Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
That evening, while they were scrolling through Blair’s photos, there was movement out the back window.
Must be the grounds crew finishing up. Emily leaned in to see what they were doing.
But it wasn’t the grounds crew. Patrick was clomping down to the beach, his muscles bulging as he carried a metal container to the sand.
With a thud, he dropped it at his feet. When he turned toward the house, Emily took a step back to stay out of his view.
A few minutes later, he reappeared with his arms full of logs and dumped them into the metal container. Blair and Sienna joined her at the window.
“What’s he doing?” Sienna asked over Emily’s shoulder.
Blair squinted. “I have no idea.”
Emily stepped away. “I’ll go see.”
She slipped on her flip-flops and padded onto the deck just as he came around the side of the house with an armful of folding chairs.
“Hey,” she called, stepping into the warm sand. “What’s going on?”
“With everything closed, I thought you all might be bored, so I planned dinner out here for a change of scenery.”
“You shouldn’t worry about us. You have other things you could be doing.”
“The restaurant only had minor cosmetic damage—absolutely incredible.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she said, relieved more than she should be. It wasn’t even her problem, but she felt as if she’d been holding her breath over it.
“Indeed,” he said. “And it gave me time to take care of all Julia’s trees.
We were able to keep most of the wood, but she already had this stacked in the garage.
” He waved a hand at the pile of wood and then opened the chairs and set them around what she now realized was a fire pit.
He clapped the dirt off his hands and reached into his pocket, retrieving a lighter.
“What are you cooking?” she asked, contemplating what he could manage to prepare over an open fire.
“I brought seafood skewers and a simple dough with herbs and cheese.” He lit the logs, a golden flame rising and licking the air.
Emily’s stomach rumbled. “That sounds delicious. Do you need any help bringing the supplies down?”
“I’ll be fine. Why don’t you ask your friends if they want to settle in by the fire?”
“Okay. Be right back.” Emily jogged up to the house, an odd sort of happiness tingling in her chest.
“I went upstairs to comb my hair and heard your phone chirping, so I brought it down,” Blair said when Emily walked in, handing it across.
A missed text from Will.
“He’s being weird.” Emily glared at the screen. “He asked what I was up to. As if we’re chummy.”
“He’s relentless,” Sienna said. “Isn’t your silence enough? You’re on a girls’ trip.”
Every time she started to move on mentally, Will sucked her back into their drama.
And she didn’t want to deal with it anymore.
She’d tell him soon enough, but tonight she wanted to enjoy her friends.
She clicked off the phone screen and put it into her pocket.
Then she filled in Sienna and Blair on the plans, and they went out to meet Patrick.
Emily kicked off her flip-flops and sat in the chair nearest the water.
The sand had started to cool beneath her feet, and it was damp from the old tide line.
Her hair tickled her face, the coastal wind light.
She pushed the strands out of her eyes to view the fiery oranges, pinks, and purples that had begun to overtake the daytime blue in the sky.
The wind carried a mist of sea spray that settled on her skin.
With a deep breath, she pushed Will right out of her mind.
“It’s almost room temperature with that breeze,” Sienna said, wriggling into her chair.
Blair and Emily agreed.
Patrick returned with a soft cooler slung over his shoulder, a radio in his hand, and a long grate under his arm.
He dropped the bag next to Emily, sending sand onto her feet.
She wiggled them clean. He noticed and a lightness filled his eyes as he looked at her.
He clicked on the radio to beach music, and set it in the sand.
Then he unzipped the cooler and pulled out a bowl with a towel over it.
Emily peeked under to find a lump of dough, the scent of butter and rosemary tickling her nose.
“No peeking,” he teased. His voice was gentle tonight, as if he’d come down from the stress of the storm.
While the dough rested, he put the grate on the campfire that had already burned down to glowing embers due to the small logs he’d used.
“How’s the puppy?” Emily asked.
“Busy,” he said with a grin. “So far, no one’s claimed him, but I know a lot of people are without power. I hope Winston doesn’t get too attached.”
“And you never found the mother or any other puppies?”
He shook his head. “I spent a good few hours today searching the property to be sure, but there was no trace. I wonder if he got scared by the storm and ran off.”
“No collar?” Sienna chimed in.
“Nope. I checked for that too. There was nothing by the fence or anywhere in the yard.” He adjusted the large grate on top of the fire pit. “We’re gonna bake the bread on this while the fire’s low. The embers will provide steady, even heat so we don’t burn it.”
He set a cast-iron skillet on the surface of the grate.
Then he reached into his bag and took out a bottle of olive oil, pouring in a thin layer on the cooking surface.
With the beach behind him and his T-shirt rippling in the wind, Patrick looked completely different from the man she’d first met.
He took the bowl from beside Emily, his spicy scent mixing with the briny air, and added the dough to the makeshift grill.
Emily, Sienna, and Blair looked on, silently enthralled.
“I’ve never seen anyone cook an actual meal on an open fire before,” Sienna said. “It’s like you’re some sort of culinary caveman. Very rugged.”
