After All (Cape Harbor #1)(31)

Brooklyn stared at the house they were standing in front of. The seawall seemed to limit the owner’s access to the beach, which wasn’t a big issue, but could be when it came time to sell it. That thought gave her pause. Was she really considering buying a house to flip it? She was, and she loved the idea. From what she could see, it needed work, but nothing she couldn’t tackle—of course, the inside could be a different story. “Is this some kind of hint?”

Her daughter giggled.

“We have a few months before school starts; we’ll figure it out together.”

“Do you know what I find funny about you and Dad?”

“Nope, tell me.”

“That he fished all the time, and you worked for the fish market. Fish really smells, so you guys must’ve been . . .” Brystol pinched her nose and waved her hand in front of her face.

Brooklyn laughed. “Grandma hated that I worked there, but it was fun. If we stay, maybe you should get a job down there.”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’ll work for you or Nonnie. I think it would be fun to work at the inn.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it would be, and Nonnie would love having you there. Come on.” She motioned toward the direction they needed to head. “Work waits.”

“Or we play hooky?”

Brooklyn leaned down and kissed her daughter on her forehead. Playing hooky sounded amazing. The idea of spending the rest of the day on the beach with her daughter was more enticing than painting. Normally, she loved work. It kept her mind busy, and that was something she needed to do right now.

“Let me get this project started, and then we’ll take a day to explore the area.”

“Deal!”

They trudged through the sand and found Carly waiting for them on the deck. Brystol ran up the stairs that led to the shared backyard of the main house and inn. By the time Brooklyn reached her daughter and Carly, they had the shells spread out on the picnic table.

“You ladies were busy this morning,” Carly commented on the collection.

“I believe you’re the one who told me that morning is the best time to gather shells.” Brooklyn brushed her hand over Brystol’s long dark hair. “Why don’t you run in and take a shower. I need to get to work, but I need an hour of reading from you before you start bugging Simone, okay? And don’t forget your book report.”

“Okay, Mom.” Brystol kissed her grandmother and disappeared into the house while both women watched her.

“She’s happy here.”

“She loves you, Carly. Of course, she’s happy.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

Brooklyn glanced at Carly and smiled. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

Carly stared at her with a guarded look. “Stay.”

“What do you mean?” Deep down she knew what Carly wanted, but something inside told her she needed to hear the words.

“Make a life here. Give Brystol a home. Let her grow up with her father’s friends. With me.”

She sat across from Carly and prepared to ask her a barrage of questions. “Why don’t they know her? Why haven’t they come around? Why haven’t you left this house?” She hadn’t meant to ask so many at once, but they just wouldn’t stop coming.

“Losing Skip was hard, but Austin’s death crippled me. If it weren’t for Brystol . . .” She paused, and Brooklyn knew what she was going to say. “Simone tried to bring life back to me, but to face everyone, to see the look of pity and sorrow on their faces—I wasn’t ready.”

“But you are now?”

Her mouth curved into a smile. “You’re here. My granddaughter is here. You both give me purpose.”

Brooklyn reached across the table and held Carly’s hand. “I’ll think about it. Truth is, I have so many thoughts about moving back here, mostly for Brystol. She seems to think it’d be funny to go to school where Austin and I had.” Carly’s brow shot up, causing Brooklyn to laugh. She had been on the receiving end of one too many calls about Brooklyn’s and Austin’s schoolyard antics.

“Brystol needs roots.”

“It would be nice to come home to a home. The thoughts are there, Carly. I promise you.”

Brooklyn left Carly sitting at the table. She went into the house, to her room, and changed into her work clothes. As soon as she heard the backing-up beeps from the delivery truck, she ran down the stairs and out to the front. She saw Bowie’s crew, but not him, and a few of the guys sent up from Seattle by a friend of hers. “Where the hell is he?” she mumbled as she walked out the door and prepared to start her day.





ELEVEN

Bowie woke to Luke licking his face. He tried to push his dog away, but to no avail. His head hurt, pounding like a jackhammer was right next to him. He groaned aloud, earning another round of wet, slobbery kisses from his best friend. He had drunk too much, laughed too hard, and mourned a lost friend right along with his lifelong friends. They had stayed at the Whale Spout long past closing, talking about nothing yet seemingly everything. The elephant in the room was Brooklyn’s return. Her close friends were pissed, at least those who used to be close to her. Monroe seemed to be the only one who understood why Brooklyn had left, while others did not, and a few kept going on about how well she had aged and how they would like to take her out. Those comments had pissed Bowie off, and the only way to shut out the voices had been to drink more.