Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
He removes his arm from my shoulder but doesn’t release me completely—his hand instantly seeks out mine. As Tate laces our fingers together, I don’t miss the amused gleam in Evan’s eyes.
“So this is a thing now, eh?” Evan says.
Once again, Tate and I answer at the same time.
“Sort of.”
“Just a little.”
CHAPTER 27
TATE
Before I even turn the knob on the front door, I hear the explosion of noise behind it. The kids always know when someone’s home. Especially when it’s their papa. Sure enough, the moment I step inside, two tornadoes slam into me.
“Hey, guys.” I drop to my knees to show them some love. “Aww, I missed you so much.”
Fudge, our chocolate lab, has both paws around my neck. He’s a hugger. Polly, our shepherd, waits her turn like the proper lady she is. She always plays it coy. Sits there looking pretty until I can’t resist.
“Oh, you pretty girl, c’mere,” I tell her, and soon she’s trying to climb into my lap because these two always forget how big they are. Ninety-pound lapdogs. We used to have a third, a border collie named Jack, but he died this past winter. I miss the old guy.
As I rub behind her ears, Polly’s tongue flops out happily. She collapses on the hardwood and offers me her belly. Fudge does the same, and suddenly I’ve got eight paws sticking straight up in the air and two bellies demanding to be rubbed.
Which is how my mom finds me. “Am I interrupting?” she asks dryly.
At the sound of her voice, the dogs jump to their feet, instantly bored of their prodigal papa’s return. Their toenails click on the floor as they dash off to who knows where. I’m but a speck in their proverbial dust.
“Damn. And I thought they missed me,” I remark, watching their disappearing tails.
“Speaking of missing. Hey, kiddo.” Mom laughs and flings her arms around me. “I hate this housesitting gig of yours.”
“No, you don’t. You love the alone time with Dad.”
“Well, duh. But I still miss my son.”
“We text every day.”
“Still miss you. Are you hungry? Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Famished. Where’s Dad?”
“Upstairs in his office. He forgot to fill out some paperwork at work earlier, so he’s taking care of a few things before dinner.”
“Cool. I’m gonna go up and say hi to him. I need something from his office.”
In the upstairs hall, I find Dad’s door ajar. I approach and give it a light knock. “Dad?”
“Yeah, come in, kid.” He greets me with a big smile. “How goes it? How was Beach Games?”
“Intense. We’re currently in fourth place.”
“Who’s in first?”
“Frickin’ dudes from the fire station. They always dominate.” I walk toward the glass cabinet that spans one wall of the office.
It’s pretty much a shrine to our family, containing all the accomplishments we’ve amassed over the years. Dad’s baseball trophies and photos from his time in St. Louis. His and Mom’s wedding pictures. All my childhood trophies and first-place ribbons. And there, sandwiched between Mom’s framed college diploma and a copy of the deed to Bartlett Marine, is the photograph I was telling Cassie about. Me, posing after the first sailing race I ever entered, holding the first trophy I ever won. Or rather, trying to hold it. My teeth-gritting expression reveals I’m struggling not to let the thing flatten me.
“Do you mind if I take this out so I can snap a picture of it?” I point to the photo.
“Go for it.” He chuckles. “Taking a walk down memory lane?”
“No, I was just telling Cassie about this earlier. Thought she’d get a kick out of seeing it.” I open the cabinet and carefully remove the frame, then place it on the edge of Dad’s desk and fuck with my phone camera until I’m not seeing any glare.
“Man, I was a cute kid,” I remark.
Dad snorts. “And so humble too.”
I take a pic of the pic, then return it to the cabinet. As I’m shutting the door, my gaze snags on another framed photo, this one featuring a younger version of my father hanging off the mast of a shiny white yacht. He’s grinning from ear to ear, loving life.
“Was this your Hawaii-to-Australia sail?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder. “The one that took you a month?”
“Thirty-two days,” he confirms. “Man, what an adventure. I almost died in Hurricane Erma.”
“Sounds fun.” My smile falters when I suddenly think about Gil Jackson’s offer. It’s constantly been on my mind, nagging at me, but I haven’t made any decisions yet. It would be a huge commitment, leaving the Bay. And sure, I can do it in sixty days, but who knows if or when I’d get an opportunity like that again. If I accept the gig, I want to maximize my time on the Surely Perfect. That means four months. Four months and the adventure of a lifetime.