again-this time, working on the old sailboat that had been sitting half-sunk in the harbor since she arrived. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hands were covered in grease and seaweed, but he looked up when he heard her steps.

"You always find me when I'm knee-deep in a bad idea," he said, grinning.

Mia perched on a crate nearby. "What are you doing?"

He wiped his hands on a rag. "Thinking about fixing this old thing up. Maybe taking it out someday."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that before or after it sinks with you on it?"

He chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest. "Could use a partner to keep me afloat. You in?"

Mia laughed, but there was something serious under the teasing-an invitation she wasn't sure how to answer yet. So instead, she said, "Maybe. If you promise there'll be life jackets."

"Deal."

The sky deepened into lavender and gold around them. For a while, they didn't talk-just existed, breathing in the shared quiet like it was something sacred.

Then Jackson broke it, his voice softer than the waves. "You ever wonder if maybe... the broken things are the ones worth saving?"

Mia looked at him, the sinking sun painting his face in warm light. She thought about herself, about him, about the boat-and about how sometimes, the most beautiful things were the ones someone had chosen to fight for.

"Yeah," she said, almost a whisper. "All the time."

He tossed the rag onto the deck, dusted off his hands, and offered one to her.

"Come on, Mia. Let's see if we can fix something together."

Her heart thundered against her ribs, wild and alive.

She took his hand.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she was falling.

She felt like she was flying.