Chapter 4 STORM IN QUITE

Mia hadn't meant to stay this long.

She told herself it was just a few days to reset. Then it became a week. Then two. Somewhere between the morning coffees, salty breezes, and Jackson's steady presence, she had started to breathe again. Really breathe.

But peace has a way of making buried things rise to the surface.

And secrets, no matter how deep, float eventually.

It started with a visitor.

A man in a sleek black car pulled up to the diner while Mia was wiping down tables. He wore sunglasses, a pressed suit, and a look that didn't belong in the Dungeon.

"Mia Carver," he said, too loud.

Nancy glanced up from the register. Jackson, who had just walked in, froze in the doorway.

Mia went cold. "You have the wrong person."

The man scoffed. "Come on, Mia. Your father's been looking everywhere for you. You can't just vanish with half a trust fund and play peasant girl forever."

The diner fell into a hush. Jackson's face darkened.

"I think you should leave," Mia said, voice trembling but firm.

The man raised a brow. "Fine. I'll let him know you're still hiding." He left without another word.

The silence he left behind weighed heavy.

Jackson's voice was quiet, but sharp. "Your father?"

Mia looked at him, chest rising and falling. "It's not what you think."

"What do I think, Mia?" he said, taking a step back. "Because right now, I think you lied about who you are."

"I never lied," she said, desperate. "I just... didn't tell."

He crossed his arms. "Didn't tell me you're some runaway millionaire?"

"That's not who I am!" she said, voice cracking. "That's who I was born to, not who I chose to be."

Jackson's eyes searched hers, but his face was unreadable.

"You knew my story. You knew everything I'd been through with people who used me, who played games. And you still thought keeping this from me was okay?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "I was scared. Scared that if you knew, you'd treat me like they did. That you'd see my past instead of me."

He exhaled hard and turned away.

"I need some air."

The next day, Mia didn't go to the diner.

She walked the shoreline alone, arms wrapped around herself as if that could hold her heart together. Every word Jackson said replayed in her head. And every word she didn't say hurt more.

He was right to be angry. But he didn't know what it felt like to be wanted for everything but who you are. Or maybe... he did. Maybe that's why it cut so deep.

Jackson sat with Ben that night, beer in hand, staring out at the ocean.

"You're being stubborn," Ben said.

"She lied."

"No, she hid," Ben corrected. "There's a difference. You think you would've trusted her if she told you she had money? Or would you have kept your distance like you did with everyone else?"

Jackson didn't answer.

Ben nudged him. "She's not your ex, man. And you're not the same guy you were when she broke you."

Jackson rubbed his face. "I don't know how to forgive something like this."

Ben stood. "Maybe don't start with forgiveness. Start with understanding."

Two days passed.

Then, at sunset, Mia heard a knock on her motel door.

Jackson stood there, hair wind-tousled, eyes tired.

"I don't know everything about you," he said. "But I do know the Mia who stayed up helping Nancy bake when her oven broke. The Mia who teaches the kids how to skip rocks. The one who sat beside me on the beach and listened like no one else ever did."

Mia's eyes filled again. "I'm sorry, Jackson. I was scared to be seen."

He stepped closer. "You were seen, Mia. Even before I knew your name."

She let out a shaky breath. "Do you hate me?"

He shook his head. "I hate what the world did to us. But not you."

There was a beat of silence, thick with pain and possibility.

Then, he opened his arms.

And she stepped into them.

They didn't speak for a while. Just stood there, wrapped in something too fragile to name.

Not forgiveness.

Not romance.

But maybe... grace.

The waves crashed in the distance, steady and endless, like the heartbeat of the town itself.

Mia closed her eyes against Jackson's chest, breathing him in-salt, soap, and something uniquely him. It was strange how safety could feel like a person. Like coming home after years of wandering without a map.

When they finally pulled apart, Jackson tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his calloused fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"I don't have a lot to give, Mia," he said, voice rough. "No big promises. No shiny future tied up in a bow. Just me. As I am."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but this time they were soft. Healing.

"That's all I want," she whispered. "Just you."

He gave a small, broken smile-the first real one she'd seen in days. "Then stay."

The words settled between them, not as a command, but a request. An invitation.

Stay.

Stay in the town that smelled of salt and second chances. Stay in the life that wasn't perfect, but was real. Stay where pain was met with patience, not judgment.

Mia nodded, her heart finally choosing what her head had feared.

"I'll stay."

Later, they sat on the porch of Jackson's shack, a battered blanket over their legs, sharing a plate of homemade pie that Nancy had left on the motel's front desk with a sticky note that said "For new beginnings."

They didn't talk much. Didn't need to.

Sometimes, the heart says more in silence than it ever could with words.

The stars blinked awake one by one, scattered across the deep velvet sky.

And somewhere between the crash of the ocean and the hush of the night, two broken souls started the slow, sacred work of healing.

Together.