Page 9 of Prayers for the Prickly

“I won’t know for sure until I check later.”

“Is this what you do?” I asked as I picked up the rope for the sled. “Are you a photographer?”

“Only in the loosest sense of the word,” August explained. “I’m a candymaker.”

“No wonder you smell so sweet,” I blurted, feeling my face heat up the moment I realized which words had tumbled out.

Even the gulls laughed, before moving out over the waves, searching for a few fish to munch on.

“Thank you,” August said, humor in his voice as he kept taking pictures. “I just came down here this morning because I’m planning a beach themed display as well as a display full of ocean themed candies for the seafood fest next weekend.”

“I’m down here every morning,” I admitted, unsure of what I hoped to gain by telling him where I could easily be found.

“I might have to come more often myself,” August said, “it’s beautiful, and so peaceful. I spend most of each day surrounded by chatter and general noise from all the kitchen equipment. I could hear my thoughts this morning and started scribbling ideas in my notebook the moment my feet hit the path.”

“It’s better down here, preferably with your toes in the sand. Unfortunately, I learned the hard why what can happen when harvesting driftwood in bare feet.”

“Dropped a log on your toe, didn’t you?” he said, flashing me that cheeky grin of his.

“And got a fishing hook stuck in my heel when I was trying to drag one,” I admitted.

“Didn’t learn from the first mistake, did you?”

“Didn’t learn from the second one, either. I kept at it until I lost my balance while trying to heft a six-foot piece of driftwood onto my shoulder and stepped on a bottle in the sand. The damn thing busted and sent a piece of glass so deep into my foot that I can still feel it when it rains.”

“Is that where the sled came in, too?”

“Naw, that’s where I got smart and starting putting boots on,” I said. “The sled came after I threw my back out trying to lug too many pieces back to the shop at one time.”

“Work smarter, not harder. It seriously will save you in the long run.”

“Yeah, I’m getting too old to go around pulling muscles and straining ligaments out of pure stubbornness,” I admitted, feeling a bit sheepish, considering I wouldn’t hit my thirty-first birthday until the end of the year. “It isn’t a good look, or so Olly tells me.”

“You should listen to him, he knows what he’s talking about.”

“He’s pretty awesome, as far as younger brothers go.”

“Do you have a bunch of other siblings, or is it just the two of you?” August asked.

“There’s enough of us that game nights are never boring,” I admitted.

“Really?” August said. “They get pretty lively at my place, too, but then, there are almost a dozen of us coming in and out at damn near every hour of the day.”

“Almost a dozen, not a full dozen?” I teased. “My folks tried to throw in the towel after my brothers Piers and Aldon were born.”

“Which were numbers which and which in total child volume?”

“Three and four.”

“Damn, okay, what number are you?” he asked.

“Seven.”

“Holy crap.”

“Yeah, that’s what I say every time family day rolls around,” Gregor admitted. “They didn’t stop there, though, and had a set of twins between me and when Olly came along.”

I chuckled as he counted on his fingers, then cocked an eyebrow at me. “So you’ve got ten siblings, too.”

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