11. Wendi
11
Wendi
As Wendi and Miles strolled along the shoreline, Max sprinted ahead, nose to the ground, investigating shells and chasing waves. Then he froze, ears perked, before he started digging away with his paws, sand flying in all directions. With one final scoop, Max pulled something from the hole—a soggy, sand-crusted sock.
“Maximus Parker,” Wendi huffed, giving her best mom tone. “Drop it.”
Max stiffened and dropped the sock at her feet. His eyes darted between the sock and Wendi, wearing a look that was equal parts guilt and triumph.
Miles grinned. “Full government name, huh?”
“Only for the serious infractions,” she said, tossing one of Max’s toys, watching as he bounded after it. She drew in a deep breath, pulling the crisp salt air into her lungs. “I love November beach days here. Sometimes it’s seventy, some days it’s forty. We got lucky.”
“Yeah, we did.” Miles’s gaze went to Arthur. “This place meant a lot to my parents. They honeymooned here.”
“Great place for one. Not that I’d know—I never got a real honeymoon. There was always some excuse. After a while, I just stopped asking.”
“You’re in good company. Never made it to a honeymoon,” Miles said with a half-smile. “Closest I got was a weekend in Charleston—didn’t even make it to check-in.”
Wendi chuckled and nudged his arm. “What was growing up in Atlanta like?”
He shrugged. “Pretty normal, I guess. A’s and B’s in school and tried every sport I could. Mom kept us both in line.” He paused, surprised by how easily the forgotten details returned. “After she passed, Dad did his best. Worked crazy hours, but never missed a game or a school thing.”
“He really showed up for you.”
“Yeah,” Miles said, glancing toward Arthur. “He did.” After a beat, he turned to her. “What about you? Growing up here—was it always beaches and small-town charm?”
“Not exactly.” She traced a slow line in the sand with her toe, watching as the breeze erased it. “I loved it here, but I used to run up to this spot when my parents argued. Which was a lot.” She gestured toward the dunes. “I’d bring a sketchbook, sit on the rocks, and draw. The ocean never made me pick a side.”
Miles looked out at the water. “Good way to deal with things. Better than how most kids would’ve handled it.”
She shrugged. “It didn’t feel like much of a choice. Just the only place that felt right.”
Max barked—sharp, sudden. They turned to see him standing over a tide pool, ears flattened, barking at his own reflection.
“First time seeing himself from there?” Miles grinned.
Wendi sighed as Max swiped a paw at the water, splashing his face. “He’s his own worst enemy.”
With one last snort, Max bolted from the tide pool—charging straight at them. A split second later, he shook himself dry, sending a spray of water over them both.
“Max!” Wendi sputtered, swiping at the cold droplets on her face.
“No government name?”
“Ah, not this time.”
Max flopped onto the sand as Wendi and Miles shared an amused glance. As they continued walking, Wendi stopped abruptly, the wind lifting her hair.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
Most people wouldn’t have noticed. Not enough to ask, anyway. Plenty of people had known her for years, but few ever looked closely enough to see when something shifted. She was good at brushing things off, at deflecting with a joke or an easy smile. But Miles? He saw her.
She shook her head. “Nothing really. Just ... Laurel texted again. I have to decide by Friday.”
“About the New York job?”
She nodded, digging her toes into the sand. “Yeah. I went over everything with her before you picked me up. Financially, it’s the smart choice. The right answer.”
“And if you turn it down?”
“More than likely, I’ll be watching my dream die in slow motion.” She gave a small, sad laugh. “Some choice, huh?”
She braced for a well-meaning platitude, the kind she could nod along to and forget. Instead, Miles reached for her hand and her breath hitched as a certain lightness rolled through her, unexpected but not unwelcome. Her heartbeat stuttered, then accelerated as his fingers threaded through hers like they belonged there. She hadn’t realized how much she needed this—a simple touch, a quiet reassurance that someone saw her, that someone understood.
“Whatever happens with the shop, you’ll figure it out.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll figure it out.”
Did he just say ...
“ We’ll ... as in us?” The words slipped out. Her pulse jumped.
No taking it back now.
What if she’d read this all wrong?
His thumb traced slow circles over her knuckles. “Yeah. Us.”
She let out a slow breath, trying to ground herself in the moment. “I like the sound of ‘us.’”
“Me too.”
“Total vibe killer,” she said with a sheepish smile. “But before I forget—can you make it to the shop around four tomorrow to help set up?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” His tone made the practical request feel like anything but a vibe killer.
Hand in hand, they turned back toward Arthur. Max trotted between them, occasionally bumping their legs as he pranced along. But as they drew closer, Wendi noticed a change in Arthur’s posture. What had started as a peaceful scene—a man absorbed in his painting, relaxed in the sun—was now something else entirely.
Arthur went rigid, his brushstrokes turning erratic, jerky. The tranquil blues of sky and sea had vanished beneath frenzied streaks of orange-red, clawing across the canvas.
“Dad?” Miles stepped closer. “How’s the painting coming along?”
Arthur didn’t look up, just kept adding more red-orange, his breathing quick and shallow.
Wendi moved beside Miles, eyes shifting between the painting and Arthur.
Flames?
Arthur muttered something. His brush jabbed at the canvas with frantic urgency. Wendi barely caught the words. Fragments surfaced: “Smoke everywhere. Too late.”
A tightness coiled in Wendi’s chest.
Poor Arthur.
Miles kneeled beside him. “Dad, we’re at the beach. You’re painting the cove, remember?”
Arthur’s hand trembled, the brush shaking in his grip as his eyes flicked to Wendi. “Elaine? When’d you get here?”