Chapter Thirty-Two
Anson
I t was a slow day at work. One of the charters had to cancel due to a family emergency, so I asked Sebby if it would be okay for me to knock off early. I dropped a few boxes off at the new house and then texted to see if Tabby was free for lunch. When I didn’t receive a response, I called, but there was no answer, so I decided to drive out here to see if she was around.
I find her kneeling beside an old paddleboard on blocks when I arrive at the campground.
“Well, well,” I say, stepping closer. “What do you have there?”
She glances up, squinting at me. “What are you doing here?” she asks as I bend down next to her and plant a quick kiss on her lips.
“I got off early and wanted to take my girl to lunch, but she wasn’t answering her phone.”
She smiles. “Sorry, I don’t know where my phone is,” she says as she pats at the pockets of her shorts. “Maybe it’s on the charger inside.”
I chuckle. She’s the only girl I know who isn’t chained to her phone twenty-four/seven.
“What’s this?” I ask as I get a better look at the board.
“An old relic from Pete’s shed that I spent all day yesterday bringing back to life,” she says, standing up and brushing sawdust from her legs.
I drag my fingers over the wood, feeling the smooth grain beneath my palm. It’s solid beneath the layers of varnish she must have applied, the cracks filled in, the edges reinforced. It still looks old, but usable, full of character.
“She looks good,” I say, nodding in approval. “You planning to actually take her out on the water?”
“That’s the goal.” She lifts a paddle that was leaning against her RV—a damn nice one, too, hand-carved, like something you’d see in an art gallery.
I smirk, leaning back against her RV. “Fancy paddle for an old board.”
She shrugs. “I can be fancy.”
“Do you know how to use that thing?”
“I watched a bunch of videos teaching the basics, but I haven’t tried it out yet, obviously. I think I’d like paddleboarding though, and it’s a great workout, so I’m dying to get it out on the water,” she says.
“You know, if you want the best spot to practice, I happen to have insider knowledge.”
She arches a brow. “Do you now?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “The cove. Off the Intracoastal. Water’s calm, no boats flying by. Perfect place for a beginner.”
“Are you offering to take me?”
I grin. “I am. We can head there after lunch.”
She studies me for a second, like she’s trying to figure out if I’ve got an ulterior motive. Which, to be fair, I probably do.
Finally, she nods. “All right. Food, then adventure.”
She runs inside to change while I strap the board in the back of my truck and toss the paddle in the back seat. She returns, wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts over a white swimsuit, her hair pulled up in a messy bun. She climbs in, tossing her bag at her feet, and I pull out onto the road, heading toward town.
We stop at the Barnacle Café for burgers before swinging by Parker and Audrey’s house to grab my swim trunks, a waterproof backpack, and one of the paddleboards from the garage.
We arrive at Sebastian and Avie’s house. Behind their property, there is a small stretch of sand nestled among the trees, where a path leads to a quiet inlet. This spot is used by all of us to launch canoes or kayaks. The water is exactly as I promised—calm and glassy, barely rippling under the late afternoon sun. There are no boats, no noise. Just us.
I hop out and begin unstrapping the boards while Tabby grabs her paddle. I take the lightweight backpack and toss in a few essentials. Then, I usher her across Sebastian’s lawn down to the waterline, her bare feet sinking into the wet sand.
“All right,” I say, setting my board down in the water, “lesson one: carry your board like you know what you’re doing.”
She rolls her eyes but follows my lead, dragging her board into the shallows. I step onto mine with ease, the motion as natural as breathing for me. She, on the other hand, hesitates.
“You can do it. Don’t think too hard. Just step on.”
She takes a deep breath, then steps onto the board. The second she shifts her weight forward, it wobbles violently beneath her, and she sits down. Straddling the board.
I hold back a laugh. “Balance, Tabby.”
“Easy for you to say,” she mutters, gripping the edges of the board like it might betray her at any second.
“You can do this. You balance on those inline skates of yours just fine. It’s the same principle,” I say.
She tries again, getting to her knees this time, her movements stiff and cautious. She’s cute as hell when she concentrates like this.
