Page 18 of Sea La Vie
“Is Cara here too?” Huck asks, peeking around Tate’s shoulder, completely ignoring his question.
Tate laughs. “No, she’s a travel nurse. She’s at a hospital in Atlanta right now.”
Huck’s normally ever present smile turns downward in disappointment. “I thought the whole gang would be reunited.”
Henry joins us in the kitchen and reaches for the now-empty coffee pot. He grunts then silently starts to remake a cup. “Good to see you, Tate,” he says softly, his normally ever present scowl turned upward, in complete contrast to Huck.
Eden walks in, glances at the empty coffee pot, then who’s holding it. “Oh no, you’re not making the coffee,” she says with a scowl. She reaches for it, and Henry rolls his eyes before storming to the other side of the kitchen. Tate glances at me with raised eyebrows.
Before I have a chance to explain their hatred for each other, Dad circles back into the kitchen and pulls a pan from the oven. The smell of warm, buttery biscuits fills the tiny kitchen, and my stomach rumbles, reminding me how hungry I am.
“Are you all going to just stand here all day or eat the breakfast I’ve been cooking all morning?” He plops the pan of biscuits on the counter to cool, and it takes all my restraint not to grab one right then.
Eden strolls across the kitchen and plants a kiss on his cheek. “I’m making you more coffee, Archer, so you have enough energy to keep up with your wild grandson, and then I’ll be right in.” Dad’s blush creeps up from behind his beard, another sign that his tough exterior only extends so far. That, and the oven mitts he’s wearing—you can’t be scary while wearing oven mitts.
I catch Henry rolling his eyes, before walking to the big, farmhouse kitchen table by the window. He crosses his arms, then mutters something under his breath with a huff.
“Are they always like this?” Tate whispers glancing toward Eden and Henry. He has to lean down a good five inches to whisper in my ear, and his breath against my skin sends a shiver down my spine.
“Pretty much,” I answer, pulling out the mismatched dining chair beside Henry and Tate follows. Within a few minutes, we’re all seated around the table.
“What an incredible view,” Tate says in between bites, gesturing behind Huck and Dad. Through the window is the lawn where mom kept her flower beds that I try to keep maintained. I smile, the view of them in front of the bay beyond is truly breathtaking. The Morning Glories are in full bloom right now, their purple hues vibrant against their dark centers and the blue backdrop beyond them.
Dad looks over at me, and I make out a smile under his thick beard. He’s always been proud of mom’s flower beds. He built them the year they got married and moved into this house. After I was old enough, mom and I would spend hours out among the blooms, pruning and trimming. I soaked up her extensive knowledge of flowers as much as we soaked up the sun while gardening together.
“It wasn’t too bad of a place to grow up,” Huck says, his signature dimples popping through his smile. All of the Adams kids have at least one. Huck was just lucky enough to be blessed with two. “So Tate, Lainey said you’re restoring your family’s old cottage?”
Tate nods, then swallows a mouthful of biscuits. “Lainey took me to the hardware store yesterday for some supplies. A contractor is coming out to take a look at it too.”
“That’s great,” Huck says. “How’s your grandpa?”
Tate gives a one shouldered shrug. “He’s doing okay.” I watch Tate’s jaw flex, a sign he’s upset about the early-onset dementia.
“I like your boyfriend, Aunt Lainey,” Sam interrupts, little bits of scrambled egg falling from his full mouth back to his plate.
I feel my face flush, and before I can correct him, Eden says, “Swallow before you talk, Sam. Gross,” and wipes at his mouth with her napkin. I can tell she’s trying hard not to smile, proud of her little man for the chaos he’s surely started.
I’m afraid to even glance in Tate’s direction. Is he as embarrassed as I am? Why is this even embarrassing at all? It shouldn’t be. We’re definitelynotdating and there’s never been any insinuation that we’re heading down that road. We’re two adults, of dating age, and Sam made a simple mistake. I take a drink of my orange juice in hopes of it cooling my flushed face.
“We’re definitely not dating,” I finally say to fill the quiet room. “Tate’s an accountant from Charlotte and I’m a fisherwoman from the Outer Banks; those two worlds aren’t even remotely compatible.” I let out a nervous laugh, and when no one joins in, my laugh turns into an awkward cough. I catch Huck glance at Tate, and a grimace flashes across his face. Was that the wrong thing to say?
“Lainey doesn’t date, Sam,” Dad says. “She’s too scared after what happened between your mom and dad. Whatever happened,” he mumbles.
I choke on my orange juice and glance at Eden. Her face is set in a grim line and she’s wiping furiously at a ketchup stain on Sam’s shirt, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
“What exactly happened between you two? It’s been years,” Dad says. “Don’t you think that’s long enough to play this silly game of pretending like you’re mad at each other? Sam’s what, seven now?”
“Actually, I’m seven and a half,” Sam pipes up, proudly.
“Getting it all out there this morning, aren’t we Dad?” Huck chuckles, clearly enjoying everyone’s discomfort.
Henry’s jaw ticks and finally, he pushes back from the table. “I don’t even know why she comes to these family breakfasts,” he mutters. “Do you want to go outside, Sam? We can take the canoe over to Pirate Island.”
Eden rolls her eyes and pushes back from the table, too. Sam leaps from his seat, and lunges toward his dad.
“I need to get going too, Dad,” Huck says, glancing down at his watch. “I’ve gotta get the diner open. I’m sure Lucille’s already standing outside ready to tell me I’m running late.” He pushes back from the table and walks to the front door, leaving me with Dad and Tate.
Dad looks at the remaining two pieces of bacon longingly before finally grabbing them and adding them to his plate. “What are your plans for the day, Lainey?”
