Page 35 of Marriage is a Shore Thing (Wilks Beach #2)

thirty-four

Geneva

I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my mind, but it’s far too late to change the plans now—especially since the Wilks Beach emergency text chain was accidentally activated.

Izzy, the events coordinator of Bayside Table, hands me another black balloon for the arch going over the stage, and I tack it in place from my position on a step ladder.

Locals from the Wilks Beach Garden Society are creating table arrangements like their life depends on it while tonight’s band rehearses the song I’m going to sing later.

Yup. I’ve gone insane.

But maybe in a good way?

While teaching my second class earlier today, I went full tilt just to keep everyone from thinking I’ve gone completely soft, but the whole time, I’d thought about what Cade had said.

Her offhanded comment about her and her boyfriend making sacrifices for each other out of love made me realize that I want to do something to show Van how I feel.

I’ve seen grand gestures in movies—running through airports, unexpected flash mobs, lifted boomboxes.

And though no one in this town has seen me do anything other than snarl while wearing dreary colors, I’ve spent more of my life onstage, singing, dancing, smiling until my face hurts, than I’ve spent inhabiting this grumpy persona.

That’s not a world I want to step back into, but I’m tapping into those skills tonight.

After class, I texted Izzy to ask if I could join the local band playing at Bayside Table for one song as a fun surprise for Van.

When I called Noah to gather a few people and keep Van busy in the condo tower’s game room with a couple rounds of pool so I could prepare, Cade found out and used the text chain to invite the whole town.

And it snowballed—or rather ballooned—from there.

Vivian called me, breathless, because she’d been working on an ombre sequin dress that could be perfect, except for one problem: it was black flowing into pink. I smiled to myself and said I’d be right over for a quick sizing.

Right now, Cade’s mom, Camille, is sprawled in the grass, hand-painting a black Geneva and Van banner to accompany the balloon arch. I figured Surprise! Your Wife Loves You! might be a little confusing when the town thinks our marriage is real.

I’ve already overheard several puzzled questions.

“Didn’t they just have a party?”

“It’s a little over the top for a two-month wedding anniversary, don’t you think?”

“I thought all Geneva could do is bark directions. Now she’s singing?”

And honestly, I understand the confusion. At our impromptu newlywed party, I barely spoke. But my pushing-everyone-away defense mechanism is starting to fit like a shirt that shrunk in the dryer—and not in a cute crop-top kind of way.

I don’t want to make a habit of hopping onstage, and I’m not certain I can fully carry the falsetto in this song, but I know one thing—this spectacle should keep the Wilks Beach rumor mill buzzing for weeks.

That, and Van will absolutely love it.

Which is why I ignore the angry hornets in my belly and tack up another balloon. Van’s delighted smile will make all of this worth it.

I climb down from the step ladder and retrieve my black stilettos as Cliff and his friend, Leo, come by with a curt nod, telling me the last little surprise is in place.

The plan is to hide until my song comes on.

In the meantime, the balloon arch will stay up, but the banner—and the secret Cliff is helping with—won’t come down until the end.

I check my phone for the time and see a message from Van.

Van

I hope Brynn is feeling better. Can’t wait to see you later. I missed you today.

When I got home from class earlier, he was still out surfing, so I quickly came up with a cover story about Brynn needing some girl time. I haven’t seen my husband since the breathless kiss we shared in the hallway after celebrating our victory last night.

My grin has a light of its own. A normal person would text back ‘me neither’ and ‘I missed you too’—both of which are completely true—but that’s not how our relationship works.

Geneva

It’s been less than twenty-four hours. Why are you so obsessed with me?

I laugh when Van answers right away.

Van

I can’t help that you’re magnetic.

My fingers type a comeback when another message pings.

Van

And I can’t stop thinking about your lips and how much I want them on mine again.

I blink, pressing my phone to my sequined bodice as a flush burns up my neck.

That…escalated quickly.

