Page 68 of Anchor Point

“Aw, Mom, that’s the sweetest,” Rosie gushed before turning to Mac. “Okay, your turn, big da?—”

“Nope.”

“Not that either.”

Mac and I spoke in unison again.

He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, letting go of my hand. I crisscrossed my legs in front of me and waited. His long leg was still stretched out, his knee still raised, but now he draped an arm around it, clasping his wrist. His posture almost closed off.

“My story isn’t quite as happy,” he started. “I wasn’t on vacation—or I was, but I wasn’t supposed to be alone. I was supposed to be on my honeymoon.”

Rosie gasped and I blanched. I’d known he was sad when I met him, but not that.

“It’s for the best, really. Worked out in the end.” He winked at me.

“Anyway”—he looked out over the water—“my fiancée left me, stood me up, rather, at the altar. Turned out, she liked the idea of being married but couldn’t deal with the stress of being married to someone who might potentially put his life on the line. I decided to take the trip anyway. I’d been there less than twenty-four hours and was starting to feel like the worst kind of loser, sitting at the bar, drowning my sorrows and heartache. I couldn’t bring myself to find anything beautiful about the place and was considering leaving early. When I turned and saw this pretty young brunette in a yellow dress.”

I sat up. “I didn’t have on a dress.”

The corners of his eye crinkled as he shot me a grin. “Oh, that’s right, it was the tiniest yellow bikini I’d ever seen. So bright and full of sunshine… the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.” He looked back at Rosie and winked. “She’s still the most beautiful, but her daughter gives her a run for the money.”

Rosie blushed, her shoulders inching toward her ears in embarrassment.

“Anyway, I’d gone there to get over the heartache of losing a woman I thought I’d spend my life with. I came home having gotten over her, but the one who blasted her memory stayed with me. We tried to be smart about it, so we thought. No last names, no personal information. Just a week of having fun together, sailing, laying out in the cabanas. Late-night dinners, long walks while talking about the dreams we had. All future talk. And it helped pull me out of that funk and focus on moving forward.”

I leaned forward and ran my palm down his arm, needing to touch him.

“You guys are so mushy,” Rosie cooed. “And also, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Not having a way to stay in touch. Anyways, so it was supposed to be a casual, fun fling. But both of you got more than you bargained for.” She paused, considering. “I guess that’s the truth of the saying hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

The wisdom and ease of the teenage mind.

“And now you’ve got me, and each other. And what happens next?”

I bit into my sandwich and considered. And once again, Mac beat me to the punch. “Well, I’m hoping that instead of moving back to the townhouse, that you and Liv will stay here. And we can take things slow. And learn each other.”

The bite nearly stuck in my throat as I swallowed. But finally, after a drink, I managed to choke out, “Would that be okay with you, sweetheart?”

Her head tilted side to side as if she were weighing her options.

“So… go back to that loud place, where I didn’t know anyone and spent my afternoons inside alone. Or stay here, where I can hang out with Buster and fish?” She looked at us like we were both ridiculous for not knowing her immediate answer. “What do you think?”

Buster, who’d been oddly still, jumped up and dashed right through the middle of the blanket to chase a squirrel. Rosie and I squealed as the wet dog splashed by us.

“Ew, he stepped in the food,” she cried.

The rich timber of Mac’s laughter rang through the afternoon. The sound was so foreign, it held me frozen while Rosie jumped up, shaking to get yucky lake-water dog hair from the remains of her lunch.

He laughed until tears formed in his eyes and he was doubled over. That sound touching a sweet spot in my soul. Finally, he stood, offering us a hand. “Come on, how about we go get an ice cream instead.”

And just like that, we moved into something that looked an awful lot like being a family. And I was terrified.

Chapter Twenty

Mac

Nick’s Frozen Custard shop was a local favorite, and on any given evening, there was a line out the door, flowing down the sidewalk toward the fish fry restaurant. Red Adirondack chairs were arranged in a circle in one area, picnic tables with red umbrellas in another, and matching red rocking chairs dotted the front sidewalk, all standing in bright contrast to the stark white building.

The store was newish but was an obvious hit since it was always packed.

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