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Royal scoffed. “Yeah. I promise.”
Kit stifled a smile. She didn’t blame Mackey for pressing his point and securing a promise. Royal had hemmed and hawed regarding the visit ever since Viv had left Teague Cottage yesterday morning. At lunch, hours after Viv had left, he’d picked at his sandwich and pointed out the overcast sky, muttering something along the lines of it being difficult to tour anything in the rain. On his way to bed last night, he’d paused in the hallway outside the closed door to Kit and Viv’s bedroom as Kit had crawled into bed, and called through the door that he thought she might be tired after cleaning the guest bedroom all afternoon, and would she like him to postpone the tour? She’d declined the offer, of course, having been too anxious to see Beau again—though she’d refused to admit as much out loud.
And this morning Royal had broken his usual routine of sleeping late and had instead smoked a cigar on the front porch before the first light of dawn, blowing smoke and frowning in the direction of the Sutton house. But to Royal’s credit, he hadn’t attempted to back out again. He’d shifted gears and seemed resigned to simply remain silently disgruntled about the predicament in which he’d found himself.
“I see y’all made it right on time,” Beau said, striding up to the gate and sweeping it open.
Kit caught her breath, welcoming the sight of him. He looked well, if a bit tired. His tan had deepened, as though he’d spent the majority of the past several days on the water, and though he met her eyes, a pleased expression appearing on his face, his smile seemed distant.
“Viv said four.” Mackey hopped from one foot to the other, an impatient look on his face, as he stared at Beau. “It’s four. Can I?”
Beau’s brow furrowed. “Can you what?”
“Come in.” Mackey wrung his hands. “Kit said I had to wait ’til the host invited me in. You’re the host, ain’t you? Or Cal?”
Beau smiled wider. “Of course.” He swept his arm out in invitation. “Please come in, Mackey. It’s a pleasure to have you visit.”
Mackey sprang forward and embraced Beau, rocking him back on his heels. “Thank you.” He proceeded down the line, hugging Cal, Viv, and even Nate, who’d been a stranger to him up to this point. “I don’t know you,” he said, squeezing Nate’s waist, “but I thank you, too.”
Nate looked taken aback, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air, but he relaxed after a moment and, smiling, patted Mackey’s back. “You’re welcome. And I’m Nate, by the way. I’m Beau’s father.”
Mackey released Nate and thrust a finger in Royal’s direction. “That’s my dad over there. His name is Royal.”
Nate’s smile faded. “Yes. I know. We’ve met before.” He eased past Beau and held out his hand. “Royal?”
Kit tensed, watching Royal’s face for any hint of animosity or impending fireworks, but only a flicker of discomfort showed as he reached out and quickly shook Nate’s hand.
“I appreciate your showing us around,” Royal said reluctantly. His gaze moved past Nate to Viv, and his voice softening, he added, “And I thank you for taking care of my girl.”
Viv, standing beside Nate, blushed. “I take care of myself, Dad.”
He smiled slightly. “I know.” He lifted a hand toward Nate. “But Viv told us how much she enjoys being here, working on the . . . the farm? I guess that’s what you call it.”
Nate’s welcoming expression dimmed. “Yes. It’s an oyster farm.” His voice took on a mocking tone. “Though we refer to the business side of our operation as Pearl Tide Oyster Company.”
“Still,” Royal said, tilting his head, “it’s a bit strange having a farm of oysters, ain’t it? Seems wrong. Almost like a crime against nature.”
Nate tensed. “A crime? How you figure?”
Beau, glancing between the two men, placed his hand on Nate’s arm. “Let’s just start the tour, and we can discuss things on the w—”
“Cages? And artificial tumbling?” Royal smirked. “Just don’t seem right is all.”
“Dad,” Kit said quietly, slipping her hand around Royal’s elbow. “Please d—”
“There’s nothing artificial about it.” Nate, mouth tightening, lifted his arm and pointed toward the creek in the distance. “Our oysters eat, tumble, and thrive in the same waters you fish yours out of. When we crack ’em open, they’re bursting with the very same flavors of Hope Creek as those skinny wild ones you hack out of the mud.”
Royal laughed. “You mean you dump your oysters out of cages, then crack ’em open. And your tumbling is artificial. You think I ain’t seen none of them tumbling machines like what you got on that floating dock of yours? Y’all throw em down some ol’ metal chute, bang ’em around, and shape ’em all alike. There’s no nature in that shaping.”
“You’re right,” Nate snapped. “That’s ’cause our oysters are floating near the surface, where the food’s plentiful, and they don’t have to stretch and strain to find good eatin’. Our oysters are fat and happy, and fat, happy oysters make fat, happy people!”
Beau covered his eyes with one hand and groaned.
“You ain’t supposed to call people that word.” Mackey leveled a stern look at Nate. “That’s mean. My dad said everyone looks good in their own way, no matter how big or little they are, cuz that’s how God made ’em.”
“Mackey,” Viv whispered loudly, her cheeks blotching. “That’s not what he meant.” She turned to Nate. “I’m so sorry, Nate.”
Nate’s brow furrowed, and his shoulders visibly relaxed as he processed Mackey’s words. “No, I . . . uh, yeah, he’s right. You’re absolutely right there . . . Mackey. I shouldn’t have said that word.”
