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He laughs. “You most certainly were.”
I huff. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“For today, let’s put aside the whole client/architect thing, and just be two people who are here to enjoy a clambake.”
A pair of children zip past us in swimsuits, screeching to high hell about their uncle being too slow, as they race each other for the beach.
Beau adds, “A clambake with kids who have no manners.”
“Those are your niece and nephew, I presume?”
“Franny and Aiden. They are five. Or six, I can never keep track. Franny has been out to prove she is faster than Aiden, ever since she got her cast off.”
“Cast?”
He nods. “She had an accident, falling off a trampoline and landing on a rock. Tough kid. Her father had a hell of a time keeping her from reinjuring herself—she’s too boisterous to hold still for long, and now, she wants to get faster than her brother.”
I laugh. “Tale as old as time. Sibling rivalry.”
“You have siblings?”
“Uh—
“Hey, Beau. Have you seen Franny and Aiden?” A man asks as he walks up to us. He has to be Beau’s brother—there is no mistaking him for anyone else. Unlike Beckett, this one is polished and scruff-free, wearing a linen button down and khaki trousers.
“The beach. Mom is there, so they’re not unsupervised—"
“Thanks,” he says, jogging ahead of us.
“That rude man is Cormac, their father and my older brother.”
“He’s not rude. He’s worried about his kids. I take no offense.”
Beau rolls his eyes. “I told him our mother was there. He should have listened.”
“So, you’re the middle child, aren’t you? Accustomed to being ignored, but still annoyed by it all the same?”
He laughs. “No, actually. The youngest isn’t here, my sister, Maya. She’s on a round-the-world sailing trip with her fiancé.”
“Oh right. I forgot you have a sister, too. Wow! That sounds like quite an adventure.”
“She sends word now and then, and she’s loving every minute of it.”
“Lucky girl.”
He gives me a look. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”
“I’m not sure. The idea of sailing around the world is appealing, but only if I’m on an extensive yacht with staff to take care of my every whim. I have stayed in too many good resorts, and I am spoiled.”
He chuckles. “Same here. The life Maya lives is...unlike ours.”
“How do you mean?”
“She is more free-thinking, a bit of a hippy, in my opinion. She’s a public school teacher, or shewas, before she went sailing. No idea what she will do when she returns.”
The trees open up to a private beach, and it’s heavenly, minus the two screaming children in the waves being chased by Cormac with rolled up pant legs. There’s a gentle slope to the dune before it leads to the water. Long tables sit away from the waves, with a red and white checked tablecloth down the length of them. A wide strip of brown paper runs down its spine awaiting a seafood feast. Blue napkins and white plates set atop the tablecloth, off of the brown paper. Pitchers of lemonade sit scattered and coolers full of ice and beer are stowed next to the tables. Additional coolers are closed.
An older woman smiles as soon as she sees us, and her outfit makes me feel better about mine. Her chinos and white sweater over a white blouse say New England snooty, but her loose ponytail says she’s not wound all that tight. Another woman—younger—grins at us. She’s got a messy brunette bun and a very different look than the rest of the family. And weirdly familiar for some reason. We join them near the table, and the older one says, “You must be Elsie Braudel. I’m Hannah MacMillan. This is Lily Olson, our esteemed chef of the day, and Cormac’s girlfriend.”
