“I heard the door around six a.m.” She grinned as she reached for her coffee. “That man has it bad for you, Morgan Bartley.”

I scoffed. “After watching me beat the tar out of Will’s truck, then blasting him yesterday when his ex showed up and subsequently making him carry me home drunk and sleep next to me, I have a feeling the man is running just as fast as he can. Or he would be if he didn’t live next door.”

“You didn’t make that man do anything. He chose to be with you during all three of those…” She struggled for words.

“Tantrums?” I suggested.

“I was going to say outbursts, but you get the point.” She reached toward a small box at the end of the counter and brought it to me. “And besides, a man who’s running away isn’t leaving a woman gifts.”

“He left this for me?” I stared at the small white box in my hand as Morgan held out a folded piece of paper.

“And a note.” She waved the paper over the box. “And I’ve been waiting hours to know what’s in that, so read!”

Stunned, I put the box on the counter and unfolded the note. Jackson’s handwriting filled the page.

Morgan,

Fin helped me design this, so I hope you like it. This used to be a jar or a glass of some kind. All I know for certain is that it shattered at some point. It broke apart, then spent years in the waves and sand until it became something entirely new. No longer clear and sharp, but soft and opaque. When I saw this piece, it reminded me of you—beautiful, resilient, and unique. I don’t mourn what it used to be in its former life, because it’s precious to me exactly how it is now. I can’t imagine it ever having been more beautiful—even whole—but I also know that at the center, it’s still the same clear glass it always has been. The same glass, just made rare—not despite all its been through, but because of it.

—Jackson

My breath abandoned me, and a spark flared in my chest. Hope. It was hope.

“Well, what does it say?” Sam asked.

I handed her the note, then opened the little white box. It was a teardrop-shaped piece of turquoise sea glass a little bigger than a quarter, set in gold. My fingers trembled as I lifted it from box that bore Christina’s store’s logo on the inside of the lid. The chain was long—a necklace. A stunningly beautiful necklace.

“Oh. My. God.” Sam dragged out that last word. “I stand by my earlier comment. That man has it bad for you. And he could definitely teach Grayson a thing or two in the letter writing department because damn.”