Chapter Thirty-Two
Brandee
I f there’s one thing I’ve learned about Sandcastle Cove, it’s that the people here take beach cookouts as seriously as other towns take their football. Or maybe religion. Or both.
Lennon and Amiya are hosting the Friendsgiving cookout.
They have a beautiful beach house on the island’s west end, across from Wade and Eden.
The home sits right on the sand, with fairy lights strung between driftwood posts, coolers lining the porch, and the faint sound of country music humming over the dunes.
I spent the day with Sebby, Sabel, and their extended family, which included Sebastian, Lennon, their girls, and their parents.
It was a wonderful day. The girls were in the kitchen, helping Sabel prepare the meal, while the guys hung out with Leia, watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and then football.
Brew worked all day. Apparently, Whiskey Joe’s cook prepares a turkey dinner for people who don’t have family or are unable to cook one themselves, allowing them to enjoy a holiday meal with all the fixings.
However, they operated with a skeleton crew and closed early so the employees could spend time with their families. So, he’s meeting me here.
I spot him before I even make it up the walkway.
He’s leaning against a weathered railing, wearing a faded Whiskey Joe’s T-shirt and, yes, those shoes.
The same busted-up, hole-ridden, seen-better-decades pair of tennis shoes he always wears when he’s bartending.
He catches sight of me and grins, straightening up. “You made it.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t have missed it,” I say, lifting the brown bag in my hand. “I brought wine and a pie.”
He smiles. “I like how you brought goodies, even after Amiya insisted you not.”
“And I like how you assumed I followed rules,” I tease, handing it over. “I wasn’t about to show up empty-handed.”
He eyes the bag in my other hand. “You want me to add that to the gift table?”
I shake my head. “No, um, I thought I’d give it to you now,” I say, suddenly nervous. “Happy Friendsgiving. Thank you for including me,” I say as I thrust the gift bag toward him.
He takes it, and then his eyes return to me. “You drew my name?”
“I did. And don’t worry. It’s not fancy. Just a little something to show how much I appreciate the way you and your friends have taken me into your inner circle.”
He sets the wine and pie aside and opens the bag right there on the deck, tissue paper crinkling between his fingers. His expression shifts the second he pulls out the box inside.
He looks at it for a moment, silent.
Then back at me.
“Wait … is this—”
“The same brand as the ones on your feet?” I nod. “Yep. Figured you could use a new pair. I mean, I can see your sock through the toe on the left one.” I point down to where his sand-colored sock is literally winking at me.
His eyes flicker down, and he smirks. “I guess they have seen better days.”
He opens the box lid and lifts one of the shoes. “These are …” He doesn’t finish the sentence as he turns the shoe over in his hand.
Crap. He doesn’t like it.
“I wasn’t sure what size you wore, so I kinda guessed after staring at your feet for the last two weeks,” I admit, a little flustered now. “Hopefully, I got it right.”
“You did,” he says, voice low.
There’s a pause.
A long one.
I expect him to make a joke, some quip about how he won’t slide around behind the bar with wet feet now. But he doesn’t.
He keeps looking at the shoes.
And then at me.
And then back at the shoes, like they’re a rare artifact and I’m some kind of mythical creature that delivered them.
“You okay?” I ask, laughing lightly. “It’s just footwear, Brew. Not a proposal.”
Sudden panic rises as I realize that the gesture might have embarrassed him. Fuck, what was I thinking?
“I couldn’t think of what else to get you. I haven’t seen your home, so I didn’t know if you could use a new rug or lamp, so I went with the shoes. Shoes are always a girl’s go to. I mean, who doesn’t love shoes, right?” I start to babble as I look at anything but him.
He chuckles, but there’s something in his eyes—something softer than I’m used to seeing.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “It’s just … no one’s ever bought me shoes before.”
I blink. “Really?”
He shakes his head. “Apart from my mom, when I was a kid. No. Not like this. Not … because they’d noticed. Because they cared.”
And I feel it—that slow, quiet shift in the air.
Like something important just happened.
He sets the box down and closes the space between us. His fingers brush my wrist, light as a whisper, and I swear the decking tilts a little under my feet.
“Thank you,” he says.
I shrug. “I figured if I was gonna date a guy who worked in a greasy garage and bar, the least I could do was make sure he wouldn’t get tetanus through his soles.”
He grins, but doesn’t move away.
And I don’t want him to.
He feeds a hand into my hair as his eyes meet mine. “I have something for you, too, but it’s in the truck. I was planning to give it to you later.”
“You drew my name?”
He shakes his head.
“Then you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Right,” he says as he taps my nose. Then he presses his lips to mine.
We stand there, lost in the kiss, until we hear a high-pitched whistle from the beach below.
“C’mon,” he says finally, his voice warm as he leans back. “Let me introduce you to the chaos.”
The chaos, as it turns out, includes a bonfire the size of a Volkswagen, a cornhole tournament that’s being monitored more seriously than an Olympic event, and a man named Donnie Dale, who is grilling hot dogs shirtless while wearing a cowboy hat.
I also meet Wade and Eden’s baby girl, Mina, and his teenage son, Dillon.
I get swept up quickly into the festivities.
Brew hands the bottle of wine I brought to Amiya, who gives me a look and nods approvingly.
“You’ve got good taste. Come on, Brew. Come open this baby for me.”