Page 49 of If All Else Sails
“Josie,” he says, voice low and firm.
Myyesis an unsteady wobble.
“You look beautiful,” Wyatt says.
He holds my gaze for another moment before sitting back. I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or sarcastic. His voice and his expression are too even to know. But my cheeks heat and my stomach dips like I’ve just gone over the crest of a roller coaster’s biggest hill.
It’s Wyatt, I try to remind my overloaded nervous system.Just Wyatt.
But I think the fact that it’s Wyatt makes the compliment meanmore.
“There.” Susan throws the car into Reverse and slams on the gas without looking, to a chorus of honks and screeching brakes. “Was that so hard?”
Yes, I almost tell her. It was probably the hardest thing he’s done this week, aside from accepting my help. Still, I find myself turning my head so he won’t be able to see my smile.
“Did you get the earrings you needed?” Wyatt asks his mother, his tone indicating he already knows the answer.
“Oh, shoot,” Susan says. “Guess I’ll have to look when I get back to Richmond.”
Or—she doesn’t need earrings at all and the whole thing was a ruse. An excuse to take me shopping.
Wyatt whispers, leaning so close to my seat that his breath is a caress on my neck, “Told you—high-society steamroller.”
Chapter12
Just a Little Girl Talk
Josie
We pull up to the yacht club, and I’m not sure if the man Susan hands the keys to is an actual valet or just an unfortunate yacht club patron who happened to be standing out front. Either way, he is now parking her car. Or stealing it. Guess we’ll see after lunch.
Susan links her arm through mine, marching us inside. Wyatt follows, the sound of his crutches on the hardwoods a persistent thump echoing through the tastefully decorated building, which looks more like a grand old mansion than a country club.
Or maybe this is how all yacht clubs are? I wouldn’t know.
We get a table upgrade when the view wasn’t to Susan’s liking and fresh glasses when she sees a smudge on one. Despite what otherwise might be diva-like behavior, Susan charms the staff the same way she charmed me. She’s polite and cheerful and firm,giving compliments that feel genuine to every person from our waitress to the older couple a few tables away.
When she turns the full weight of her attention on a person, her gray eyes so similar to Wyatt’s but infused with warmth, it seems impossible not to be hungry for more. It’s an absolute art she’s perfected.
As we settle in with a basket of warm bread and pats of butter shaped like roses, I listen to Susan fuss over Wyatt and wonder why he described his relationship with his parents ascomplicated. Because Susan manages to drag a few small smiles out of Wyatt. Genuine ones.
Maybe Wyatt’s father is the complicated part? Or the combination of both parents along with the brother I’ve never heard of?
“So, Josie,” Susan says when she’s done fussing over Wyatt and pressing him for details on his recovery, which he only gave in vague terms. She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand and directing the full force of her weighty attention on me. “Wyatt tells me your parents are on an RV adventure and that you and your brother take trips together too—a traveling family! I’d love to know more.”
When, exactly, did Wyatt tell her all this? He was only on the phone for like five minutes at the store. I glance at him, but his expression gives nothing away.
I explain a little about my parents retiring, downsizing, and then spending most of the year traveling to places all over the United States in an RV. Talking about them has me missing them with a fierce yank of longing that surprises me. Maybe a little leftover emotion from shopping with Susan.
“And what about your trips with your brother?”
“It’s supposed to be an annual sibling trip.” I leave out the name we call it, which feels silly to say in a yacht club.
Her eyes sparkle. “Wyatt, did you hear that? I wish you and Peter would consider something like this!”
The quick frown Wyatt tries to hide tells me he has no desire to consider a trip with his brother. More complicated family dynamics, I wonder?
“He’s probably too busy with work,” Wyatt says, and there’s a layer of bitterness edging his voice. Susan doesn’t seem to notice. But I file it away under Mysteries to Unravel.
