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She smiled, just enough for the quarter-inch scar on her cheek, beside her mouth, to dimple. “Wish I could say the same for you. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It was no more than I deserved, doing this without your or Royal’s permission. I’m just lucky you caught me, instead of Royal.”
Her smile dimmed. “No chance of that. I’ve discovered that he sleeps a lot nowadays.”
He ran his tongue over the throb in his lower lip. “How long have you been out here?”
“Since you arrived.” Kit gestured toward a line of oak trees on one side of the house. “There’s a spot over there with a clear view of the stars. Best spot on the island for quiet contemplation.” She glanced at the rotten post he’d discarded a few feet away, her grin returning. “Least it was, until you showed up and started wrestling with that pole. But you were putting on too entertaining a show for me to interrupt and interrogate.”
He dragged a hand over his stubbled jaw and laughed, despite the burn in his cheeks. “No doubt. Though in my defense, it’s been an exhausting day, so I wasn’t at my best.” He winced. “I’m sorry for intruding tonight, and this morning. Sylvie’s funeral was private, and I shouldn’t have been there, but Viv asked me to come.”
“How is Viv?”
He hesitated. “Not well. This morning was as rough for her as I’m sure it was for you.”
Kit sat back on her haunches, picked up the flashlight, and cast the beam over the new mailbox and post. “Did she ask you to do this?”
“No, but the sight of the old one upset her this morning.” He picked up a lag screw he’d dropped and turned it over in his palm. “I got the new one at Skeeter’s. It’s plastic and rustproof. Should last quite a while. But I can put the old one back up if you want me t—”
“No.” She bit her lip and frowned. “I mean, please don’t. It’s nice of you to do this.” She glanced at the graffitied mailbox lying in the dirt and her voice softened as she said, “Even nicer to be rid of that one—though I expect you to tell me what it cost, so I can repay you.”
“I didn’t do this for m—”
“I know. You did it for Viv.” She studied him, her expression neutral. “Are you . . . are you two dating?”
He held up a hand. “No. Never have. We’re friends—that’s all.” The firm tone of his voice surprised him. He cleared his throat and looked away. “After Evelyn passed, I moved back here for a fresh start. Cal and I both were having a hard time, and Viv helped us through it.”
“How . . . if you don’t mind my asking, how did you lose Evelyn?”
“Breast cancer.” He rubbed his hands over his jeans. “She fought hard for a long time, but her body just wore out.” A question formed in her eyes. One he thought he recognized and had contemplated in the past. “I don’t think it’s any easier either way.”
Her brows rose.
“Knowing whether or not it’s coming,” he clarified.
Silence fell between them for a moment, and he reached into his back pocket and withdrew the sympathy card he’d failed to deliver earlier that morning.
“Here,” he said, nudging it toward her with an awkward hand. “I never know what to say . . .”
She set the flashlight on the ground and took the card. Smoothed her hand over her name, which he’d scrawled across the front of the envelope hours earlier. “Thank you.” Her head dipped farther down, and she brushed one hand quickly across her cheek. “You and Evelyn were so happy the day you left. Of all the places you could’ve started over, why’d you choose to come back here?” She raised her head, and a polite mask was firmly back in place. “Was it because of your dad?”
He nodded. “And yours.”
“Mine?” Her head tilted as she asked, “Because of my dad?”
He smiled. “Yeah. I remember the first day I spoke to him—and you. I don’t remember how old we were, but we were definitely young. You were still sporting a braid, and my mom had just taken off.” His mouth twisted. “I was angry back then. Sat on our dock for hours on end. Saw you and your dad floating by on that boat every day. I was so jealous I could barely see straight.”
She looked skeptical. “Jealous of us?”
“Jealous of how happy y’all were. How carefree. You were always smiling back then.” The sad gleam in her eyes made him ache. He leaned closer. “That day I was sitting on our dock and you came prancing up yours right back there”—he pointed toward the back of Teague Cottage—“lugging a bucket almost bigger than you. It was filled to the brim with oysters. I kept thinking, How in the world did she pull all those jokers out of that creek?” Beau smiled at the memory. “And your dad had his own big bucket. He strolled off that boat, strong and tall, smiling at you like he owned every treasure in the world. I’ve never forgotten that. It’s part of what brought me back and led us to start the oyster farm.”
“Led you to steal his business, you mean?” The gentle note in her voice had changed. Grown harder. “His daughter, too?”
“No. I wanted Cal to have that. I wanted to take him out on that creek like your dad did you and bring him back with that same kind of joy.” He studied her face, and the hint of distrust in her expression sent a pang of loss through him. “It inspired me to do our part to protect the oyster population in Hope Creek. To use a sustainable method of harvesting them, and boost tourism to improve the economy. I never set out to do Royal any harm. Otherwise Viv would never have taken part in it.”
“Forgive me, but that’s a little hard to believe. And I’m not as easily persuaded as Viv.”
He sighed. “Then I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
