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“Hell no, Lady. Only you, for shrimp and for crab.”
Aunt Lady curls her hair behind her ear again, even though it’s already tucked neatly away from her face. “I would make a joke about you giving me crabs—”
“Okay then.” I smile up at Tuck, who’s looking at me with his brow furrowed. “About those golf carts. I only had one that needed to be repaired.”
Tuck holds out two sets of keys. “We repaired one. The other’s brand new.”
“Brand new?” Lady blinks. “I didn’t buy a new cart.”
“Courtesy of Riley. He said you needed an upgrade? Something more reliable?” Tuck is still looking at me funny. “Good to see you again, by the way.”
My stomach dips. Does that mean Riley’s told Tuck I’m back?
And did Riley really just buy us a new freaking golf cart and have it delivered to our front door?
“Good to see you too. Do you work for Riley now, or . . .?”
“I do. But so do half the people on this island, so that’s nothin’ special.”
Joe’s paw of a hand lands on his son’s shoulder. “Tuck’s being modest. He’s Riley’s right-hand man—the guy he trusts with the most important stuff.”
A bark of disbelieving laughter escapes my lips. “Does Riley own every business on Bald Head?”
“Pretty much,” Tuck says with a shrug of those massive shoulders. “Anyway, y’all enjoy the new cart.” He holds out the keys again.
“I—we can’t accept this.” My heart pounds as I stare at the shiny silver key dangling from a foam keychain that reads DIXON CARTS & MORE: For All Your Pleasure Cruising Needs.
Freaking adorable.
And I am going to freaking kill Riley for doing it yet again—for being obscenely generous. For trying to “win me back”.
This is not the man I know.
I grab the keys. “I’m returning this. Right now.”
“Shop’s closed,” Joe says. “And even if it wasn’t, there’s no way Riley’ll take back the cart.”
I go up on my tiptoes so I can see the marina. Clouds are gathering overhead and it’s getting dark, but I can see Dolly’s windows lit up in her slip by the ferry dock.
Riley’s home.
“We really appreciate y’all stopping by,” Lady is saying. “Joe, next time you’ll have to come for dinner when we make your shrimp.”
“I’d be much obliged, Lady. Thank you.”
Tuck’s looking at me again. His brown eyes are kind but full, focused, like he’s trying to tell me something.
“Riley wants to do something nice for you,” he says at last. “Let him.”
There’s a tart reply on the tip of my tongue, but Tuck is ambling down the steps before I can utter a single word. Joe offers us a wave goodbye, his gaze lingering on my aunt for a beat too long before he and his son head down the street in the deepening darkness.
“What the ever-living fuck.” I whirl around and stalk back inside. “Where the hell are my shoes?”
“Everything all right, honey?” Mom calls from upstairs.
“Riley Dixon just bought her a golf cart!” Lady calls back.
I jam my feet into my Birkenstocks. “I’m returning it.”
“Well, now, wait a second—”
“The nerve of him, to think I can be bought.”
Lady blinks, clearly confused. “Okay, I feel like there’s something I don’t know here, so I’m going to back away slowly and let you do your thing.”
“I won’t be long. I’m just driving the cart to his boat and leaving it there.”
I hear footsteps running overhead. Mom. “Well, at least bring a plate of food with you! From what I hear, the poor man lives alone and could probably use a home-cooked meal.”
Aunt Lady rolls her eyes. “Because men clearly can’t take care of themselves without a woman’s help.”
“I am not bringing him food!” I toss up my hands. “Ugh, you’re getting this all wrong.”
But Mom is already down the steps, a plate covered with tinfoil in her hands. “Be kind, would you? Thank him for the lovely gesture, but say it’s completely unnecessary. The food will lessen the blow.”
“Mom, seriously, he doesn’t need food. Nor does he deserve it.”
She pats my cheek. “Perhaps. But a plate of your food is not to be wasted. I won’t let you leave without it.”
“Fine.” Rolling my eyes, I take the plate. “But I can’t promise I won’t throw it in his face.”
“Seems extreme for buying you a new golf cart,” Aunt Lady says.
“Y’all think you know Riley, but you don’t. I’ll be right back!”
I yank open the door and head for the garage, noticing the grey clouds gathering overhead. On the tiny driveway, I encounter a gleaming new golf cart painted in blue, my favorite color. It’s a big one, six seats, with all-terrain tires and butter-soft leather upholstery.
I toss the plate onto the passenger seat and climb in. “Seriously, fuck this guy for life.”
Of course the cart is a dream to drive. And of course it has a built-in radio, complete with satellite radio.
