Page 78 of Ship Wrecked

“I want to know what you have in your hands, and I want time alone with you, Maria. That’s all.” His own belly vibrated with his low laugh, and his cheeks creased beneath his beard. “Well, not all, but I’m still working on the logistics too. For now, let’s see if we can find a chair that’ll support us both and...”

He paused and shifted his weight.

“Why, Peter Reedton. My stoic, silent costar.” Leaning back against the support of his arms, she tipped her chin until she could see his expression clearly. “You want to chat, don’t you? Chat and cuddle. How adorable.”

His scowl should have incinerated the album still cradled in her hands and propped against his chest. But it was too late. She knew his dirty little snuggling secret now.

Tucking the album beneath one arm, she stepped out of his embrace, took his hand, and led him to the chaise longue in the corner. It was another of her favorite spots in the house, perfect for reading. Wide, thickly cushioned, and upholstered with velvety teal fabric, it overlooked the small back garden, had comfortable rolled arms, and resembled an overstuffed armchair stretching out its legs.

After one good look at it, Peter closed his eyes and groaned.

Well, after that pained growl, she was imagining the possibilities too, and they were both delightful and legion. But...

“Let me stop you right there. Yes, fucking on the chaise would be amazing, but the door doesn’t lock, and Filip is a restless sleeper.” She used her hold on his hand to urge him toward the enticing piece of furniture. “Sit.”

His answering grunt brimmed with aggrievement, but he put a knee on the chaise and maneuvered until the back cushions supported him and he could extend his strong legs over the elongated seat cushion. Then he spread those legs as wide as he could get them between the rolled arms and patted the space he’d created in front of him.

It was a tight fit, but with a bit of wiggling, she managed to wedge herself between his slightly raised knees and recline against his chest and stomach. His arms loosely circled her shoulders, and his chin nuzzled her cheek.

His body surrounded her. Braced her. Enclosed her in strength and softness and warmth without demanding a thing in exchange.

In the late-night stillness of her childhood home, they might have been the only two people awake in the world. Turning her head, she planted a kiss against his prickly chin, and the little hum in his throat sounded... content.

When he spoke, his tone was gruff but amused. “You realize we’re going to need a crane to get us out of this chair.”

“Worth it,” she said, and propped the thick album on her belly. “To answer your question, my father made this album when Vincent went away to university. Pappa was having empty nest issues, even with the rest of us still around, so he gathered photos showing how everyone became part of the family, up through the first year or so after we arrived.”

Over time, she’d seen each member of her family flip through the pages. The album served as a sort of touchstone for all of them, even as she and her siblings scattered to various spots around the world, only to inevitably return before scattering once more.

“Show me.” Peter took over holding the album upright. “Tell me about your family.”

Despite the quiet calm in his voice, new tension thrummed through his limbs, turning them from languid to slightly stiff, and she wanted to ask what was worrying him. But not if asking would distract from the conversation they were about to have, because he needed to know. He needed to understand the stakes for her in whatever sort of relationship they were creating, because his own stakes weren’t nearly so high. Not when he already lived in LA, seemingly content to settle a good distance from what she’d gathered was his semi-estranged father.

So instead of pressing him for answers, she simply flipped to the first page.

Her mother, red hair in loose curls, in her early thirties and pregnant, a smile on her face and one hand on her belly as her blond husband wrapped an arm around her shoulders and beamed at her. With her free hand, she held his.

“Mamma and Pappa didn’t meet until they were almost thirty. He’d just moved from the countryside to find factory work, and they met on the production line of our local pharmaceutical plant. They married two years later at the city hall, and they didn’t know it at the time, but she was already carrying Vincent.” She traced her parents’ entangled fingers through the plastic barrier. “The pregnancy was fine, but things went wrong during labor, and they were advised not to have more children. Pappa was particularly devastated, since he’d always wanted lots of kids.”

The only child of parents who’d died when he was in his twenties, killed at a crosswalk by a reckless driver, he’d craved—needed—noise and chaos andconnection. A big family to love and raise with his beloved wife, however that family came to be.

“So no more pregnancies.” Peter’s thumb tapped the edge of the plastic-covered page. “But that didn’t mean no more children.”

She smiled. “Exactly.”

Silently, they flipped through the rest of Vincent’s photos, watching him transform from a red-faced, squalling newborn to a chubby infant chewing on plastic keys and a bright-eyed toddler standing on his own two feet.

A flip of the page, and there was Filip. Eighteen months of age, his black hair choppy and tousled, his brown gaze wary. Fresh off the plane from South Korea, where he’d spent his entire infancy in an orphanage.

“My parents were waiting at the gate when Filip arrived, and they fell in love with him the moment they saw him,” she said.

“Well, yeah.” Peter touched Filip’s small, solemn face. “Who could blame them? I’m not even a kid kind of person, but he’s fucking adorable. One look at him, and I’d have scooped him up and fed him ice cream until he smiled.”

She had to laugh. “That’s pretty much what they did. As Vincent always points out, you can actually see his cheeks get chubbier and chubbier with each picture.”

Some of that was the food, but not all. His cheeks plumped when he smiled. And after a few months, when he’d settled in and grown to trust his new family, he’d begun smiling all the time. A quiet, sweet smile that looked almost exactly the same more than three decades later.

She flipped through more photos and basked in her brother’s growing contentment, the happy glow that said he’d found his place in the world at long last.

---