Page 31 of Marriage is a Shore Thing (Wilks Beach #2)

thirty

Van

Aweek and a half later, my fingers tap an anticipatory rhythm on the interior of the sedan’s door. “I cannot overemphasize how excited I am. If I wasn’t buckled into this getaway car, I’d be doing back handsprings.”

“I know, right?” Noah says beside me in the backseat. “Wait, you can do a back handspring? You’ve got to teach me.”

I chuckle. “I can’t, actually, but I just feel like this energy would just carry me through it. You know?”

“I get it. I kind of wish the jerk wasn’t on an airplane so I could jump into action.”

Geneva turns around from the passenger seat, glaring. “Do I need to separate you two?”

“No, ma’am,” I answer while Noah crosses his arms and says, “I’d like to see you try.”

A long-suffering sigh comes from Brynn. “Can we focus? Good planning only goes so far. It’s following through with your commitments that counts.”

Her gaze shoots to Noah’s in the rearview mirror, a clear admonishment.

Noah’s grin vanishes as he snaps his gaze toward the darkened street.

Stacy’s son’s football game went into double overtime, and then she needed to drive a few players home before trucking across town, so it’s much later than we’d expected.

We already ate Vivian’s delicious dinner, but she promised brownies and ice cream upon our return.

Brynn steals another sip of coffee before she turns onto the street leading toward Henry’s neighborhood. Since she needs to open Seabreeze Beans at five-thirty tomorrow morning, she’s the one most affected by the unintentional time shift.

As planned, Stacy is pulled over, waiting in her car. When she sees us, she goes first, using her code to get both cars in. Fortunately, for as austere as the neighborhood is, there’s no guardhouse or gate attendant, just a simple keypad at the gate.

Finn’s ability to find a perfectly nondescript car with untraceable plates is a little scary, but I guess billionaires can get whatever they want.

He even outfitted the car with a rideshare sticker and mini bottles of water to waylay suspicion.

Brynn’s phone glows in the dash mount with navigation cued up to take her two fares downtown.

She’s wearing gray sweats, and Noah and I are in dress shirts and pants to corroborate our cover.

Earlier, when I’d exited my bedroom in a yellow checkered shirt, Geneva had nearly dragged me by my collar to change into something less colorful.

She picked my gray button-down from the closet and handed it to me.

I smirked, reaching up to slowly undo my shirt, but instead of daring me to continue with a snarky chin lift, Geneva fled the room.

Her energy has been off all night, but I can’t really blame her when we’re about to break into her estranged father’s house.

Stacy pulls into the semi-circle driveway and parks in front of the five-car garage while we wait two houses away.

Since Henry is a fan of fast, flashy cars, the garage isn’t tucked away, but proudly displayed in front.

That’s slightly problematic as there are cameras catching nearly all of the ostentatious front yard.

However, the personal door is tucked around the side, so as long as Geneva sticks to the privacy trees at the property line, she’ll be invisible.

The lights emphasizing the front entrance columns illuminate Stacy making a show of digging through her purse and manually locking her car.

She’d already texted Henry after his departure time that she noticed her driver’s license had slipped out of her wallet.

She explained that she’s retracing her steps in hopes of finding it so she doesn’t have to waste hours at the DMV.

“Okay, she’s in,” Brynn says.

When Geneva hesitates, I slide my fingers over the seat to give her shoulders a squeeze. “You’ve got this.”

Geneva nods, tucking one earbud in and accepting my call before sliding the custom head covering over her braided hair.

It makes her look like a ninja from an old movie, but I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

Brynn shifts into drive, crawling forward until we’re beside the property line.

The stealth with which Geneva slides from the car and into the darkness of the cypress hedge shouldn’t be impressive given her athleticism, but my jaw still drops open.

Brynn leans over to softly close the door before turning around and reparking near the hedge.

“I just realized that you should have a codename,” I tell Geneva through my earbud. “It seems foolish that we didn’t already establish it. How about wifey? The wifester? Wifemperess supreme?”

I hear a little grunt over the line—probably a suppressed growl—that makes me grin like a madman.

“Oh, I’ve got it—wiferoni. No BWE. Best Wife Ever. Of course, there’s always Wifezilla.”

Noah chuckles softly before sliding down in his seat to slip out of the lamp light.

“Just because you’re in my ear doesn’t mean you have to talk,” she whisper-chides.

“Don’t I, though?”

The sound of a door opening in the background and Stacy’s voice directing Geneva into the house sends another fissure of energy crackling down my bones.

Taylor would love this. If she were still alive, she’d demand to be the one to take the ring back, to right this wrong.

There was nothing she hated more than unjustness, and she battled a lot of it as a social worker.

A half-cough/half-sob rips from my throat as sorrow ribbons through my ribs.

I hit my chest with my fist, exaggerating the cough to cover the moment of vulnerability.

Normally, I wouldn’t care. My heart has always been there right on my sleeve for everyone to see, but I’ve learned working as a doctor that there are times I need to tuck it away.

You can’t fall apart if it’s your job to put everyone back together.

“Are you okay?” Geneva’s tender voice is a soothing balm to my aching soul. She’s not even in the car, but she knows me so well she saw right through my coughing fit.

“I’m fine,” I say and then add, for Noah and Brynn’s benefit, “Just accidentally swallowed my gum.”

“Tell me when we get home.”

It’s not a request. Ever since I opened up about Taylor, Geneva has noticed when heartache slides into my voice. Every time, she led me to the couch and waited for me to talk about it, usually with her knees against my thigh and her reassuring fingers in my hair.

“Okay,” I tell her, knowing I’ll feel better afterward. I always do. I’ve never been in a relationship where I’ve felt simultaneously challenged and cherished.

Being with Geneva has also made me realize that I’ve never really wanted something for myself.

My whole life I’ve strived to not be my father.

I’ve focused on being a good man. That meant serving others as much as possible.

When we discovered how fast I could learn, I chose a career that not only helped people but allowed me to provide for Mama and Taylor.

But I want Geneva for me—selfishly, desperately.

“I’m entering the study,” Geneva says at the same time Noah swears under his breath.

“He shouldn’t be here, but I think that’s him.” He points down the road at the luxury car slowing at the last stop sign before entering this curving uphill street.

“Henry might be back,” I tell Geneva. “Get out of there.”

But unlike before, there’s no snappy response reminding me she’s the one that gives commands. A beep sounds in my ear, and I glance down to see the call has disconnected. I redial, but it goes to voicemail.

“Maybe it’s another person with the same Lambo,” Noah says, his voice doubtful.

Geneva’s message floods my earbud, and without thinking, I react. Darkness engulfs me as I sprint up the hedge line before the oncoming car turns the final curve toward the house.