My text message alert sounds as I try to slow my erratic breathing.

Van

I’m up next. I’ll see you later, darlin’.

My shoulders slide back as the corner of my mouth lifts with devious delight. Van might have surprised me with that heated message, but he has no idea what’s in store for him.

I haven’t anxiously waited in the wings in years, and to be fair, I’m not really doing that now.

I’m hiding in the storage closet off the side door to the bathrooms to keep from being spotted.

A bucket of dirty mop water keeps rolling toward my shin as I listen to the Jimmy Buffet cover band start “Cheeseburger in Paradise.”

Elegant, I know.

The song I’ve requested and the black balloon arch above the stage doesn’t really vibe with the group of middle-aged dads in Hawaiian shirts currently occupying the stage, but they nailed the gritty sound of The Darkness in our impromptu rehearsal earlier.

I bounce nervously along to the boppy song as I wait.

When the audience sings along about preferred condiment choices, I duck my head and edge along the crowd until I’m behind the edge of the balloon arch.

Izzy waits with a microphone, and I snatch it and stride onto stage while Dale jumps right into the upbeat guitar riff intro of “I Believe in a Thing Called Love.”

The crowd hushes in shocked silence as I start the lyrics without missing a beat.

Even though most of them knew I was here to sing, I doubt anyone expected I would have this kind of stage presence after avoiding the limelight like corrosive acid for half a decade.

The second I find Van and send a polished fingernail in his direction, the audience explodes.

The chorus flows from me as the band and I really find our rhythm, the hoots and hollers from the crowd nearly deafening. But all I can see is Van’s dimpled smile beaming back at me. He’s shaking his head slightly, like he’s not sure this isn’t some crazy fever dream.

I grin into the mic, strutting across the stage before the next verse.

By the time we’re ready to head into the bridge, I encourage the audience to clap along with big, exaggerated movements.

Van bursts into laughter, his eyes the brightest I’ve ever seen them.

Pure joy vibrates through my body along with the thrumming from Victor’s bass.

As the song comes to a close, I even play a little air guitar, hamming it up with Dale.

Once the last chord hums as cymbals crash behind me, the sign falls open while Cliff and Leo fire t-shirt cannons full of black biodegradable confetti into the air.

I shout into the mic, “That’s for you, Van!”

The response is earsplitting, forcing me to press one palm to the side of my head. But the ruckus makes me grin like a lunatic as the crowd pushes Van toward the stage. After handing Izzy the mic, I hop into his outstretched arms.

My whispered, ‘Hi,’ is swallowed by the crowd, but Van’s responding grin is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes before he kisses me so hard I forget my own name.

The audience loses it again.

Van tucks me under his arm and steers us away toward the water’s edge where we can talk as Lost Shakers moves on to “Margaritaville.”

“That was— I can’t— I’d seen videos, but—”

I silence his incoherent stammering with another kiss.

“I take it you liked the song,” I say, a smirk settling over my lips.

Van shakes his head, his smile megawatt. “Like is too small a word.”

Part of me wants to keep playing coy, but now I want Van to understand what that display of confetti and sequins was all about.

I grab his hand, pulling us along the edge of the grassy area until we’re at the end of the property.

Even back here, with people playing lawn games, it’s too crowded.

The wave of shyness engulfing me is unexpected.

I mean, I just strutted beneath stage lights while belting at the top of my lungs.

“Let’s head to the beach,” Van says, kissing my knuckles.

We stroll in unhurried silence until the lulling sound of the waves pulls a relieved sigh from my mouth.

“Gen,” Van starts at the same time I say, “I wanted—”

We laugh at ourselves, kicking our shoes off at the end of the walkway before continuing into the cool sand. The beach is empty except for the light of the gibbous moon reflecting off the waves. Somewhere far off, a dog barks once, and then the night is still again, wrapping us in quiet.

“May I?” I ask once we’re halfway to where the waves tumble upon the sand.

