Page 15 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
“Don’t I know it,” she says, bouncing her eyebrows at me before striding out of the room.
I chase after her, grinning like a lunatic, down the stairs and toward the door to her backyard. Once we’re both outside, Geneva engages the smart lock, waiting until it’s done whirring to double-check it’s secure.
“Should I know the code to that?”
She’s halfway through rolling her eyes before she exhales sharply. “Probably. It’s 0270.”
I nod. “Your birthday backward.”
Geneva is wearing dark sunglasses over her eyes, but her lips part in surprise.
I tap the side of my temple with my index finger. “Brilliant mind, remember? I believe that was the exact phrasing in the report.”
She snorts, striding through the dirt yard in pencil-thin heels without a hint of a wobble. “Be good, ladies,” she tells the closed chicken coop before opening the gate to the street.
Before we got dressed, Geneva ensured that her chickens were safely tucked away for the evening. It’d been sweet, watching her softly chat to each one while giving them kitchen scraps and changing out their water.
“What are their names again?” I ask, jogging after her.
I remember exactly, but I want Geneva to tell me again.
“Prunella, Stella, and Hank.”
“And Hank is a hen.”
It’d been mistaken gender identity when Geneva had rescued the chicks two years ago. She’d been on a beach run and seen the three chicks struggling to stay afloat in the surf. After getting them safely home, Geneva had searched the internet for how to sex chicks, only getting two thirds of it correct.
Geneva exhales noisily. “Yes.”
“Who lays eggs?”
She stops in her tracks, wheeling on me. “Are you going to be like this all night?”
“Most definitely.” I can’t help the enormous smile overtaking my face.
I’m rewarded with a growl but decide to refrain from poking at her for the rest of the short walk to Bayside Table.
From my excursion earlier today, I discovered that Bayside Table is the only restaurant and bar in town. It seems more than enough, though, with its large outdoor entertainment space—a grassy area that stretches beyond an open-air bar and dance floor situated beside the restaurant. The waterfront restaurant has large glass windows facing the bay and a dock holding six boat slips for patrons to arrive by sea. It seems, though, most Wilks Beach residents arrive like us, on foot.
I follow Geneva to the outdoor space where picnic tables and Adirondack chairs are interspaced with a giant Connect Four, oversized Jenga, and several cornhole setups. String lights frame the grassy area, adding an ethereal glow to the sun setting across Back Bay. A handmadeCongrats, Newlywedsbanner stretches across the covered bar area already teeming with locals.
“Are you ready for this?” I mutter out of the side of my mouth.
Geneva looks ready. She looks like she could take on a gang of ninjas without wrinkling her dress.
“Not even a little,” she murmurs, spine perfectly straight, chin poised.
“Hey.” I step in front of her, loosely framing her arms and cheering internally when she doesn’t shrug off my touch. “Let’s just stick to the basics. The more honest we are, the easier this will be.”
Geneva rolls her lips, the slightest hint of uncertainty tracing her brow. “Thank you for going along with this. I know you didn’t want to, and—”
“It’s okay.” I ignore how she shivers slightly when my thumb slides over her bare shoulder. “Joanna seems like a wonderful woman. I understand why you’d want to protect her feelings.”
“Just for a little while.”
A small smile lifts my mouth. “Just for a little while.”
That’s the last moment we’re alone. Initially, Joanna steers us around the grassy space, making introductions. I quickly learn that Geneva had been in Vegas with Vivian, a local dress tailor, and her twin sister, Brynn, who owns Seabreeze Beans—Wilks Beach’s only coffee shop. Cade, a beachside masseuse, went along too, while Summer, a pediatrician, missed the trip to attend a medical conference.
