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A small sound escaped Royal, and he hung his head, one long arm lifting, winding around Kit’s shoulders, and tugging her tight against his side. “Beautiful too. She was the most gorgeous woman that ever walked this earth. Inside and out. No matter what her troubles were.” He lifted his head and cut his eyes Viv’s way, his chin jutting out. “And she loved our kids. Every single one of ’em, with all her heart.”
Viv held Royal’s stare, her eyes glistening. She looked down and twisted her hands in her lap.
Her own eyes welling, Kit pressed her cheek to Royal’s chest and closed her eyes, the heavy beat of his heart against her skin easing the pain inside her. It had always been a sore spot with Viv that they’d been unexpected. That she and Kit had been—as she’d always seen it—a mistake, their conception merely a mishap of one careless night when neither Sylvie nor Royal were fully grown, much less capable of being stable parents.
It hadn’t helped matters that the twins had carried the weight of Sylvie and Royal’s mistake, as well as those of grandparents they’d never known, every time they fielded rumors, innuendos, and thinly veiled insults while they were growing up on the island. Hope Creek was small, mouths were big, and juicy gossip traveled fast. And for most people on the island, there had been nothing juicier than Teague family troubles revolving around unexpected teen pregnancies, Sylvie’s increasingly odd behavior, and Royal’s failure to lift them all to solid ground.
Kit opened her eyes and straightened, glancing at Viv, who still stared down at her hands. She couldn’t blame Viv for being resentful. The gossip and assumptions that had swirled around them on the island for years had tarnished their reputations before they’d had a chance to establish identities of their own. Which, Kit thought, surreptitiously wiping her eyes, might very well have been part of what drove Viv away from home and drew her to the Suttons instead.
“I apologize if I upset you,” Nate said, reaching over and covering Viv’s hands with his own. “We can always turn around, Royal. You just say the word, and we’ll head back.”
Royal glanced at Viv, then looked down at Kit, studying her eyes and expression, and tipped her chin up gently with one knuckle. “No,” he said softly. “Ain’t no need to go back. Only thing to do now is keep moving forward.”
* * *
Beau dumped a mesh bag out onto the wooden culling table housed on a dock near the floating oyster cages. “And this is where we cull ’em.”
Royal rounded the table to stand opposite Beau and eyed the pile of oysters on the table. He sifted through a few, flipping a couple over with one finger, then glanced at Beau. “How often you dump ’em out?”
“Every three or four months we go through each cage and separate the market-sized ones from the babies.” He pointed at a stack of buckets sitting at the other end of the table. “Mature ones with deep cups go in the bucket. Then we store them in climate-controlled packaging and deliver ’em out to Hope Creek Resort and local restaurants. The biggest deep cups go to Vernon’s Raw Oyster Bar—he sells them almost faster than we can deliver them. We pull the cages out regularly and send the oysters through the tumbler to grade and shape them—give ’em a little workout, so to speak—then bag them back up and drop them back in the water to mature.”
Mackey, standing beside Royal, grabbed a small oyster, held it up against the sun, which sat low on the horizon, and turned the shell one way, then the other, his smile growing. “The baby,” he said. “What you do with it?”
Beau smiled, the excited gleam in Mackey’s eye reminding him of the first time he’d culled one of the cages. “Those go back in the cage, then back in the water.”
Nate leaned his hands on the table. “They’ll float in the creek for a few more months, eating good, getting nice and fa—” He bit his lip, his cheeks flushing. “Getting nice and healthy. Then we’ll pull ’em out and check ’em again. If they’ve matured enough, we pack ’em up and off they go.”
“Off they go,” Mackey repeated with a whoop, smiling wider.
Beau laughed softly and glanced at Kit. She stood at the other end of the dock with Cal, talking as she pointed at a bend in the creek several feet away, probably describing another plentiful wild oyster bed he’d overlooked on his daily ventures down Hope Creek.
Cal said something, and Kit laughed, her head tilting back, the steady breeze blowing her long brown hair over her shoulders. Despite the initial tension between Royal and Nate, she seemed to be enjoying the afternoon tour and had asked almost as many questions as Royal, then had listened intently to Beau’s and Viv’s answers.
Beau glanced at Viv, who stood by his side, explaining a step in the farming process to Royal. She spoke confidently but kept glancing at him, then over her shoulder at Kit, an intense look in her eyes.
He dragged a hand over the back of his neck and stifled a sigh, regretting, for the millionth time, the scene that had transpired between him and Viv. Though he’d spoken the truth regarding their current relationship and the potential for a romantic relationship—or rather, thelackof potential—being honest with Viv about this had left him feeling like the worst kind of friend. Not only had he struggled to find a way to reject her gently—a feat he didn’t think was actually possible—but he’d also found himself avoiding any direct discussion with Viv regarding his feelings for Kit.
Beau glanced back at Kit, and his heart tripped as her dark eyes met his. His feelings . . . What exactly did he feel for Kit? Attraction, for sure. Though short-lived and embarrassingly interrupted, that kiss had stayed on his mind almost constantly over the past several days.
I looked forward to seeing you again.
He smiled at the memory of her words earlier this afternoon, wishing he were at liberty to stride over, gather her close, cover her mouth with his, and enjoy her sweet taste again. She had no idea how much he’d longed to call or stop by, but the situation had become . . . complicated.
Beau bit his lip and turned back to Viv. The hint of pain and accusation in her eyes made him feel like a bigger heel than he already did.Complicated. . . to say the least.
“Don’t grow them ourselves. Right, Beau?”
He started and glanced around. His neck heated when he noticed Royal’s narrowed eyes on him. “I’m sorry.” He turned back to Viv. “What were you saying?”
She pressed her lips tightly, then together said, “My dad asked if we grow the seed ourselves. I told him we buy our seed from hatcheries.”
Beau nodded. “Local hatcheries. From Tidewater Farm on Lady’s Island, actually. When we first get them, they’re around five to six millimeters long.”
“And how much time does it take to get from that to market size?” Royal asked.
“For the fastest growers,” Beau said, “eleven months on average.”
Royal’s brows rose. “Eleven months?” He looked pensive. “Takes about three years in the wild,” he muttered.
