Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
“You have to say hi to Mare?” Katie asks.
Joe turns his smile on me. “Yes. I’m looking forward to becoming good friends with her.”
“She’s my friend too! We play all the time.”
My palms are damp as I run them down the front of my dark jeans and walk across the kitchen. We met briefly the morning of the wedding when I helped set up, but I wasn’t pregnant with his son’s baby then. I’m not sure what to do. Another handshake maybe? I hold out my hand. “Mr. Monroe, it’s so good to see—”
“Please, call me Joe. And Maren, I’d like to give you a hug if you don’t mind.”
I smile, my shoulders falling back from my ears half an inch. “I don’t mind at all.”
Going up on my tiptoes, I let him wrap me in his arms. I wonder vaguely if Joe had Tuck when he was, like, seventeen, because the man is still in incredible shape.
“It’s nice to see you again.” Then he leans in to whisper, “Congratulations.”
My eyes prickle with tears. Knowing that Joe is aware of our whole surprise pregnancy situation has made me incredibly nervous to see him. The optics aren’t great, and even though Tuck assured me his dad was excited for us, part of me worried Joe would assume I was a reckless idiot, or, worse, that I was trying to trap his son.
Point being, I get why Joe would have reservations about me and my relationship with Tuck. I thought he’d be polite, maybe a little stand-offish.
Instead, he’s the first person to congratulate me. Us.
The first person to genuinely welcome our news as good news.
The relief I feel is dizzying. Or maybe it’s excitement that knocks me off balance. I haven’t really allowed myself to be excited about the baby. It was all so unexpected. And then the way Tuck reacted to the news . . . yeah, I didn’t feel like we had reason to celebrate.
But we do. And we should. And that feels nice.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I really, really appreciate that.”
We hang out in the kitchen and chat for ten minutes or so while Katie runs circles around us. Joe raised Tuck over in South Port, but now he lives on the island too so he can be closer to Tuck and Katie. He’s technically retired, but he still sells what he catches on his “joyrides” at a little stand here on the island a few times a week.
He asks about me. Where I’m from, school, my family. We only stop talking when the doorbell rings.
Joe gives Tuck a sheepish smile. “I hope y’all don’t mind, but I invited a special friend over to keep Katie and me company.”
“A special friend?” I grin. “That sounds fun.”
Tuck runs to answer the door. He reappears with a fifty-something woman in tow, a basket in one of her hands and a bottle of wine in the other.
“Hey, y’all!” She smiles, her halo of frizzy grey hair trembling as she gives us all hugs. “I’m Lady Gibbes. Thanks for letting me crash the party. Joe and I, well, I’ll be honest, we haven’t been able to”—she glances at Katie—“er, eat all day, and now it’s all I can think about. So after we put the little one down, I thought we’d, well, go to town!” She holds up the wine.
Joe gets a sparkle in his eye. “You been thinkin’ about eating, huh?”
“You have me thinking about it day and night, Joe.” She gives him a dreamy smile as she leans in for a peck on the lips. “I’m addicted to the deliciousness.”
“You’re the most delicious meal I’ve ever had,” Joe says.
Tuck flushes scarlet. He clears his throat. “All right, y’all, we have a sunset to catch. If y’all are gonna eat, just . . . don’t do it on my bed, okay?”
Katie screws up her face. “Why would they eat on your bed, Daddy?”
“You got it,” Joe says swiftly. “We’ll use the guest room.”
Lady sets her basket on the counter. “Is there a Jacuzzi on the premises by chance?”
I’m shaking with the effort not to laugh.
“No,” Tuck says. “No Jacuzzi.”
“What’s a cuzzie?” Katie pipes in.
“Something you’re never, ever allowed in,” Tuck replies. “Speaking of Jacuzzis, let’s not eat in public, all right, Dad? Like on the deck or, uh, whatever. Last thing I need is for one of y’all to be arrested for indecency.”
Lady sucks in her teeth. “There goes that idea.”
“Don’t worry, I got others,” Joe replies.
“I love y’all,” I say.
Lady waves her fingers at me. “Hope the two of you get to indulge in some public indecency of your own. Don’t rush home!”
Fifteen minutes later, I stare at the stunning boat that bobs in a slip by the marina’s main entrance.
The thirty-foot boat is a classic, her wooden hull gleaming in the fire-hued light of the setting sun. The front cabin is covered by a cream-colored roof, but the back of the boat is open to the crisp autumn air. An American flag flaps on her stern, where the words Kathryn Dear are written in elegant block letters. Underneath that is the year 1948.