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“More like your scandal.”
“I can date and focus.”
“Since when?”
“Harley and I have an agreement.”
“That can’t end well. What about Brando? He will tear you limb from limb, then throw you to the gators if you hurt her.”
“I won’t.”
“Famous last words.” Royal grunts.
I catch up to Harley as she exits into the chilly night with an onshore breeze. She shivers.
“Thanks for dinner,” she says.
“You can thank Royal.”
“Did you just dine and dash or did I unknowingly go on a date with your brother? He’s a married man. We need to get a few things straight, Hot Shot. This is a two-player game. Do I need to spell that out?”
“From the looks of things on your phone, you have quite a few photos of guys.”
“Of Luke?” She goes strangely quiet. “Of a baby?”
I nudge her slightly. “I was teasing.” Taking a risk and lacing my arm across her shoulder, I say, “Nope, Nugget. It’s just you and me.”
Harley must be cold because she doesn’t shrug me off.
Without thinking or necessarily meaning to, we follow the path to the beach. The moon is bright tonight and makes the white sand glow. We plop down on the beach and chat for a few moments about dinner, the resort, and the will. It’s natural, normal.
I draw a grid in the sand and place anXin the center. Harley looks at me in question then makes anOin one of the boxes.
All the while, we talk about my grandfather’s legacy.
“So, you think he left you guys a treasure hunt?”
“Seems so. He was always sending us on quests and adventures. According to family legend, our great-great-great—not sure how many to go back—grandmother got involved in piracy. Magnus recently said she was called the Devil’s Charm and captained a ship called the Crimson Tide.”
“For real?”
I shrug. “Legend and lore. Chip believed it. CJ thinks so. I think Royal and Magnus are on board too.”
“What about you?”
“I got a journal and a pen?—”
“With a plume.”
I’m surprised she remembered that detail. “The Sloop—an icecream shop that’s seen better days and a cryptic message: When inside is out, what do you do?”
“So maybe it’s less about what you think and more about what you do.”
I shrug, landing anotherXin the tic-tac-toe box. Harley wins the first round and does a seated happy dance.
“Rematch,” I say, drawing another grid.
We start the game over.
