“How’s the puppy?” Emily asked.
“Busy,” he said with a grin. “So far, no one’s claimed him, but I know a lot of people are without power. I hope Winston doesn’t get too attached.”
“And you never found the mother or any other puppies?”
He shook his head. “I spent a good few hours today searching the property to be sure, but there was no trace. I wonder if he got scared by the storm and ran off.”
“No collar?” Sienna chimed in.
“Nope. I checked for that too. There was nothing by the fence or anywhere in the yard.” He adjusted the large grate on top of the fire pit. “We’re gonna bake the bread on this while the fire’s low. The embers will provide steady, even heat so we don’t burn it.”
He set a cast-iron skillet on the surface of the grate. Then he reached into his bag and took out a bottle of olive oil, pouring in a thin layer on the cooking surface. With the beach behind him and his T-shirt rippling in the wind, Patrick looked completely different from the man she’d first met. He took the bowl from beside Emily, his spicy scent mixing with the briny air, and added the dough to the makeshift grill. Emily, Sienna, and Blair looked on, silently enthralled.
“I’ve never seen anyone cook an actual meal on an open fire before,” Sienna said. “It’s like you’re some sort of culinary caveman. Very rugged.”
The corner of Patrick’s mouth turned upward, but he didn’t reply.
The dough sizzled. Patrick opened a container of seafood skewers, loaded with a mix of shrimp, scallops, chunks of salmon, bell peppers, red onion, pineapple, and cherry tomatoes, then set them on the side of the grate. Before grilling them, he brushed the metal with more oil and then positioned each one in a neat line above the heat.
Emily peered into the cooler. “What are those?” she asked, pointing to two juice containers of white, icy liquid.
He finally allowed a wise smile and her stomach squeezed.
“The appetizers.” He dug around in the bag and pulled out four cups, filling them with ice, handing one to each of them, and setting his on the sand near where he was working. He flipped the skewers and then took the bottles from the cooler. “Piña coladas,” he said, shaking the bottles. “I’ve got alcoholic and non-alcoholic—pick your preference.” He popped the lid off the first bottle. “Who’s up for rum?”
Emily raised her cup. He poured the icy-cold concoction into it. Then he topped it with a pineapple wedge and a curly straw.
As he fixed the other drinks, Emily took a swig of the sweet cocktail. When the drink touched her lips, the rich sweetness of coconut cream glided across her tongue, followed by the bright, tangy sharpness of pineapple juice and a soft, warming finish of rum. It was cold enough to send a pleasant chill through her body, yet the alcohol and the summer heat brought a gentle warmth that balanced the temperature.
With each sip, Emily’s shoulders relaxed, her thoughts slowed, and a sense of ease began to settle in. The savory aroma of seafood and coastal salt, the combination warm and smoky, was a smell she’d relate to summer by the Gulf from this point on. It was irresistible and unmistakable, and it gave her a dreamy sense of calm. Under the tinkling sounds of steel drums coming from the radio and the shush of the water, the world felt far away.
The only thing that brought her halfway into reality was Blair, who’d begun taking photos of the food, the waves, and her drink in the sand. They hadn’t actually posted anything yet, but it was clear she was planning to, and the color that had filled her cheeks because of it was more than just the glow of the sun.
“This is delicious,” Sienna said after taking a drink from her cup.
Patrick acknowledged her comment with a nod, then flipped the flatbread and continued working in his usual silence.
While Blair got up and moseyed down the beach to get a few more shots, Sienna sunned her face, wriggling her toes in the sand. Emily turned toward the turquoise Gulf, its waves still struggling for tranquility after the storm. The tide bubbled rhythmically at the shore. The rum and the sound made her eyelids heavy. She dragged her bare feet through the cool sand. In the quiet, her thoughts drifted, unwelcome and persistent, to Will—his sudden change in personality, the hollow explanations, the glint of guilt that hadn’t quite matched the ease with which he’d left. For Lanie.
Wait. She thought she remembered her. An electric shock pinged through her limbs. She’d gone to the gym with him once for a trial membership, and the woman who’d helped her was named Lanie. Had that been her? The woman at the gym with the sculpted arms and manufactured laughter?
Emily clenched her drink tightly as the wind picked up, blowing sand onto her skin. She tried to sweep it off but was unsuccessful, just like a memory she couldn’t erase.
She hated that buried part of her that still missed him, but hated more the small voice that asked if he came back, if he said it was a mistake, could she forgive him? She took another icy drink, fixated on the surf. The sea gave no answers, only the pull of the tide, coming and going like her resolve.
Patrick called Blair over, breaking Emily from her thoughts. He got out a bowl of crisp salad, plated their dinner, and handed each of them a serving.
“I got some good shots,” Blair said, picking up the skewer with her dainty fingers.
Emily grinned at Blair.
“That’s great,” Sienna said.
Patrick quietly nibbled his skewer across from them.
“What are Julia and Winston doing tonight?” Emily asked.
“Taking care of the puppy,” he said. “They’ve named him Stormy, even though I warned them not to. He might have a different name.”
