Page 15 of The House on Firefly Beach
“When you’re young, it’s only natural to move beyond where you came from, to see the world and push yourself to find your own limits. I watched your Aunt Clara do that with her design business—it took her all over the world. But once a person has that perspective, if they’re lucky enough to get the chance to look back, they’ll see what’s most important: the people they love. That’s why your Aunt Clara always came back to this home and to her friends here. These people are more important than anyplacein the world. Nate has experienced success; he’s been away. We’ve been blessed to have him return. Let’s show him what he’s missing in that big city of his.”
Uncle Hank had good intentions. He wanted to fill that silence he’d spoken about earlier, and he truly enjoyed having all his loved ones around him. But Sydney wasn’t so sure he’d wantthisNate back. She worried that Nathan Carr would disappoint him. After the year she’d spent helping Uncle Hank deal with his grief and get back onto his feet, she felt extremely protective of him.
“I’m fishing too,” she said, the tension in her chest rising at just the thought.
Uncle Hank, obviously misinterpreting her decision, beamed. “Excellent. I’ll need help with the supplies.”
When they all got down to the shore, Nate cast his line into the gulf as the salty tide rippled around their ankles. Sydney reeled hers in just a bit and waited, the way Uncle Hank had always taught her to do. Robby and Uncle Hank were down the beach from her—Robby wouldn’t speak to Nate, so they’d fallen into an odd pairing because Robby still needed quite a bit of instruction and Uncle Hank was the one who did that best.
“I know Ben was happy you came to the wedding,” she said, trying her best to make small talk.
Nate nodded, reeling in when he got a tug on the line, but then evidently deciding it was a false alarm, so he let it be.
“What does Juliana think of Firefly Beach?” she ventured.
Sydney had read that Juliana Vargas, a swimsuit model, had traveled the globe and lived in luxury at various sought-after beach locations like Fiji and Belize. She was the third highest paid model in the industry and her Instagram feed looked like an advertisement for the diversions of the rich and famous. The quaint little village of Firefly Beach was probably quite a different experience for her.
“She likes the quiet,” he said, not taking his focus off his line. The breeze coming off the gulf rustled his hair like it used to do when they were young. “And the seclusion.”
His answer was surprising. “I just assumed, by what I’d read about her, that she preferred things that were more—I don’t know—fast-paced.”
Nate finally looked her way. “She grew up in a little village in Argentina. Her grandfather owned a small winery. She said that her only companionship there was the breadth of the grape vines on their fencings and the mountainous rock that jutted into the sky. She showed me a photo of it once.”
Sydney gave him her full attention.
“The red-rock hills around the town have these incredible stripes on them; they’re beautiful.” He reeled in, checked his bait, and then recast his line. “All that to say that she’s not used to the craziness she’s been immersed in lately. It doesn’t come naturally for her, and while it’s exciting, she feels like she can breathe when she’s here.”
Hearing such personal information about Juliana made the situation more real, which only caused Sydney to feel more uncomfortable about being with Nate. While they weren’t doing anything wrong, she felt the pull of their past whenever she was with him, and there was the fact that he’d come over today at all. The whole situation was unsettling.
Sydney got a tug on her line, jerking her attention to the rod in her hand. The line began to pull harder, her rod bending with the force of whatever was on the other end. She started to reel, gripping the handle with all her might.
“You got something?” Nate reeled his line in quickly and set his rod onto the powdery sand behind them, ready to help her like he used to do so long ago.
The line was taut between the end of her rod and the lapping water as she reeled, barely able to get the spool to rotate an entire turn fast enough. Her breath caught when Nate was behind her, his arms around her and his breath at her cheek. His hand was on top of hers, reeling faster now. Panic shot through her and she felt woozy from the sheer proximity. She ducked out of his grasp, leaving him to reel the fish in on his own.
“You don’t want to claim the catch?” he asked with a sideways grin.
“Nope,” she said. “You can have it.”
Nate reeled it in, grabbing the line just above the fish’s mouth. “It’s a redfish,” he said proudly. “Hey, Hank! Syd caught a redfish!” His use of the nickname he used to call her crawled under her skin like a swarm of fire ants.
Uncle Hank and Robby both looked over from their spots down the beach. “In the slot?” Uncle Hank asked.
“Looks like it could be a keeper!” Nate called to them. “Got a measuring tape in your fishing gear?” With the rod in one hand and the line in the other, the fish dangling from his fist, he jogged over to Uncle Hank and Robby. Sydney followed.
“You can throw him back,” Uncle Hank said, predictably.
Nate held the fish lower. “Robby, want to see what your mom caught?”
Robby set his rod in the sand but didn’t step toward Nate.
Nate held the fish a careful distance. “Has your Uncle Hank told you about the spot here on his tail?”
“No,” he said, looking away.
“It’s said,” Nate nearly whispered, his voice dramatic, despite Robby’s quiet protest, “that they grow spots on their tails so other fish will think it’s their eye.” Carefully, he moved closer to Robby.
Robby took a step backwards, but his interest was undeniable. “Why?”
