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Even to my own ears, my voice sounded deeper. She let out a slow, shaky breath and her gaze wandered to our suspended hands, then down my arm, tracing the tattoo that just barely crept onto my hand. Lightly tapping my arm with the tips of her fingers, she asked, “That’s Liem’s work? What does it mean?”
I rotated my arm so she could see the extent of the ink. “It is. It’s an oak tree growing from a Nón lá—a traditional Vietnamese conical hat. He drew it on one of his sketch pads, and when I saw it, I knew I wanted it.” The clouds converged between us and the sun again, but I kept my arm raised, enjoying the little cocoon I’d made for us. “Do I get to ask a question now?”
She straightened slightly in her chair and eyed me suspiciously.
I chuckled. “You don’t have to answer, but I’d like to ask.”
She tilted her head. “Okay.”
I dropped my hand and rested it casually on her knee, praying that it wasn’t a physical misstep or this question an emotional one. “Why Lady Luck?”
22
BREE
Some part of my brain had expected Vinh to ask if I wanted to “go steady,” which was both unhinged and nuts.
For one, we hadn’t even been on a date. Besides when I’d hung on to his arm from the casino to the bridge, his hand on my knee was the most contact we’d ever had.
For two, it wasn’t 1948. He wasn’t going to take me to Dawn’s and ask me to the sock hop.
But the more time I spent with him, the more I recognized that there was something so endearingly old school about him. And not just his looks, though those were classic too. If he ever slicked back his unruly hair and threw on a suit jacket, he would look like something straight off the silver screen. But even more than that, it was the way he opened doors for everyone and the care and patience he took with his family. It was also in the way he spoke and the exact language he used. Elegant, precise words delivered in that deep, melodic cadence.
I only briefly considered changing the subject, but when my gaze caught on the scars on his hand, I decided to try on a different kind of bravery. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”
“Whatever you wish to share, I’ll listen, Bree.”
I would’ve liked to bottle the feeling those words gave me and store them away for a rainy day.
“The short version is that it’s my legacy. For the long version… I think we need a change of scenery.”
He smiled. “Walk with me?”
I smiled back in agreement, feeling rejuvenated from my nap and the fresh air. He squeezed my knee lightly before we stood up at the same time, his towering frame blocking the sun and casting me in shadow. His eucalyptus-and-lemongrass scent was now accented with the earthy note of parsley, presumably from cooking breakfast, and was suddenly stronger as we stood inches apart. Still not quite ready to see Vinh in the full light of day, I ducked my head and followed him through the cabin and to the boat’s front door, accepting his hand to step onto the dock.
We fell into step beside each other, and I was able to find my footing more easily than my words. “I don’t know where to start, exactly, but I’ll try.”
“Take your time.”
He must have meant it, because we walked side by side in companionable silence for several minutes down the marina and through the gravel parking lot as I gathered the fragments of my thoughts.
“When I was eleven, my grandmother won seven million dollars on a slot machine.”
He raised his eyebrow in surprise. “So, when that girl at the diner asked if your grandmother was still rich….”
“It wasn’t without reason,” I finished his thought. “Even if it was beyond tacky.” I pulled a mask of reserved outrage over my face. “You mustn’t talk about money in a casino.”
He nodded sagely. “Obviously.”
I huffed a laugh as we reached the sidewalk and stepped onto it. I glanced in both directions, debating our next move. “Let’s go toward the beach.”
We started to walk away from Fortuna, and with a light hand on my shoulder, Vinh guided me to switch positions, which put him on the side nearest the road.
I didn’t bottle the feeling that gave me. It was too precious to be shelved.
“It was the same day that Grandmother became my guardian, and we moved here permanently.” I paused. “Well, more like the day I found out I was never going back home.”
Not giving him time to react, I continued. “My mom died when I was eight. An aneurysm.” I blew out a breath to the open sky and quietly sang, “Heaaavvyy,” and looked up at him. “Sorry, I’m getting there, eventually. I don’t think I’ve ever put this into words, so it’s gonna be messy.”