“Good,” I say. “Now, when you’re ready, stand up. One foot at a time. Keep your knees soft.”
She nods, her brows knitting together in focus. Slowly—so damn slowly—she pushes herself upright.
For a second, she’s steady.
And then … she’s not.
The board tilts, her arms flail, and she goes down with a splash.
I can’t help it; I burst out laughing.
She comes up sputtering, her hair dripping, and glares at me. “Glad you’re enjoying this.”
“Oh, this is the best thing I’ve seen all week.”
She flicks water at me, but I dodge it easily.
“All right, all right,” I say, still grinning. “Let’s try again.”
After a few more failed attempts—and a lot more of me laughing at her expense—she finally gets the hang of it. She’s wobbly at first, but once she relaxes, she starts to find her rhythm. We paddle side by side through the cove, weaving between patches of seagrass, the evening stretching warm and slow around us.
“See?” I say. “You’re a natural.”
She scoffs. “I don’t think falling in seven times qualifies as natural.”
“Eight,” I correct, smirking. “And trust me, I’ve seen worse.”
We move farther into the cove, letting the current carry us along the shoreline. It’s quiet out here, the kind of peaceful you don’t find on the main beaches.
Suddenly, something catches my eye. “Look.”
I nod toward the water’s edge, where a pair of baby foxes are playing in the grass.
Tabby gasps. “Oh my God.”
She looks at me, grinning, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Told you this was the best spot.”
Once she gains a bit more confidence, we paddle farther out of the cove along the Intracoastal Waterway, with homes featuring private piers and boat ramps lining both sides. The sun is now lower, glinting off the surface and turning everything to gold.
After a while, I glance over at her. “So, what’s the verdict?”
“On paddleboarding?” she asks.
I nod.
She smiles. “I think I might be hooked.”
“Good,” I say. “Because next, I’m getting you in a kayak.”
She laughs, but I can tell she doesn’t hate the idea.
We drift for a while, just talking, paddling slowly through the water. I like this. Sharing this place I love with someone—with her.
Maybe it’s the way she looks out here on the water, all sun-kissed and happy. Maybe it’s the way she doesn’t back down from a challenge or the way she laughs, even when she’s frustrated.
Or maybe it’s just her.
Either way, I know one thing for sure: I want more days like this.
Tabby glides ahead of me, her paddle dipping into the water in long, steady strokes. She’s a natural at this—graceful, effortless. The sun catches in her hair, and the way her shoulder muscles ripple as she moves captivates me. I swear I catch myself staring at her backside more than watching where I’m going.
She twists around, catching me in the act. “You good back there?”
I smirk, digging my paddle in to speed up. “You trying to leave me behind?”
“Maybe,” she teases, but she slows just enough for me to pull up beside her.
We’ve been out here for a little over an hour, cutting through the Intracoastal, weaving past little mangrove islands and docks that stretch out from the shore. It’s one of those perfect North Carolina days—warm, but not too hot, the sky a brilliant blue with streaks of white clouds drifting overhead.
It’s quiet out here. Peaceful.
And the perfect excuse to show her the house.
I nudge my board closer to hers. “I want to show you something.”
She raises an eyebrow, intrigued.
“You’ll like it. Hopefully.”
I lead her along the water’s edge, past a row of homes nestled among the trees. Some are new, big, and modern with sleek lines and glass walls. But that’s not my style. Not what I wanted.
When we reach the dock, I slow my paddle strokes and glide up beside it. It’s an older dock, sturdy but weathered by the sun, stretching out from the home that’s set back among the oaks. It’s not flashy, like the others.
Tabby slows beside me, taking it in. “Is this it? The one you’re buying?”
I pull my backpack from where it’s strapped to the front of my board and unzip it, fishing out a small key ring. The metal glints in the sunlight.
“Yep,” I say, then glance at her. “It’ll be mine in a couple of days.”
Her lips part slightly, her gaze flicking from the keys to the house, then back to me. “You have the keys already?”
I nod. “The owners are letting me move stuff in early. Figured since we’re out here, I’d show it to you. You’ll be the first to see it.”
