Page 66 of Distant Shores (Stapled Magnolias #2)

ADAIR

M y new alarm vibrated in my scrubs pocket.

Showtime.

Again.

Rain pelted the hallway windows as I called the elevator, and I sighed, hoping the storm blew through before the gala this Saturday. It was all indoors, but I’d heard Ireland on the phone with Ari, worrying that people would bail if the weather was too bad.

It’d been a week since my birthday.

A week of losing myself in Ireland every night, of falling asleep with her in my arms and waking up in her bed. Of adding more photos to her “happy” album at every opportunity.

It’d also been a week of healing. Of rigorous PT and enough progress toward walking again that I was officially back at work.

When I made it to the first floor, I swerved into the nearest bathroom and took a minute to brace myself, washing my hands thoroughly before fussing with my hair .

Maybe I should’ve gone to the salon before starting this endeavor, but…

No.

He’d only ever seen me like this.

My phone buzzed with back-to-back messages from Cole.

Cole

Third time’s the charm, babe. You’ve got this!

Call me after? Gary has gone too far this time. I cannot do

Clicking the side button, I locked the screen before reading the rest of the text. I was truly starting to wonder if Gary was even real or just a figment of Cole’s psychosis, conjured by his loneliness.

Seeing the glamor shot of me and Ireland that was set as my lock screen wallpaper was enough to distract me from the troubling thought.

I waved to co-workers and residents as I walked down the hall, my walking boot supporting my ankle properly and letting me go faster than I had in months.

My gaze darted around every corner and into every room, always looking for Ireland even though I knew she was over at the Locc, meeting with Ari.

An ABBA song I faintly recognized crackled from the turntable in the Zinnia House recreation room when I stepped inside, and I straightened my shoulders as I approached Beck Sewell. He was sitting on a stool in front of an easel by the window, glaring at his canvas.

“Hey, Mr. Beck,” I said, pulling up a chair beside him.

His blue eyes flashed to me, then back to his canvas.

Alrighty. So, it was going about as well as the first two times, but that was okay .

I still had four more to go after this.

“I’d like to speak to you about something, if you’ve got a moment.”

He made a stroke across the canvas with paint a color I couldn’t confidently describe.

“Ireland,” he stated, never taking his eyes off his work.

I straightened. “Yes, sir. About Ireland.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m going to Ireland. I have to get my….” He trailed off, then kinda gestured to the canvas. “I have to… do this before I can start.”

Step into their world.

That’s the other thing Ireland had told Delly.

Shifting my plan, I leaned toward him. “Before you start what, Mr. Beck?”

He looked surprised at my question, tucking his hair behind his hair, just like his daughter.

A daughter I didn’t think he remembered at all right now.

“I applied for years. For the…. For five years there. Ireland. Painting in the countryside. Classes and….” He stopped painting, frowning as he lost his thoughts again.

I smiled at him. “You got in?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. Five years there. In Ireland.”

“Congratulations.”

He sent me a smile, and it might’ve been the first real one he’d ever given me.

The Sewells had powerful smiles, made even more so with how closely they guarded them.

“I thought it was never going to happen for me,” he said, sighing heavily. “Was gonna give up by forty. And now my… my fucking hills.”

I craned my neck to look at the painting, and my stomach sank. I’d seen enough of Beck’s artwork to know his usual style, the precision of his strokes .

This was not that. It was strokes of chaos, haphazard and disjointed.

He painted a few more of those angry strokes and then set down his brush. “This song…,” he said. “This song.”

I tilted my head and listened.

And when you get the chance, you are the dancing queen

Dancing Queen. He’d written that on the lid of Ireland’s trashed cake.

“Mr. Beck,” I started, knowing I was running out of time. “I’m in love with your daughter.”

His gaze slid over me, but he still seemed lost in the music, tapping his finger on his thigh along to the beat.

“I want to ask Ireland to marry me. And I’d love your blessing to do so.”

No matter how many times I said it out loud, it still made my heart beat wildly at the words, and at waiting for what he might say.

The only response that could be worse than the last time I asked (“ The fuck if I know. Now move, you’re blocking my light.” ) would be a clear “No.”

“Ireland,” he said under his breath, finally lowering his brush. “I’ve never been to Ireland.”

I shifted in my chair, making sure I was nowhere near his light. “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Beck?”

“I’m….” His eyes slid to me, a sliver of clarity returning to them. “I’m… not sure.”

