No one expected him to call Brian on the spot, and thankfully, everyone was distracted when Pixie showed them the silhouette she’d drawn of the kids looking out at Firefly Lake.
While Marlow and Pixie made plans for utilizing the design on new apparel, totes, and bags, Cort invited him down to the lake to fish for a few minutes. Andy wanted to go, too, and Brogan was happy to take him, so Pixie hurriedly applied moresunscreen, got him a hat, and put on his old sneakers. Brogan had to grin at the sight of him. “What? No sunglasses?”
“Oh, wait! Yes, he has some.” She darted off again and returned with a cute pair that had an attached strap to keep them in place.
“There you go,” Cort said. “You look the part.”
Marlow had insisted on holding Shayna and was currently talking nonsense to her, making silly faces, and trying to get her to grin.
He was still getting used to that, to having other people in Shayna’s life. Like creating a friendship with Dee and Gunther, it felt nice.
Cort got a golf cart out of Pixie’s attached storage space—like a miniature garage—and they slowly rode up to his house. Andy loved it, and Brogan appreciated the special seat that kept Andy safe and secure.
At Cort’s house, they got out fishing rods, including one for Andy.
Brogan asked, “Do you have a life vest for him?”
“What do you think?”
“It worries me after Benny got hurt.” He watched Cort get out a vest that was shaped like a fish fin. It took him a second to get Andy in it, because the kid was excited and really wanted to look at the rubber worms in his own little tackle box.
It struck Brogan that Cort and Marlow really were family for Andy. They treated him like a nephew. Before watching Cort with the little boy, that hadn’t truly sunk in.
“I might as well warn you,” Cort said, “Robin started a petition to get new safety rules set for all kids, whether on the dock at her restaurant or the public beach. We’ve never lost one of our own, and that accident with Benny was too close.”
“It’s a good idea.” Someone should have done it long before now, in Brogan’s opinion.
“She’s set on your heading it up.”
Brogan froze in the middle of examining the rod. He’d never fished before, so he hoped Cort didn’t expect him to know what he was doing. “What do you mean? Head up what?”
“Initially, a program on water safety. She wants you to teach it.”
“I’m not a lifeguard.”
“You’re a SEAL.”
“Right. I’m military. I don’t compete in swimming meets. I don’t even know traditional strokes.” He laughed at the idea. Every swimmer he’d ever seen was extra lean and hard—not bulky and covered in scars. “I’m trained for combat.”
“You’re trained to survive,” Cort said while fastening the many clips on Andy’s vest. “That’s good enough. Plus, you know safety and survival. Wouldn’t hurt to share a little of that knowledge.”
“I’m not a teacher.”
“I disagree. Every time I’m around you, I see you teaching something to Andy or Shayna. It comes naturally to you, and you do it in an easy way. That’s not a knack everyone has.”
At that very moment, Andy swung up his small rod, barely missing Brogan’s face. He said, “Whoa, hold up there, bud.” Kneeling down, he showed Andy how to hold the rod. “Keep it out in front of you, okay? You don’t want to smack me or your uncle Cort.”
Cort straightened with a smile. “Case in point.”
Bemused, Brogan came back to his feet. “I hope you’re a teacher as well, because I’ve never fished a day in my life.”
“No way.”
“First time I’ve ever held a fishing rod. No idea what I’m doing.”
“Will you be squeamish about putting bait on the hook?”
“Guess that depends on the bait.”
