Page 24 of Sincerely, Mr. Braden

“This is Eleanor Mitchell, T’s sister. Ellie, this is my good friend, Missick. He runs the conservation programs here and keeps an eye on my place while I’m away.”

“T’s sista? I don’t know how your brotha puts up with this guy.” Missick grins and offers his hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

I shake his large, calloused hand. “You, too, and for the record, Taylor can hold his own. How long have you known each other?”

They exchange a curious glance, like they’re trying to remember.

“You were no bigger than a fishin’ pole when we met,” Missick says.

“I was eight,” Seth clarifies, and glances at me. “That’s when I came with my family the first time. I met Missick when I was trying to free a turtle from a net—”

“And nearly lost a finger,” Missick cuts in. “He screamed like a baby. Still does, when the rum’s strong enough.”

They laugh, and I do, too.

“Seth Braden screaming like a baby? That’s something nobody would believe,” I say.

“Blackmail,” Missick says conspiratorially.

Seth groans, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Hey, I’m trying to impress her. Do you mind?”

Missick’s grin widens, his eyes sparking with mischief. “Maybe I should tell her about the broom handle.”

“The broom handle?” I arch a brow. “I’m going to need a little context for this one.”

Seth shakes his head. “Christ.”

“He tied a nail to the end of a broom handle, den strut around tellin’ everyone he was gonna catch enough fish to feed the whole island,” Missick says, waving his hands.

“I was ten,” Seth says, as if defending his honor.

“Ask ’im what he had in his back pocket,” Missick says.

I glance at Seth. “Care to share?”

“I had a fishing plan with tide times and the best angles for spearing fish,” Seth admits.

“And the number of fish he tought he could catch each hour and how much he could sell them for,” Missick adds.

“I was ambitious,” Seth says.

Stifling a laugh, I say, “That’s adorable.”

Seth flashes a victorious grin at Missick.

Missick shakes his head. “The adorable fool nearly skewered his own foot tryin’ to spear a snapper.” They share a laugh over what must be a treasured memory.

Seth’s hand finds mine, and he laces our fingers together as naturally as he did last night, and my heart skips. “What he’s not telling you is that I caught ten fish that day.”

“With a net, and threw ’em all back,” Missick explains.

“You couldn’t get the hang of the spear?” I ask.

Missick scoffs. “By day’s end he was using it as good as any fisherman. He’s as capable as a shark but guided by the heart of a dolphin.”

I look at Seth, knowing he’s anchored by so much more than ambition, and find him even more irresistible.

We stay and visit with Missick, talking long enough that I learn he’s the youngest of six and has never married. He tells me about his mother’s battle with breast cancer years ago, how Seth made sure she saw the best doctors and did everything he possibly could to save her. The disease claimed her too fast, but as Missick tells me about the loving woman who raised him, and Seth shares heartwarming stories from his visits, she feels very much alive.