Van hums. “A polite request. Am I in trouble?”

“When aren’t you in trouble?”

Another second passes, and I almost want to backtrack and leave this unsaid. But then I mentally remind myself how incredibly strong I am. If this doesn’t go the way I hope it will, I’ll find some way to survive.

Probably.

I stop, pulling Van to face me. When the apple top note of Van’s cologne washes over me, I slide my shoulders back and lift my chin.

“I want you to stay.”

Van doesn’t say anything, just stares.

“Here. With me.”

It’s a near duplicate of when I elbowed him in the solar plexus, except he’s not doubled over, struggling for breath. The ocean breeze pushes a curled strand of hair across my eyes, and I tuck it away, nerves eating at the bottom of my heart.

Why hasn’t he said anything? Why isn’t he beaming or whooping with joy?

“I— I—” I force a swallow down my tight throat and regroup. Might as well get everything out in one fell swoop. I already feel like I’m naked onstage.

“I don’t want to start at square one. I don’t want you to move out and pick me up for dates.

I want you to tell me about your day the second you get home.

I want you at my classes, infuriatingly good at every exercise.

I want to continue doing house projects and taking care of the hens together.

I want guitar music during my skincare routine.

I want…” I pause, fiddling with my silicone ring.

“I don’t want to take this off. But you should know that I returned Joanna’s ring this morning and told her the truth about us. Maybe someday, when we’re ready, you can ask for it back.”

When Van simply watches me, I squeeze my eyes shut because saying all of this out loud suddenly sounds ridiculous.

Why would he agree to any of this? Why would he uproot his life for me?

The sensation of his callused fingertips on my temples makes breathing impossible.

“Anything else, darlin’?” Van’s voice is darker, grittier than I’ve ever heard it.

I want to hide. I want to slink off into the night, but I open my eyes. “No.”

He studies me, his gaze drifting slowly over my face. “Why don’t I tell you what I want?”

I nod, the tension in my muscles enough to crush my bones.

“I want hot wings after the hardware store…”

A punchy breath leaves my lungs, and the relief rushing my body is so overwhelming that an unexpected tear tracks down my cheek.

“I want you to challenge me every day,” he says, catching it with his thumb. “I want to buy a surfboard and get sunburnt more than I should.”

I laugh, the sound watery as another tear escapes.

Van soothes that one away as well. “I want to work at the hospital on the mainland, but not as many hours as I did before. Something livable, something that allows me to pick wildflowers and put them in a vase in our living room and make dinner most nights when you get home from class. I want to tell Mama we’re married.

I want to shout that you’re my wife from every rooftop in this town. I want this life with you, Geneva.”

“Gen,” I correct, and Van’s dimpled smile winks back at me.

When I rise on tiptoe, Van meets me halfway.

Our kiss is tender, nothing like the heat of the one by the stage, but by now, I’ve learned that these kisses mean more.

The air between us hums, and from behind my closed eyes, I see a flurry of light.

We break the kiss to find ourselves in a vortex of thousands of fireflies.

“This island,” Van murmurs.

He continues to watch the circling insects, astonished, but with Van’s face lit with tiny pulses of light, I finally voice what’s long settled in my heart. “I’m falling for you.”

My husband chuckles, his focus returning to me. “That’s good, because I’m past falling. I’m shattered on the floor. The first time I heard your laugh in Vegas, it stole my breath long before your elbow did. And after getting to know you…” He shakes his head, grinning. “I never stood a chance.”

“Oh,” I say, my voice breathy.

Van presses close until his lips hover over mine. “Now, are you going to stop fighting me and let me love you?”

Dizzying warmth coils low in my stomach, sharp and sweet, as a slow smirk spreads across my lips.

“I’ll love you, but I’ll never stop fighting you.”

When Van’s lips crush over mine, the fireflies dissipate, and nothing in this world exists except the two of us.