Chapter 45: Madeline
By the time Reid leaves me pressed against that wall, voice still echoing in my skull, I don’t know if I want to scream or curl into myself until I vanish. My skin burns where his wrist grabbed mine, where his voice carved through me. Anger flares hot—how dare he talk to me like that, order me around like I’m a child. But layered under the humiliation, under the fury, there’s something worse.
The spark.
That treacherous, traitorous spark that lit the second he leaned in, his eyes fire and demand, and for one breath too long I didn’t want him to stop.
I walk off the boat still burning, my jacket damp and heavy against the front of me where the waves slapped earlier. My socks squish inside my boots, little cold reminders with every step. By the time I reach the diner, my fingers are stiff, and I can’t tell if it’s from the chill or from holding myself together.
The bell over the door chimes, and warmth spills out. I look inside—
And for a heart-stopping second, he’s already here.
Reid.
But then my brain catches up. Not Reid. Jake.
He sits alone at a corner table, broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, hands around a coffee mug like he’s in no rush. The resemblance hits me like a fist all over again—same dark hair, same cut of jaw, the kind of face that looks built to scowl. For a dizzy heartbeat, it feels like he knows exactly what just happened on that boat, like he can smell the humiliation on me just by looking.
But when his gaze lifts to mine, something flickers across it. Surprise, maybe. His stone-carved face shifts a fraction as he takes me in.
He straightens up.
“What happened?” His voice is steady, softer than Reid’s usual sharpness, but there’s still weight in it, like my answer matters more than it should.
I force my lips into something like a smile. “I—just got splashed. A wave.”
He pushes his chair back with a scrape, rising to his full height. And just like that, I’m craning my neck again. The height thing never gets easier.
And then there are his eyes.
God, his eyes.
Just like Reid’s—yet not. Maybe a shade lighter, catching the light of the diner in ways Reid’s don’t. People say brown eyes are plain, forgettable. These aren’t. These are fire and earth, burn and anchor. Inviting, dangerous, warm, sharp—everything at once. Looking at him feels like standing too close to something you don’t fully understand, and maybe never will.
I stare too long.
“Madeline?”
I blink hard. “Hm?”
“I asked you—where is everyone else? And how did they let that happen to you?” His jaw ticks, eyes scanning me like he can see every damp patch, every shiver I try to hide.
Heat flushes my cheeks. “They’re still on the boat. And it’s… it’s not a big deal. Really. I’m almost dry now anyway.”
His frown deepens, but he doesn’t push. Instead, his voice comes lower, firmer. “Take your jacket off.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“If you keep it on, you’ll freeze. Take it off.”
My whole body stiffens. My jacket clings heavy and damp against me, but the thought of peeling it off in front of him, vulnerable, sends my pulse skittering. “I’m fine,” I insist. “Really, it’s nothing—”
He doesn’t sigh, exactly, but something in his chest lifts with exasperation. He reaches behind him, plucks the jacket draped over his chair, and holds it out. “Here.”
Panic sparks in me, small and stupid. My hands stay glued to my sides. “Oh, no—that’s okay. I don’t need—”
His brows tighten a fraction, not with Reid’s kind of simmering anger but with something steadier. Patient, but edged. “Do you have something else in your bag? A sweater?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“Then put it on.”
No room to argue. Just plain fact.
My cheeks flame hotter as I set my bag on the chair, fingers clumsy as I unzip it and tug out the thin backup sweater I’d stuffed in this morning. Sliding my damp jacket off feels like peeling away a layer of armor. I shove it on the chair beside his, where it lands with a heavy wet thud.
The sweater is mercifully dry when I pull it on, soft against my skin, but when I look up again, he’s still watching me.
Not the way Reid does—scorching, burning, like he wants to set me on fire just to see if I’ll last. Jake’s gaze is steadier, quieter, but no less unsettling. He looks at me like I’m a puzzle he doesn’t quite understand yet. And he won’t look away until he does.
And maybe—maybe that’s just as dangerous.
The sweater swallows me whole, sleeves brushing past my fingers, but the warmth spreads quick, seeping through my skin, easing the cold bite that’s been stuck to me since the boat. My jacket drips quietly onto the chair beside me, forgotten. What matters is what I managed to keep safe—my papers, the camera, everything that survived the spray.
I lay it all out on the table, smoothing a corner with my palm, and this time the smile that pulls across my face isn’t forced. It’s real.
“The wave was worth it,” I say, almost breathless. “Because what we got today… it’s incredible. And I think—I really think—I’m onto something.”
Jake’s expression flickers—stone still, then softer. A trace of a smile edges onto his mouth, like he can’t help it.
“Show me.”
Two words. Firm, but not unkind.
I do.
My notes spill across the table in messy loops of ink, diagrams scrawled in margins, arrows pointing to half-thoughts. I start talking, and the words come too fast, tumbling over each other. “So, the humpback from yesterday—she’s older, you can see it in the dorsal fin, and the way she lingered at the surface—but she’s thinner than I expected. Could be natural, but when you combine that with her migrating here instead of other feeding grounds, it makes me wonder if…”
I flip to the next page, pointing at a crooked line of numbers. “And today, the porpoises—you saw the calves, right? At least twenty. Probably more. Which means this cove could be a nursery ground, or maybe a stopover during calving season. If the footage confirms the behaviors I think I saw—”
I stop. Realize I haven’t taken a breath in about a minute. My cheeks heat, and I bite the inside of my lip. “Sorry. I… ramble. A lot.”
For a second, I expect him to nod, or dismiss me, or let the silence drop heavy between us.
But he doesn’t.
Jake leans in slightly, the corner of his hand brushing the paper as if he might follow the trail of my notes. His gaze holds steady on me, not drifting once. His mouth curves again, subtle but there.
“Don’t stop.”