Page 25 of Marriage is a Shore Thing (Wilks Beach #2)

twenty-four

Geneva

“I’ll order a car to drive me,” I tell Van the following Tuesday, reaching for the crutch Noah brought over as soon as the news swept town.

In the Wilks Beach gossip version, I injured my ankle while high-kicking a man in the throat in order to save Vivian from an unsavory encounter in a darkened alley.

A few of the town’s matriarchs came by to offer thanks by way of healing salves and fresh baked sweets before I set the story straight.

Judith Abernathy insisted I keep the salve and asked if I’d like a boxing-themed quilt since the weather is finally starting to turn.

I politely refused, but after Van propped my foot up on the coffee table with a frozen bag of lima beans, they spoke outside for way too long.

This sprained ankle is really messing with me.

I could accept when I had the flu and barely had the energy to stand that I needed to rest. And then, no one from town saw me in that vulnerable state except Van.

But having to teach my class on Monday sitting down—even if it was on a countertop—was demoralizing.

I can’t check people’s form and help them get the most out of their workouts when I’m twenty feet away.

“I can easily drive you,” Van tells me as he finishes the last of the breakfast dishes like the jerk he is.

To be clear, I’m not mad at him because he’s washing the dishes.

I’m mad because that’s my job. He cooks nutritiously dense frittatas that are surprisingly tasty, and I wash the dishes.

It keeps things fair. But the kitchen chair where he usually sits and jokes with me is currently occupied by my stupid swollen ankle.

I’d really hoped to be done with this purply nonsense by today so I could drive myself to volunteer, but no. I can barely put weight on my right foot, which means that pushing the gas—or more importantly, the brake pedal—is out of the question.

I shove myself up from the chair, using the crutch for balance. “You shouldn’t even be here today. It’s bad enough you took yesterday off. What about all the patients who didn’t get seen because you called out? You should be thinking about them. Not me.”

There’s no doubt that Van is an excellent doctor, but I’m sure that carrying patients from point A to point B is not standard care.

Ever since we got home late Saturday night, he’s been treating me like his personal transport.

I want to say it’s annoying, obtrusive, and borderline insulting, but it’s incredible.

Van picks me up like I’m not five foot ten and packed full of hard-earned muscle, easily toting me from room to room.

“It’s not a problem. I’m new to the staff, so I’m just helping with overflow anyway,” Van says, resting his hip on the counter while drying his hands on a dish towel.

He’s temporary staff, I remind myself. Van is only volunteering at the free care clinic located in the farm area of Pungo because in two more months, he’ll be back at his full-time job in Nashville.

Acid bubbles at the back of my throat, but it’s probably from the sriracha sauce I put on my eggs.

I take two hobbled steps away from him. “I said no. Don’t you know what ‘no’ means?”

Blame it on my throbbing ankle or that I couldn’t get comfortable for the third night in a row and slept horribly, but I’m extra snappy today.

It could also be from the windstorm that slapped against the house all night long.

Even now, ominous clouds churn outside the kitchen windows.

At least the weather matches my foul mood.

“It can’t be that bad, Gen.” His lips tip up, just the hint of his dimple peeking through.

“What are you talking about?”

His smile only grows at my curt question, and I try to mediate my heart’s foolish response to the affectionate way he’s gazing at me. Why isn’t he annoyed that I’m crankier than a snapping turtle in a hailstorm?

“Wherever you’ve been slipping off to every Tuesday and Thursday. Whatever it is, I won’t judge you. Just let me drive so I know you’ll get there safely, then I’ll head to a café and get emails done until you need me to pick you up.”

Everything feels itchy. My skin is suddenly too tight, heat pricking down my neck. The impulse to bite, to lash out is right there, reliable as ever. I’ve always taken care of myself before. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.

Van crosses the short distance between us with slow, even strides. His eyes sweep my face before his fingertips graze my tight knuckles. I hadn’t noticed that I’d been squeezing the crutch with both hands.

“Darlin’.”

That’s it. One little word. One impossible nickname that I should have never allowed in the first place, and my shoulders sag, and a ragged breath escapes my tight lungs.

“Why are you so nice to me?”

The words leave my lips without my permission. I want to call them back instantly, to stomp away and pretend they never happened, but I wait instead. Van exhales, his palm gently cupping my cheek.

“Are you going to believe me if I tell you the truth?”

I bite the edge of my lip. “Probably not.”

Van huffs a small laugh as my doorbell rings. Then someone knocks…and then keeps knocking.

“Go away!” I bellow out of habit, and Van’s responding grin steals the breath from my lungs.