Something shifts in her expression—something soft, unreadable—but she doesn’t ask why she’s the first person I’m showing. Maybe she already knows.
She climbs up onto the dock, her movements quick and sure, then holds out a hand for me. I take it, stepping onto the worn wooden planks beside her. Then I hoist our boards up.
The house is exactly what I wanted. What I didn’t know I was looking for until I saw it. A heritage cottage, built decades ago but still solid, still full of life. The exterior is a soft gray, the black trim crisp around the windows. There’s history here.
Tabby lets out a low whistle as we walk up the dock toward the backyard. “Anson, this place is … wow.”
I glance at her. “Yeah?”
She nods, her eyes sweeping over the wide porch that wraps around the side of the house, the big windows that I already know will let in the morning light just right. “It’s got character. Charm. A lot of houses don’t have that anymore.”
That’s exactly what I thought when I first saw it.
I unlock the back door and walk inside, holding it open for her as she steps into the tiny kitchen. The air is cooler in here, carrying the faint scent of old wood and sea air. The pine floor is worn in places but still beautiful, and the walls are painted in soft white tones.
Tabby turns in a slow circle, taking it all in. “This is perfect.”
I watch her, the way she moves through the space, comfortable, like she belongs here. The thought settles in my chest in a way I didn’t expect.
“This is the kitchen,” I say. “It’s small, but it has potential.”
“It’s just enough,” she says.
I chuckle. I guess any size looks good compared to an RV. “I want to expand it a bit. Open it up to the living room.”
“Well”—she grins, running her fingers along the edge of the wooden countertop—“I think it’s great. Look at this space. The cabinets. The light.”
She moves to the farmhouse sink beneath a window, pushing up onto her toes to look outside.
I lean against the counter, watching her. “You cook?”
She shrugs, turning back to me. “I like to, but I’ve been sticking to easy stuff at the moment. I had to get creative with an RV kitchen.”
I nod. That makes sense.
“Come on,” I say, pushing off the counter. “I’ll show you the rest.”
I lead her out through the living room, and she has a fit over the beadboard walls, but her favorite by far is the claw-foot tub.
“Okay,” she breathes. “Now, this is amazing. God, I can’t remember the last time I soaked in a bath.”
My mind immediately pictures her naked body, surrounded by bubbles. Damn, it’s a gorgeous sight .
Next, I show her the master suite, and she is instantly drawn to the windows that face the backyard. She takes in the wide, grassy scene that slopes down toward the water. There’s space out there. Room to breathe. To build something.
“You’ve got a hell of a view,” she says, her voice quieter now.
I step up beside her, looking out over the water. It’s calm, reflecting the sky. A few birds skim along the surface, diving and lifting off again.
“I thought so.”
We head back outside, and she walks ahead as I lock the place back up. I follow her past the trees lining the fence, to the far end where the dock juts out. She stops at the edge, hands on her hips, her back to me.
She glances at me over her shoulder. “What made you pick this place?”
I exhale, glancing back at the house. “Didn’t want something brand-new. Wanted a place with some history. Something that felt … real.” I pause. “Like it had a story.”
She watches me for a second, something unreadable in her expression. Then, she looks back at the yard, sweeping a hand toward the open space. “You could put a garden back here.”
I raise an eyebrow. “A garden? Don’t think I have much of a green thumb.”
She smirks. “I could help you.”
The idea sits in my chest, heavier than it should.
Tabby. Here. Planting something. Staying long enough to see it grow.
I clear my throat, looking back at the house. “Guess I’ll have to get some furniture in first.”
She chuckles. “That would help.”
We stand there for a while, the quiet stretching between us. It should feel awkward. But it doesn’t.
And I realize that the thought of making this a home isn’t just about me.
That I want her in it.
Which has me reeling.
Before I met her, I never considered the idea of living with a woman. I was looking forward to having my own space, but now, I can see her cooking in the kitchen, enjoying a bubble bath after a long day spent harvesting the vegetables she planted, painting on the dock, sitting on the back porch with a glass of wine, or standing on a paddleboard in the water, chasing the sunset.
And I have no idea what the hell to do with that.