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Royal blinked and refocused on her face, confusion in his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to get your business and my sister back. And the best way to do both,” Kit said, “is through Beau.”
CHAPTER5
Hope Creek Community Center had always been smaller than most. The aged structure, equipped with linoleum floors, wood paneling, and metal folding chairs, had a seating capacity of 110, but Monday night’s meeting hosted by Pearl Tide Oyster Company had packed the joint, leaving standing room only.
“I can’t believe you invited Kit.”
Beau handed pamphlets to three stragglers, thanked them for coming, then glanced at Viv. She stood on the other side of the entrance, opposite him, pamphlets clutched tightly in one hand and an agitated expression on her face.
“Relax,” he said quietly. “It’s not that big a deal, and besides”—he motioned over his shoulder at the packed crowd—“unless I overlooked her, she hasn’t shown.”
Which, if he were being honest, disappointed him more than he’d expected.
It’d been one week and two days (not that he was counting) since Kit had returned to Hope Creek, and each time he’d passed Teague Cottage on his way to deliver bushels of oysters to restaurants or run errands, he’d hoped—fruitlessly—to stumble upon her again. Maybe enjoy another quiet exchange with those soulful eyes of hers on him.
But it hadn’t happened. Instead, each time he’d passed, the yard had been empty and something had changed. The first time, it’d been the front lawn. The weeds that choked the old mailbox had vanished, and the sea of grass had been hacked back down to a respectable height and sported the fresh, clean lines left behind by a mower.
The second change had been the railing on the front porch steps. It no longer leaned to one side or dangled precariously on the edge of the steps. Someone had applied a fresh coat of paint and bolted it down. The third change had been the application of classy bronze street numbers to the new mailbox he’d installed, providing an elegant contrast to its midnight tone. And lastly—and most notably for Beau—someone had parked a muddy sedan with a North Carolina tag in the driveway, behind Royal’s rusty truck.
Beau smiled. He hadn’t gotten an answer from Kit regarding how long she planned to stay on the island, but having her car ferried over to Hope Creek was a promising sign that she planned to stick around for a while. So was the sight of her boating past his dock every morning for the past week, with Royal and Mackey at her side. Something that had set Viv’s teeth—and temper—on edge.
“If she were here.” Viv’s eyes were on him, narrowed and pensive.
“I’m sorry. What’d you say?”
“I said”—a slight bite entered her tone as she leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms—“if Kit were here, you’d know it. She might be quiet and shy, but she’s no pushover, and it’d be a mistake to underestimate her.”
Beau leaned in. Was that . . . admiration in her eyes? A hint of a grin curving her lips?
“She’d have planted herself at the front of the room,” Viv continued, “by the mic, prepared to verbally drag us both in front of everyone and their brother.”
Beau shook his head. “I doubt that.” Leaning closer, he lowered his voice. “And it would’ve been a mistake not to invite her. Royal has been—and still is—the most vocal opponent to our expansion.” He glanced around, surprised the older man hadn’t shown up himself tonight. But with the recent loss of Sylvie, he could understand the other man’s absence. “Kit grew up on that creek just like you did, and for all we know, she might be inclined to hear us out. It’s in our best interest to engage her in the discussion. If she’s able to see the benefits in what we’re doing, she may be able to sway your dad.”
“Unlike me, you mean?” Viv grew quiet as she straightened and picked at the edge of a pamphlet.
“No.” Wincing, he touched her arm. “I didn’t mean that at all.”
“It’s true.” She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. “Dad always listened to her—never me. Kit’s his quiet, mild-mannered, successful daughter, whereas I’m the crass, loudmouthed heathen who’ll never amount to anything.”
He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Viv, we’ve all got rough edges, and a person would be hard pressed to find someone with as big a heart or as bright a mind as yours.”
“Tell that to my dad.” She straightened and slapped the pamphlets against her thigh. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. All three of us went our own way years ago, and what I do now is none of their business.” She smiled, reached over, and placed her hand on his. “Whatwedo is none of their business, and I swear I won’t let you down.”
“I know.” He slid his hand away, his chest tightening, as her smile slipped. “After tonight, Pearl Tide Oyster Company will be well on its way to expansion. And I never would’ve gotten it off the ground without your guidance . . . and friendship.”
Her mouth firmed, and she looked out at the empty walkway leading to the community center’s entrance. “Looks like we’ve got all the folks we’re gonna have.” Her smile returned—dim but sincere—a welcome change from the sadness that had clung to her over the past week. She shut one of the wide double doors, then proceeded to close the other. “Let’s get this party started.”
* * *
Kit was late—just as she had been all day. She stood outside the Hope Creek Community Center, her hand on the doorknob, and listened to the low, muted tones of someone speaking inside. She glanced over her shoulder at the dirt road behind her, which was growing increasingly dark as twilight set in, and wished for the thousandth time that Royal had joined her.
He’d refused, of course, having chosen instead to ease back in one of the two recliners in the living room—Mackey had taken up residence in the other—with a beer in one hand and a plate of fresh oysters on the half shell in the other.
“I’ve done all the arguing with Viv that I’m gonna do,” he’d said before turning on the TV and dismissing Kit.
She hadn’t been completely disappointed. How could she when Royal had boarded the boat almost every morning over the past week to harvest wild oysters, had helped her and Mackey manicure the front lawn, and had offered a begrudging commentary of “It’s all right, I guess,” as he’d passed the new mailbox on the mower?