The corner of Patrick’s mouth turned upward, but he didn’t reply.
The dough sizzled. Patrick opened a container of seafood skewers, loaded with a mix of shrimp, scallops, chunks of salmon, bell peppers, red onion, pineapple, and cherry tomatoes, then set them on the side of the grate.
Before grilling them, he brushed the metal with more oil and then positioned each one in a neat line above the heat.
Emily peered into the cooler. “What are those?” she asked, pointing to two juice containers of white, icy liquid.
He finally allowed a wise smile and her stomach squeezed.
“The appetizers.” He dug around in the bag and pulled out four cups, filling them with ice, handing one to each of them, and setting his on the sand near where he was working.
He flipped the skewers and then took the bottles from the cooler.
“Pina coladas,” he said, shaking the bottles.
“I’ve got alcoholic and non-alcoholic—pick your preference.
” He popped the lid off the first bottle. “Who’s up for rum?”
Emily raised her cup. He poured the icy-cold concoction into it. Then he topped it with a pineapple wedge and a curly straw.
As he fixed the other drinks, Emily took a swig of the sweet cocktail.
When the drink touched her lips, the rich sweetness of coconut cream glided across her tongue, followed by the bright, tangy sharpness of pineapple juice and a soft, warming finish of rum.
It was cold enough to send a pleasant chill through her body, yet the alcohol and the summer heat brought a gentle warmth that balanced the temperature.
With each sip, Emily’s shoulders relaxed, her thoughts slowed, and a sense of ease began to settle in.
The savory aroma of seafood and coastal salt, the combination warm and smoky, was a smell she’d relate to summer by the Gulf from this point on.
It was irresistible and unmistakable, and it gave her a dreamy sense of calm.
Under the tinkling sounds of steel drums coming from the radio and the shush of the water, the world felt far away.
The only thing that brought her halfway into reality was Blair, who’d begun taking photos of the food, the waves, and her drink in the sand.
They hadn’t actually posted anything yet, but it was clear she was planning to, and the color that had filled her cheeks because of it was more than just the glow of the sun.
“This is delicious,” Sienna said after taking a drink from her cup.
Patrick acknowledged her comment with a nod, then flipped the flatbread and continued working in his usual silence.
While Blair got up and moseyed down the beach to get a few more shots, Sienna sunned her face, wriggling her toes in the sand.
Emily turned toward the turquoise Gulf, its waves still struggling for tranquility after the storm.
The tide bubbled rhythmically at the shore.
The rum and the sound made her eyelids heavy.
She dragged her bare feet through the cool sand.
In the quiet, her thoughts drifted, unwelcome and persistent, to Will—his sudden change in personality, the hollow explanations, the glint of guilt that hadn’t quite matched the ease with which he’d left. For Lanie.
Wait. She thought she remembered her. An electric shock pinged through her limbs. She’d gone to the gym with him once for a trial membership, and the woman who’d helped her was named Lanie. Had that been her? The woman at the gym with the sculpted arms and manufactured laughter?
Emily clenched her drink tightly as the wind picked up, blowing sand onto her skin. She tried to sweep it off but was unsuccessful, just like a memory she couldn’t erase.
She hated that buried part of her that still missed him, but hated more the small voice that asked if he came back, if he said it was a mistake, could she forgive him?
She took another icy drink, fixated on the surf.
The sea gave no answers, only the pull of the tide, coming and going like her resolve.
Patrick called Blair over, breaking Emily from her thoughts. He got out a bowl of crisp salad, plated their dinner, and handed each of them a serving.
“I got some good shots,” Blair said, picking up the skewer with her dainty fingers.
Emily grinned at Blair.
“That’s great,” Sienna said.
Patrick quietly nibbled his skewer across from them.
“What are Julia and Winston doing tonight?” Emily asked.
“Taking care of the puppy,” he said. “They’ve named him Stormy, even though I warned them not to. He might have a different name.”
A warmth for Winston bubbled up inside Emily. He’d only been trying to save the little pup. She recalled the fear in his tear-filled eyes when Patrick had burst through the door with him. She thought again what a blessing it was that they were all okay.
“You should’ve asked them to come,” Emily said, tearing off a piece of flatbread.
“The skewers would’ve been in real jeopardy,” he said with a chuckle. “Stormy’s definitely not trained.”
“I don’t know if I could ever get a dog,” Sienna said. “They’re a lot of work.”
Blair snorted.
“What?” Sienna’s brows pulled together. “Oh. Yeah.” She looked down at her belly. “I’ll probably be the most ill-equipped mother on the planet.”
“No one really knows how to parent, do they?” Patrick asked. “I mean, Julia surely didn’t. She kept calling me with questions like I knew something. But then we just settled in, and it’s not too hard, apart from running out in storms.”
They all laughed, and Patrick’s eyes met Emily’s with an interest she couldn’t define. He smiled and then looked down at his plate, fiddling with his bread. She couldn’t help but think she’d finally gotten through to him.