Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Anyone.
Especially if Ace doesn’t think I’m an absolute bitch for what I did to him.
Believe me, I know I am.
My thoughts never settle before we’ve turned and made our way back to Bee Harbor.
My mood must rub off. Coffee isn’t done with his walk, and Cream follows his lead as usual, both of them restlessly making their trademark Doberman grumbles when I start for the back door.
So we wind through Grandma’s gardens instead, taking the paths slowly.
When I say gardens, I mean what’s left of them.
I’m sad that they’re a season out of shape, overgrown and erratic, even though I’ve made myself come out here once a week for basic weeding.
Truthfully, they were starting to fade a little even before her health began failing. She couldn’t keep up with everything. Some of the flower beds are at least a full year wild.
But the plants must have strong roots to keep thriving like this.
They just need shaping and more attention than I’ve been giving them. I need to get a better look and take some notes for later.
So I unleash the dogs and leave them to run, keeping a close watch to make sure they don’t Houdini their way past the wooden fence again.
While I’m strolling my own meandering path through the property, inspecting the flowers, I come to the old bee boxes.
My heart flutters.
They’re the inn’s namesake and they’ve been dormant for a while now, ever since Gram couldn’t manage them the last year or two.
The bees have had a rough time lately with plummeting colony numbers, plus the constant threat of murder hornet intrusions all over Washington. A single armored monster can take out a whole colony of honeybees all too easy.
It’s sad.
The breeze picks up and the wind chime hanging in the hemlock tree above the bee box draws my attention upward. The brilliant blue wind chime spins, throwing rainbow streaks of sunlight everywhere.
A few leaves are already turning yellow as summer grinds on. The blue sea glass stands out even more against the green and gold.
I smile so hard I’m woozy.
I was with Gram the day she got that glass.
A bittersweet memory turned memorial to love.
We were a few miles outside of Pinnacle Pointe, the lonely place where the ocean cliffs turn more rugged. The beach there is almost hidden, pristine, and the water so blue it sparkles.
A rare oasis of color and smooth sand by Washington beach standards. So many others are darker, murky and piled high with rocks that haven’t sat long enough to be worn down by centuries of waves.
Even better, this area never gets enough traffic to litter the beach like other areas do. It seems like it’s still a secret, even among some locals, and that’s why we come here.
Laughing, I wade into the water until it brushes my knees.
I’m not allowed to go farther, but I don’t need to.
In a few seconds, an unexpected wave will bowl me over onto the wet sand, and I’ll giggle and stand up again.
“Jennifer, time for lunch!” Gram calls, looking over with sparkling eyes.
I run back up the dry sand and drop down on the blue checkerboard picnic blanket spread over the sand.
Gram puts half a turkey sandwich and a huge slice of watermelon on a plate and passes it to me. Grandpa already has his plate loaded, ready to eat.
“Hang on, Lottie. Be right back.” Grandpa stands and walks away into the distance.
“What is it?” Gram calls, concern lining her face.
He doesn’t answer until he’s back at the picnic blanket, one hand tucked behind his back.
“A present for my girls. Sea glass,” he says proudly, passing it to Gram. Her lips curl with genuine joy. “You’ll make something beautiful from it like you always do. That’s what you do with old things.” He chuckles knowingly. “You’re still doing it with me, sweetheart.”
“Oh, you. I didn’t have to try. You were already perfect down to your soul,” Gram says, leaning in for a kiss that’s as lazy and sweet as the summer evening.
Be still, my heart.
I was only nine or ten years old, but I decided then that’s what I wanted for my life. What my grandparents had.
If I learned anything from watching my grandparents hand in hand at family reunions and holidays, taking care of each other as they aged, and Gram loyally mourning Grandpa for so long it swallowed her up, it’s that I’d rather be single than settle for anything less than a love like theirs.
A love so real it consumes you.
I try to picture myself on the beach with Ace and a small child.
Not a serious wish, of course.
He’s just a placeholder for Anyman, a kindhearted guy who has his crap together and wants to settle down and share dreams.
Somehow, I can’t see him taking the time to collect sea glass. The picnic would be pleasant enough, but I don’t think I’d ever look at him with the kind of breathless awe Gram had for Grandpa, or the endless sparkle Grandpa had for her.