Page 25 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
In the months afterward, I built a new life here. Joanna helped me find a rental, introduced me to the town and to the half-brother I’d never known existed. For her kindness, I’ll always be grateful. But I had learned my lesson. No matter how kind the people of Wilks Beach seemed, I could never fully trust them. Over the years, I honed cold stares and snappy responses into a near-perfect defense mechanism.
Until I accidentally married a stranger and everything went sideways.
I sigh, my arms suddenly leaden. My phone dips until the edge of it rests on Van’s collarbone.
“You might want to get silicone rings for when you’re teaching or when you’re at the beach, but wait to get something more permanent for Van. That way, his ring can match yours. When you get home, I’ll give it to you. Well”—a little laugh bubbles over the line—“I’ll give it to Van so he can give it to you.”
Her voice is practically sparkling. For the ten millionth time since she mentioned it, I chastise myself for not seeing that Joanna’s light had been dimming for months. I should have noticed. I should havedone somethingabout it.
“Oh, and while you’re there, can you get me three containers of kitty litter for Princess and Demon?”
Van’s eyebrows shoot up at the names of Joanna’s cats, but I’m too mentally exhausted to glare back, to tease. His expression shifts, examining me—almost as if he has x-ray vision. That must be super handy for an emergency physician. I’m sure it saveson hospital charges when the doctor assessing you can see right through you. I turn my face away a second before a broad hand settles between my shoulder blades, rubbing in a slow, steady circle. My body sways even closer to him, like the traitor it is.
“Sure. Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. Oh, and also, I want you two to come over for dinner. I didn’t get the chance to hear the story of your wedding since it was so busy at the party.”
A sinking sensation tugs low in my stomach. It feels like two rusted-out trucks are chained to my ankles, and someone just threw me off a pier.
“Sure,” I manage. “We’d—”
“Joanna, hey. It’s Van. You’re on speaker. As much as I’d love to get to know you better, would it be okay if we moved dinner to later in the week? Maybe Friday?” The entire time he speaks, Van never takes his careful gaze off me. “I’ll happily drop off the kitty litter later today, but we’d love some time together.”
“Oh. Of course.” Joanna’s chuckle bursts through the line. “It’s technically your honeymoon, after all.”
“That it is, ma’am.” It’s baffling how Van is able to infuse bashful warmth into his words when a little knot is forming between his brows.
“Don’t worry about the kitty litter. I can get it Friday.”
“Much obliged, Joanna. See you then. Please be sure to let us know if we can bring anything.”
After a short exchange of goodbyes, Van disconnects the call, because apparently my fingers don’t work anymore. The din of the noisy restaurant is suddenly too loud. My pulse is too frantic in my ears. My entire existence zeros in on three distinct things: where Van’s warm hand is still rubbing comforting circles on my back, the way his full lips look fundamentally wrong as he frowns, and how his gray eyes mirror the skies of an impending storm.
“Why’d you do that?” I ask, not pulling away. Why am I not pulling away?
The crease between his brows deepens like he’s…worried? Why should Van care about me? We’re essentially strangers. I’ll admit that we’re both attracted to each other, but that shouldn’t mean…
“You…” Van pauses, almost like he’s carefully considering his words. “You looked like you needed help.”
It’s the last hit, the one I can’t come back from—him paying attention, him being there for me, himwantingto help me. The second I lean on someone is the moment I fall flat on my face.
“I didn’t.” Using the last of my self-respect, I grab the to-go bag and storm out the door.
ten
Geneva
My hands squeeze and release the steering wheel as I drive to the superstore.I should have said goodbye.That’s the thought that keeps circling my head like water down a drain. I should be focusing on keeping distance between Van and me, but all I can think about is how rude I was, leaving without Evelyn’s tea or saying goodbye to everyone at the restaurant.
Van brought the cups to the car—one with my name written in swoopy handwriting. He likely made an excuse and smoothed over my abrupt departure, but that’s not how I behave at Hotties.
It’s the one place where I can be…me.
Kind of.
I’m not even sure who that is anymore.
It started off as an experiment. Because the stakes were low, I thought I’d trynotwalking through the world like a bulletprooftank. If I let my guard down and the three generations of family that ran the restaurant gave me the cold shoulder, I could always walk away. I’d never have to see any of them ever again, and I could easily pick a new place to grab food when I was on the mainland.
