Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(35)

“Sure it does,” he said gently. “Every step forward matters.”

She knew he wasn’t preaching, but speaking from experience. “I’ll remember that.”

Cara felt they’d both said more than they felt comfortable sharing and turned to another subject.

“So,” she said in an upbeat tone. “Now you live on Dewees Island. That’s quite a change. Do you ever feel isolated here, so far from other people?”

He shook his head. “I take the ferry in several times a week. I often go to Charleston. And I still travel quite a bit. Sometimes it feels like I don’t spend enough time here, enjoying the quiet.”

“And those other projects you’re involved in. Do they take up much of your time?”

“As much as I care to give,” David said. “I enjoy managing my investments. It’s rather like playing a game of chess. Both chess players and investors know that strategy is key. Each piece has a role to play. One has to look into the future and calculate the moves, the offense and defense.”

She raised a brow. “How’s the game going?”

“So far, I’m winning.”

Cara thought of David being able to make an offer on this house that the owners couldn’t refuse, of his early retirement, his support of Heather, his world travel, and realized his wealth had to be considerable.

“You’ll have to give me some tips,” she told him in a wry tone, adding, “Once I have money to invest.” She swirled the ice in her drink. “For now, I’m trying to build up my consult business. If you know of anyone, send them my way.”

It was a good place to end their conversation. They both turned their heads at the sound of a baby crying. They looked at each other and smiled reluctantly, and suddenly David no longer appeared a successful lawyer, but a younger, freer man.

A second cry echoed through the cavernous rooms.

“Back to work,” David said.

As they headed toward the bedroom to fetch the babies, Cara considered how much they had in common. She wasn’t the same person she’d been three years ago. Nor was he. They’d both lost partners. They’d both been alone, and now fate had designed that they both had a new baby in their lives.

Although this was a playdate for the children, she was surprised by how much they’d learned about each other.

And by how much she liked David Wyatt.



Chapter Nine



Loggerhead hatchlings are less than three inches long when they emerge, but those that survive to adulthood grow into three-foot-long, three-hundred-plus-pound adults.

THE BEACH HOUSE had a long history as a haven for women, and Linnea felt their spirit the moment she stepped inside.

“Welcome!” Cara exclaimed, pulling her indoors. She wrapped her long arms around her, and Linnea caught the scent of limes and flowers in her perfume.

Pulling back, she looked up into her aunt’s face. At five feet four inches, Linnea was a good four inches shorter than Cara. Her aunt was still quite thin but looked more alive and healthy than the last time she’d seen her. She had the glow of an early tan and a blush of greeting on her face as her eyes danced with joy.

Linnea dropped her bag on the floor and took a sweeping glance around the beloved house. She felt a flush of gladness sweep through her. It was as though she’d left a dark room and stepped into the sunshine.

“I’m back!” she said exultantly.

“You look wonderful.”

“You look happy.”

“I am happy,” Cara said with confidence. “Hope and I both. Especially now that you’ve arrived. Come in and make yourself at home.” She grabbed hold of the suitcase.

“Where’s my girl?”

“Napping.” Cara rolled her eyes. “I hope. I’ve made such a fuss.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’ll just bring this to your room. We can duck out. You know what they say about sleeping dogs and children.”

Linnea followed Cara to the spare room across from Hope’s nursery. She knew the room had once been her daddy’s. Cara, in typical fashion, had redecorated it to be more comfortable for Linnea. She’d brought back her old black-iron bed, the one Linnea had always slept on when she came here. It was covered with fresh white matelassé bedding, and perched on top was a large stuffed turtle that had been Linnea’s in childhood.

“You still have it?” she exclaimed. When Cara shushed her, she added in a whisper, “How did you keep it all these years?”

“Your grandmother Lovie never threw anything away. I used to chide her for it. Now I’m happy she didn’t. I’m slowly going through the storage unit and finding all sorts of treasures.”

“If you find any of her old clothes, let me know.”

Cara’s gaze swept Linnea’s white shorts and 1940s-style top. On her feet were a great pair of seventies-era sandals she’d found in Columbia.

“I’d forgotten you love vintage clothing. Oh, honey, I found some really choice items of Lovie’s. Dresses, skirts, even some of her old turtle team shirts. I couldn’t squeeze in them, but you look to be the same size. I was just going to take them all to Goodwill.”

“No!” Linnea exclaimed without thinking, immediately cringing and putting her hand over her mouth. They froze while Hope stirred in the next room . . . then smiled when silence returned. She whispered, “Please let me see them?”