“I’ll get it.” He tucks those words against my temple before walking to the front door.

I expect it to be Carol, saying she wants to hash something out with me but really wanting to snoop as much as humanly possible, so when Joanna comes sailing through my repaired front door, I blink.

She almost never comes to my house, mostly because there’s nothing here.

To be fair, she doesn’t go to Noah’s one-bedroom bachelor condo either.

Instead, we do monthly dinners at her house.

Though…now that I think about it, we haven’t done that since Van showed up on my doorstep.

“I have news,” she says after giving Van a quick hug and exchanging pleasantries. “Stacy found the ring.”

“Oh, good.” My tone is light, but my brain is fighting to remember the last time my surrogate mother looked this luminescent.

She’s practically beaming in her denim shorts and flowy blouse, ever-present bangles tinkling on her wrist. The breeze seems to have tossed her curls into a playful windswept halo instead destroying her effortless style.

“It took her a while because she had to be discreet in her search. Stacy also said that there’s only cameras on the front and backyard doors, not the side entry to the garage,” Joanna tells us with a triumphant smile.

Sean’s report also detailed the external cameras, but I’ve got another question before I give her an edited version of that file’s information. The last thing Joanna needs to know is that Henry is still up to his old ways.

“What about inside?”

“None.” Joanna fingers the petals of a tangerine flower on the vintage sideboard table.

Van keeps finding flowers somewhere to fill that mason jar.

I should tell him thank you. I should be writing him opuses of gratitude for everything he’s improved in my life, not fighting him every second of every day.

But there’s always this slight twinkle in his mesmerizing gray eyes when I push back that tells me he enjoys our teasing repartee as much as I do.

“Good,” I say before filling Joanna in on the details from Sean’s report. “Though, I’d like to wait until my ankle is better before trying to retrieve the ring.”

“Oh, of course.” She frowns at my throbbing ankle. “Are you managing okay?”

“She’s the most disgruntled patient I’ve ever had.” Van grins from his position leaning against the closed front door.

I give him a death glare. “Lucky for you, I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“You’re driving her, right? To volunteer at OWRC?” Joanna asks Van.

“OWRC?” Van says, not taking his eyes off me.

“Oceanside Women’s Resource Center. It’s a women’s shelter on the mainland.”

If I hadn’t already been locked into a stare-down with Van, I might have missed it. I might have missed the flicker making his eyes look almost blue. I certainly wouldn’t have seen his chest rise in a slow inhale or how he rubs his knuckles over his heart.

“How—” I clear my throat as I snap my gaze to Joanna. “How do you know about that?”

“Oh, honey.” She pats my arm like I’m a small child. “Everyone knows about that.”

“They do?” I try to keep the pitch of my voice level—I really do—but it comes out all squeaky.

Joanna chuckles. “Wilks Beach is a wonderland of surf, sand, and everybody knowing everybody’s business. When you first moved here and kept so much to yourself, people were worried you were one of those mainlanders, especially after everything that scumbag did to Noah and me. To all of us.”

After the fallout of finding out about my father’s double life, I threw walls up so high they grazed the moon. Whenever I was in town, I was all barbed spikes and poisoned glares. Of course the locals wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt Joanna or anyone else.

“I don’t remember who kept tabs on you.” She squints at the new lighting fixture. “Bex? Jonas? But once they found out you were volunteering to help women escaping terrible circumstances, we knew you were trustworthy.”

“I—” My brows pinch. “I, um…”

I can’t really be upset with the people of Wilks Beach doing their due diligence when I’ve done it several times since being blindsided.

A slight blush pinks Joanna’s cheeks. “I told everyone not to mention it because I figured you wanted your privacy.”

“It’s just something from my pageant days I didn’t want to give up,” I tell her, almost shocking myself with my honesty when I’d usually fall into silence.

“I started volunteering because I needed something that looked good for the judges, but I enjoy helping other women to see the strength in themselves.”

It’s something that fills my heart.

Joanna hugs me carefully, making sure not to bump my ankle. “Good people volunteer because they want to help, not because they want others to know about their good deeds.”

“They also help retrieve family heirlooms even if they could get arrested,” Van pipes up from over Joanna’s shoulder.

I narrow my eyes at him as she leans back, framing my upper arms. “On that note, I don’t like the idea of you doing this by yourself.”

“I won’t be alone. Stacy will be in the house at the same time as cover.”

Joanna wrinkles her freckled nose. “I still don’t like it.”

“Don’t worry, Joanna.” Van sends her a wink when she glances his way. “I’ve got a plan.”