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Beau could think of at least three things off the top of his head that he’d rather do with his time than referee a shouting match between Nate and Royal: kissing Kit, for one. He swigged the last of the iced water from the glass he held and looked out the glass patio doors on the back side of his house.
Night had fallen, and the moon, almost full, shone bright, glowing down on the two men below. Nate stood on one side of the patio, poised in front of a row of pots, each positioned over a propane burner, and dumped a bucket of farmed oysters into an insert basket. He turned his head and said something to Cal, who stood by his side with a bucket in his hands. Cal shook his head and handed over the bucket, then smiled as Nate dumped the oysters out into a second insert basket.
Royal, stationed on the opposite side of the patio, threw another set of logs onto a makeshift firepit, spraying hot embers and ash into the spring night air. He grabbed a large piece of sheet metal, slid it over the fire, then motioned to Mackey, who dunked a large section of burlap into a bucket of water. Royal dumped a bucket of farmed oysters onto the sheet metal, spread them out with a shovel, then took the burlap from Mackey and spread it over the oysters.
Seemingly satisfied, Royal propped his hands on his hips and shouted something in Nate’s direction. Nate dropped one of the insert baskets filled with oysters into a pot, stabbed a finger in Royal’s direction, and shouted back.
“What are they fussing about now?”
Beau turned away from the patio doors, looked at Viv, and shook his head. “Who knows? They’ve been going at it so long, I had to come in here just to get my sanity back.”
Viv, standing on one side of the kitchen island, pouring water from a pitcher into glasses, smirked. “No telling what kind of smoke Dad’s blowing at Nate. That resentment of his has been building for at least a decade.”
Kit, standing on the opposite side of the island, sliced a lemon with more force than necessary. “Can you blame him? He’s lost thousands of dollars of business to Nate, you, and Beau just over the past few months.” She glanced over her shoulder at Beau and smiled, her cheeks turning a pretty pink. “Sorry. No offense.”
Beau tipped his empty glass at her. “None taken.”
And he had to admit, it was true. The day he’d spent with Kit on the creek, sloshing through pluff mud, prying wild oysters free of their beds for hours, his muscles aching and wind gusting in cool bursts over his sweaty skin as they’d boated back to Teague Cottage . . . Well, he’d grown to appreciate the traditional harvesting method. Though, he also had to admit, the same traditional method was unsustainable, and change unavoidable.
Pearl Tide Oyster Company, however much disdain Royal might hold for it, served a beneficial purpose not only to the economy but to the environment, as well.
“Either way,” Beau said, grinning, “no one’s going hungry tonight, that’s for sure.”
Viv laughed. “Lord knows, that’s the truth. There are enough oysters out there to stuff the bellies of at least thirty people.” She finished filling one glass with water, set it aside, and started filling the next. “I put the hot sauce on the patio earlier. It’s on the table, by Nate’s station.” She smiled. “It’s the spicy one, not the sweet one. That homemade stuff they sell at Vernon’s bar that you like so much.”
“Thanks.” Beau rubbed his stomach, laughing, as it growled at the mention of a fresh, spicy feast of oysters. “No matter how much they fight, it’ll be worth it when we get to dig in.”
“And it’s a perfect night for it.” Viv finished filling the last glass and held up the pitcher. “Want some more?”
“Sure.” He walked to the island and handed his glass to Viv, then glanced at Kit. Her cheeks flushed deeper under his scrutiny, and her fingers fumbled over the knife as she sliced another lemon. “Careful,” he said, stilling her hand with his. “You’ll cut yourself.”
Kit glanced up and smiled, her thumb lifting and brushing his oh so slightly. Just her warm touch and smile were almost enough to bring him to his knees. “Here.” She lifted a slice of lemon. “For your water?”
“He doesn’t like lemon.” Viv thrust a glass between them, sloshing water onto both their wrists.
Beau stilled.
Kit and Viv grew silent and eyed each other from opposite sides of the island, remaining motionless. Neither of them had said very much to each other during the tour. The closest Viv had come to addressing Kit directly had been when they’d entered the kitchen an hour earlier and set about making side salads and gathering condiments for the oysters. Kit had asked where the knives were, and Viv, a retort in her eyes, had tightened her lips, then said sharply, “In the drawer. Behind my back.”
“I don’t really need your help in here, you know?” Viv said now, still staring at Kit. “I know the kitchen, and it takes a lot less time to get things done when I don’t have to point out where everything is.”
“I know you don’t need me, and I don’t mean to make things difficult for you,” Kit returned quietly. “But I’m happy to help if it allows me to spend some time with you.”
A muscle in Viv’s jaw ticked.
“Viv.” Beau narrowed his eyes when she glanced at him. “Thank you for the water,” he said, a warning in his tone. He removed the glass from her hand then turned and smiled at Kit. “And I think I will try some lemon, please.” As he removed the slice of lemon from her hand, his fingers lingered on the back of hers for a moment, and then he dropped the lemon in his glass of water. “Thank you.”
She smiled hesitantly. “You’re welcome.”
Both women returned to their tasks, casting glances at Beau, then each other. Beau backed away slowly and headed for the patio doors, grateful—for once—that Royal’s and Nate’s voices had risen to shouting levels again outside.
“I think I’m needed outside.” Smile tight, he opened one patio door and slipped out, then breathed deeply when cool night air hit his face.
But the relief was short-lived.
“And where the devil have you been?” Royal shouted, striding away from the fire and waving a shovel in the air.