Ireland had mentioned her dad’s flings burning hot and fast, and that her birth, a result of one of them, was the reason he’d never made that trip to Ireland.

And that her mother had never been part of the picture, but once she was born, she’d become Beck’s entire world.

I knew the feeling .

“I’ll only ever be in love once,” I told him. “That’s my plan.”

Diggin’ the dancing queen

The song ended on a scratch, and Beck’s smile turned contemplative. “Until you have children. That love is….” He trailed off again, losing the end of his sentence, his gaze going distant once more.

“Mr. Beck?”

He blinked, then looked at me. “What?”

“How would you want the person who was in love with your daughter to propose?”

He smiled faintly as he returned to his work, his strokes softer. “With everything they had.”

I nodded slowly, letting the idea sink in. “Thank you. I hope Ireland is everything you dreamed it would be.”

The night before the gala, I went straight to the Zinnia House gym after my shift. As eager as I was to go straight to Ireland and watch her dance through the tiny sliver of window—one that she didn’t keep covered anymore— in the dance studio door like I did every day after work, I didn’t.

I had things I needed to work through first. Decisions to think over, like the call I’d made to my boss this morning.

My old boss, now. Previous. In the town I’d worked and lived in for a decade, in the only state I’d ever called home. The station would be busy tonight, the emergency calls constant, and my stomach tightened at the thought of not being there with them.

But I wouldn’t be back—not unless things went horribly wrong on multiple fronts .

My attempt at gaining Beck’s blessing yesterday—the sixth—had been… decent.

He’d given me a simple shrug before tearing into the extra slice of red, white, and blue cake I’d slid in front of him that the cafeteria had made all week for the Fourth of July holiday today.

I hadn’t talked to Live Oak yet about extending my work here. I was saving that for after Ireland’s answer.

Just as I lifted the first weight, Delly eased into the gym, dressed in workout gear, a confused frown on her face as she glanced around the room. I’d texted her on the way, asking if she’d meet me here, but hadn’t told her why.

“You summoned me, big brother?”

I tried to smile for her, but based on the way she stopped in her tracks, it was a failure.

“Addy,” she said, hurrying to me and sitting on the machine across from me. “What’s wrong?”

We were the only people here, but the room still pressed in on me as I looked at my little sister, wondering how to say it. Taking a deep breath, I slotted my weight back onto the rack and gave her my full attention.

“I’m not going back to Georgia,” I said quietly, and she sucked in a breath. “Delly…,” I continued, stomach dropping. “I’m sorry.”

I’d never been more than an hour’s drive from her. Never. But if she asked me to go back to Georgia with her, I had no plan for what I’d do.

Except cry, probably.

Despite the glistening in her eyes, laughter burst from her, loud and unrestrained. “For Ireland?”

I nodded. “And Pops too.”

“And why do you sound so miserable about it?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but then closed it.

This was a trap .

Delly narrowed her eyes at me. “You don’t think I can handle being on my own? Is that it?”

No.

Yes.

“I just… don’t want to leave you, Delly, and I’m scared. That’s the truth.”

Her eyes softened, and she reached for my hand. “The biggest favor you could do for me is to be happy. And you and I both know that going back to Georgia wouldn’t be that.” She sighed heavily, frowning down at our hands. “I’ve even been wondering if it’ll make me happy. If it’ll be the same.”

I sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

Her mouth twisted to the side. “I don’t know. It’s too late to try to transfer schools, but… I don’t know.” She looked up at me. “I’ve been thinking about things differently. This summer has been….” Her words died out, but I knew what she meant.

Everything had changed this summer. This summer had changed everything.

However you looked at it, it was the truth.

“We still have time,” I said gently. “The summer isn’t over.”

She nodded. “The summer isn’t over.”

“I’m going to ask Ireland to marry me.”

Delly’s hand twitched in my palm, but she didn’t gasp. Didn’t even look surprised as she smiled. “I know.”

I raised my eyebrows at her, and she smiled wider.

“Pops might have mentioned it.”

“ What ? When?”

She dropped my hand to brace hers on the bench and shrugged. “What happens at bingo stays at bingo.”

I threw my head back and laughed, so relieved I really could have cried. For her to know my intentions. For Pops to remember.

“He also told me you should ask Jillie about Grams’s ring.”

My mind blanked. “When…,” I started, my mouth suddenly dry. “When were you going to tell me this?”

“Now, big brother. The moment you finally told me what I’ve known for a while.”