Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I follow his gaze to the opposite side of the water from where we docked, and when my eyes lock onto what made him freeze, I squeeze his hand until it slips from mine.
Oh, God.
Saint is in the water before I can even fully process what I’m seeing. But there she is, just twenty or so feet from the shore, floating in the water. Mari, with her bright-orange hair, face down, her arms limp, skimming the top of the water.
“Mari!” Saint yells, swimming toward her. I step closer to the edge of the dock, wondering if I should go call the police, or yell for Louie, or jump in and help him. But I’m just frozen as I watch.
“Mari,” I whisper. “God, no.”
Saint reaches her, both his hands gripping her waist to flip her over. As soon as he does, I hear a piercing scream.
But it isn’t coming from Saint.
It’s coming from Mari, who is wearing goggles and beating Saint over his head with her snorkel. “I. Know. How. To. Swim. You. Dumbass!”
Oh, my God.
My entire body sighs, and I feel all the blood that rushed to my head suddenly drop to my feet. I’m so shocked that I have to lower myself until I’m sitting cross-legged on the dock.
“I’m so sorry,” Saint says. “It looked like you needed help.”
Mari motions to her body—to the bathing suit she’s wearing—and then pulls the goggles off her eyes. Her wet curls are matted over half her face. I’ve never seen her so mad. “I had a snorkel literally sticking up out of the water! I’m in a bathing suit! Aren’t detectives supposed to know what context clues are?” She starts marching toward the shore, water splashing all around her. “Can’t even get a peaceful swim out here anymore,” she mutters.
I can’t help but laugh at that.
“I hear you laughing, Twinkle Twat,” she calls over her shoulder at me.
I laugh at that too. Then I glance over at Saint and see he’s slowly making his way back to me, sopping wet. But there’s a smile tugging at his lips.
He pushes himself up onto the dock until he’s sitting next to me. “You gonna put that in your book?” he asks.
“Absolutely.”
“Can you rewrite it so that I actually save her?”
“Absolutely not.”
Saint laughs, pulling off his shirt. Then he grabs my hand and helps me to my feet. His fingers intertwine with mine again, just as they were before he tried to save a perfectly fine woman from drowning. His hand is warm and strong. My anchor.
We walk back to the house in silence, the gentle creak of the old planks beneath our feet the only sound disturbing the quiet afternoon.
Aside from the sound of water dripping from his soaking-wet clothes.
His presence beside me is still powerful, still electric, but the silence between us now feels different. It’s not the comfortable, easy silence of shared pleasure, but a charged, knowing quiet, filled with the unspoken reality of everything we confessed on the boat.
The fact that he’s married, but he’s also available, feels like a big change.
I can’t help but insert images of him into my future, wondering what it would be like to no longer be holding the weight that is Shephard.
Chapter Eighteen
Oh, my God, he is so heavy. “Shephard! Get off me!”
He was trying to catch a rogue football but tripped over the firepit and landed right on top of me and my chair. I try pushing him off my lap, but he’s having trouble straightening himself up. He’s probably had too many drinks today, but it’s a party. I don’t blame him.
“Kev, help,” Shephard says, reaching for our neighbor. Kevin finally helps him regain his balance to stand up, but before Shephard runs away to rejoin their game of front-yard football, he leans in and kisses me on the side of the head. “Sorry, babe.”
“You’re good. Go kick some ass.”
The sweet, chaotic sounds of my daughter’s birthday party fill the front yard. Laughter bubbles up from the kids, punctuated by the pop of a balloon. Then Shephard’s booming voice, carrying over the general conversations. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he yells. I watch as he falls onto his back in the grass, clutching his forehead in some defeated gesture. Two of the other neighbors are celebrating their win against him and Kev.
A fresh round of giggles erupts as the girls run past me. I can hear Nora in the seat next to me, laughing at whatever conversation she’s having with my neighbor Esther.
It’s a symphony of normal. Of safe.
This is what I love about my life with Shephard. These weekends in the front yard, cooking out, having margaritas while the kids play in the cul-de-sac. Every sun-drenched second here feels like a shield, which is strange, since the cabin feels like a shield from this life.