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“My dad’s the one who’s right,” Mackey stressed, pointing at Royal. “He’s the one who told me.”
Nate drew in a deep breath, held it, then smiled tightly at Royal. “Yes. Your dad’s right, and I apologize for any offense I may have caused.”
Mackey, seemingly satisfied, nodded and patted Nate’s shoulder. A slow smile stretched broadly across Royal’s face.
Kit rubbed a hand over her face. Clearly, Royal counted that argument as score one for the Teagues in the generation-long battle of Hope Creek against the Suttons.
Beau was the first to break the awkward silence. “Why don’t we start the tour?” He motioned for Royal to proceed him. “Royal, would you and Viv like to lead the pack?”
Royal eyed Beau, a hint of suspicion in his eyes, but trudged past the gate and onto the driveway all the same. “Might as well,” he grumbled. “We came to look, so we might as well start looking.”
Mackey, oblivious to the tense undercurrents, grabbed Cal’s hand and tugged him along behind Viv and Royal, pointing first left, then right, then left again, asking questions faster than Cal could answer them.
“Well,” Kit said, lingering by the gate as the group ambled up the driveway, “I suppose we can call that a promising start.”
Beau grinned, the teasing gleam in his eye renewing the flutters of pleasure he’d inspired in her the night of the oyster roast. “I’d say any sort of start between a Sutton and a Teague is a good one.”
“I enjoyed our time on the water the other day,” Kit said. “Mackey’s been asking about seeing Cal again, so it was a godsend when Viv stopped by with her invitation.” She hesitated, her stomach sinking, as his grin faded. “And I have to admit, I looked forward to seeing you again. I wondered when I didn’t hear from you . . .” She shrugged, her cheeks burning. “Not that I expected you to call or anything.” Oh, Lord. She was rambling like a lovestruck teenager and making it worse. “I thought about stopping by a time or two, but I knew you were working and didn’t want to disturb y—”
He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and his fingertip lingered against her cheek. “I missed you, too, Kit.”
Her skin tingled, and she caught herself leaning into his touch, nuzzling her cheek against his palm, as her fingers curled around his wrist. Movement over Beau’s left shoulder caught her eye, and she glanced ahead, her eyes meeting Viv’s as she turned back and stared in Kit and Beau’s direction.
“I . . . think we’d better join the rest of the group,” Kit said, releasing his wrist slowly. “With our dads in each other’s company, we might have to head off another squabble.”
A flash of disappointment entered his expression, but he stepped back and touched the small of her back, inviting her to precede him.
The first leg of the tour started off well. After she and Beau joined the rest of the group on the dock, they all boarded one of Nate’s hybrid bay boats—a model much sportier than any Royal had ever owned—and rode out onto the creek. Yesterday’s overcast sky still lingered, and a brisk breeze shoved wispy clouds along and swept across Kit’s bare arms.
“Weather report this morning said storms are kicking up out in the Atlantic,” Nate said, tipping his face up from his seat at the helm. “Rain might hit in the next day or two. You can smell it in the air.”
Royal, standing by the casting deck, nodded, his gaze drifting in the direction of the sea, eyes narrowing. “Can feel it, too. My bones started aching today.”
Viv scoffed and leaned back in the passenger seat beside Nate. “Good grief, anyone listening to you two would think y’all were some ancient, world-weary seafarers. You’re not old—or decrepit—Dad.”
Royal glanced over his shoulder at Viv and frowned. “Most days, I certainly feel world-weary. Especially when I’m arguing with you.”
Nate’s head swiveled, moving from Royal to Viv, then back. Laughter burst from his lips. “Viv has a point, Royal. When I was half her age, I sat around listening to my dad spout the same lines on the water, and he wasn’t near as young as you. What number you hauling around these days?”
“Fif . . .”
Nate cupped a hand around his ear. “What’s that?”
“Fifty-six,” Royal shouted over the whir of the boat’s engine. “And I never said I was old, just weary.”
Nate grinned. “It’s kind of hard to tell what age you are on account of that beard. I’ve never seen you sport one before. Thought of growing one myself a time or two.” He rubbed his own smooth-shaven chin. “But that kind of style would only make me look older than I am.”
Royal’s lips twitched. “And how old’s that? I know you got some years on me.”
“Sixty-five,” Nate said proudly. “Ain’t nothing but a number, Royal.”
“Guess not.” Royal turned back to the water and watched the wake rippling behind the boat, then looked ahead. His expression fell as floating cages, bobbing along the creek in parallel lines, emerged into view. “But sometimes my number feels like it carries the weight of a lifetime.”
Breath catching, Kit stood from her seat beside Mackey on the casting deck and moved to Royal’s side. She slipped one of his hands between both of hers and looked up at him. He continued to stare at the cages.
Nate slowed the boat, then cut the engine. Silence fell, and Kit leaned against Royal; the metal cages made her gut churn.
“I’m sorry about Sylvie,” Nate said quietly. “She was a good woman, Royal.”
