Natalie stood there, her balance perfect on the gently rolling deck, holding a Cheerwine. “Who told you?”
“About?”
She pointed at the can. “My secret devotion to Cheerwine. I didn’t think it was public knowledge.”
He grinned. “I knew it.” She scowled. “Before you accuse me of stalking or something, it was the pelican sculpture. All the fish were made of Cheerwine cans.”
“You really have been watching that bird.”
He set his Coke into the nearest holder and took her hand, drawing her down to sit on his lap. “Guilty as charged. Can you blame me? I enjoy the artworkalmostas much as I enjoy the artist.”
Her cheeks went pink. “You keep saying stuff like that.”
“Because it’s true.” And he suspected that despite all her success, she needed to hear it. He kissed her, sinking into the sweetness and forgetting about Royer for a moment. “Why don’t we cruise a bit to find a good spot for our picnic?”
She smiled, her lips rosy. “Will you let me drive?”
“Fine by me. Is there a way to go all the way around Brookwell?”
One eyebrow arched. “Yes,” she replied, dragging out the word. “Islandis right there in the name.”
He felt his cheeks flame even as he chuckled. “Well, sure. But is the full circuit something people do?”
“Probably. Though I wouldn’t trust myself to navigate the marshes in a rental at dusk. I can get you a three-quarter view.” She pointed. “From here out to the bridge. We’d have an excellent view of Charleston for our picnic.”
“Works for me. Just call me your favorite passenger.”
She gave him a saucy smile and salute, taking her place in the cockpit. With an expert touch, she brought them up to a perfectly gentle cruising speed. It felt like a Sunday drive through back roads, but on open water.
Natalie chatted as she drove and he was able to keep up his end of the conversation while searching for any signs of an impromptu camp. Out here it was easy to see why the Hideaway property was so valuable. Theirs was the last stretch of golden sand before Brookwell turned a rugged shoulder to the ocean. There were places where a skilled captain could pull in, or where a kayaker could tuck away, but it would be hard going. As theycruised around, he noticed an industrial dock he’d forgotten all about since his initial survey.
“What’s that?” The place looked as if it had been abandoned decades ago.
“Old warehousing,” Nat replied. “A bit rough around the edges too. These days, the town council uses it for storage ahead of the summer music festival. There’s been talk about repurposing the area, but so far no firm agreements. When they commissioned me for the sculptures, they offered me the space, but I didn’t feel inspired or connected when I looked around.”
The music festival was still two months away, making it a logical place for Royer to hide. He sent a quick text to Jess. She’d probably already had someone check it out, but he wanted to confirm.
Natalie continued driving until she was satisfied with a perfect view of the harbor. The stunning Ravenel bridge glowed under the warm evening light, spanning the Cooper River from Charleston to Mount Pleasant. Sunlight danced across the water in all directions and several other boats were gliding through the harbor, taking advantage of the gorgeous weather and steady breeze.
“Wow. Trust the artist to find the best view. Thanks.” He used his phone to take more pictures, including a few of her against a backdrop of the city and more of just the two of them together, happy and close. This time with her mattered and he didn’t question the urge to document it. When life handed out a gift like Natalie, it was best to appreciate it.
Bringing the picnic supplies to the bow of the boat, they sat across from each other to tuck into sandwiches, chips, and the fresh fruit she’d packed.
“Have you ever walked the bridge?” he asked.
“Yes.” She bobbed her head. “Highly recommend. Great design and the views are spectacular.”
“Can’t be better than this,” he said, staring straight at her.
She shied away from his perusal. “There are folks who wouldn’t encourage you to stroke my ego.”
He mentally added that group to the long list of people he wanted to meet so he could put them in their place. “Did you always want to be an artist?”
“I think so.” She nibbled on a chip. “I was always creative, a little wild. When I realized there were exciting outlets for the ideas in my head, I jumped straight into the deep end.” She took a drink and then pinned him with a stern look. “What about you? If you could do anything, would it be security consulting?”
“I like the work,” he said. No, it wasn’t exactly his passion, but each day was a little different and that variety fueled him.
“Dare I point out, that doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement?”
