Page 8 of Marriage is a Shore Thing (Wilks Beach #2)

seven

Geneva

The sound of a deep voice yanks me from sleep, instantly putting me on alert.

I jump out of bed, grabbing the baseball bat I keep tucked behind my bedroom door.

It’s only when I’m on the landing that my sleepy brain registers Noah’s voice.

It sounds like he’s downstairs, clanging around in the kitchen.

Relief shifts to annoyance in an instant, and I reach up to pull the heatless curlers out of my hair before I confront him.

My half-brother likes to poke at my “primping habits” even though his skin could really benefit from a ten-step routine.

“So, boom, she just elbows this guy, making it look all nonchalant.” Noah’s voice climbs artificially high in a—frankly, offensive—imitation of me. I don’t even have that high of a vocal tone for a woman. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were there.”

Then I hear a sound that stops me in my tracks—Van’s laugh. In my sleepy state, I’d forgotten that he’s here.

Sleeping on my couch.

For the next three months.

When he chuckles again, a fizzy sensation slips to my toes.

I’ll never admit how much time I’ve spent contemplating what it is about Van’s laugh that sends energy teeming through my body.

The sound is deliciously low and velvety, but it also tumbles free easily, in an almost unbothered way.

Like his natural state is bright smiles and effortless laughter.

He definitely charmed everyone at the party last night without even trying.

There’s something that’s so…annoyingly genuine about him.

“She did the same thing to me when we first met,” Van says. “I was trying to keep her from getting clobbered by two drunks, and she elbowed me right in the solar plexus.”

There’s not a smidgen of irritation in Van’s voice. If anything, there’s a touch of pride. I shift my shoulders to dissipate the bloom of warmth slipping down my spine, frustrated with myself.

“That’s Geneva in a nutshell—punch first, investigate later. But honestly”—by the way Noah says that one word, I can tell he’s going to get all mushy—“you’ll never meet a more loyal, protecti—”

“Why on earth are you two making so much noise this early?” I interrupt, stepping barefoot into the kitchen.

They’re huddled around my ancient coffee maker, early morning light bending around them in an almost cheerful way—like it, too, wants in on the gossip.

Noah is still wearing his uniform. I guess he decided to pop by after his 24-hour shift ended.

Van has on blue scrub pants and a threadbare t-shirt, rumpled from sleep.

Can’t a doctor afford something that doesn’t have tiny, distracting holes across the collarbones?

Though…I suppose it could be worse. He could be shirtless. The memory of what it felt like being pressed against his sun-warmed skin inundates me before I can force it away.

Van’s smile vanishes as he looks at Noah. “You said she was an early riser.”

My half-brother brings his mug to his wicked lips. “Sorry, man. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I mess with my sister any chance I can get.”

“Half-sister,” I amend, needing to gain some ground.

Noah rolls his eyes so dramatically he might as well be on a reality TV show. “Will you cut that out? We’re siblings, plain and simple.”

I make an irritated sound in my throat but don’t argue. That is, until I see the empty container on the counter between them.

“And you ate all my pineapple?”

“Not all of it. There’s one piece left.” Noah picks up the remaining piece, extending it toward me only to pop it in his mouth.

My hands fist as I bare my teeth. It is way too early for his nonsense.

“It’s okay. I’ll get more pineapple at the market when it opens,” Van offers.

“Dotty’s doesn’t carry pineapple, except for the one she orders and sets aside for Geneva each week,” Noah says, eyes trained on me.

He’s clearly trying to punish me for blindsiding him with Van’s existence yesterday. Well, join the club, buddy. I’m thrown off kilter as well.

“That’s fine,” Van says, his gaze bouncing between the two of us like a referee wondering if a brawl will break out. “I’ll drive into town and get one.”

“You’ll drive to the mainland,” Noah corrects, breaking our stare-down to direct his attention at Van. “If you’re going to be an official islander, you’ll need to use our lingo. That is, if this marriage isn’t a complete sham.”

I sigh, pushing between them to fill a mug with coffee. I’m halfway through when Van murmurs in my ear, nearly causing me to drop the glass carafe.

“Do you mind if I explain?”

I don’t glance right, don’t dare see the exact hue of gray his eyes are in the morning light. It’s also too early for his silky voice, for his warm, steady presence.

I give my steaming mug a tight nod, letting my feet carry me to the far countertop as Van explains our situation. Noah tries to give me judgy looks but caves when Van explains his sister’s sudden passing and Joanna’s response to the news.

He runs a hand through his curls. “Okay. I get it. But if this is temporary, you can’t get Mom’s hopes up.”

“I know,” I say, leaning my hip on the counter and placing my foot on the inside of my other calf.

“We’ll need to let her down gently. I don’t think anyone will expect us to be out and about much now that we’re supposed to be newlyweds, and when we’re around town later, we can project trouble in paradise vibes.

Maybe a small argument here, distant body language there. ”

Noah guffaws. “Geneva, you didn’t touch him once last night, and that was supposed to be a wedding celebration.”

I release a slow exhale. “Everyone knows I’m not…expressive. I don’t think it was strange.”

“It was strange. In fact, the over/under at Seabreeze Beans this morning is that he won’t last the month.” Noah tilts his chin toward Van.

I bristle, though I should be ecstatic hearing this news. Everyone else in this town sees me as I truly am—an unlovable grump. Them betting against me makes rational sense. So why does it feel like something sharp is lodged in my throat?

“You went to the coffee shop before coming here? I suppose that brushoff last night wasn’t satisfying enough?” I lift my eyebrows innocently as Noah visibly stiffens.

A small voice inside tells me to stop here, but my words are already locked and ready. So I do the only thing I can think of when I’m backed into a corner—I lash out.

“He’s in love with the coffee shop’s owner, Brynn, even though she wants nothing to do with him.”

“At least I’m trying,” he says, his hand unsteady as he picks up his mug for another gulp. “That’s more than I can say about a certain someone who hides behind her fists.”

“Okay.” Van claps his hands, efficiently disrupting our death stares. “It feels like this went off the rails.”

Noah smirks. “Bickering is pretty much our status quo. You’ll get used to it.”

“Maybe so, but this feels like more than bickering. I don’t want either of you to say something you’d regret.”

My stomach twists.

Too late.

“You’re really this good of a guy all the time, aren’t you?” My brother settles himself against the counter, crossing one black boot over the other. “That story about you delivering twins at a music festival only to turn around and help birth a baby goat wasn’t a lie?”

Van chuckles. “No. That was just a very weird night—much like last night, if I’m being honest. What was the deal with those lightning bugs?”

“She didn’t tell you.” Noah shakes his head. “Figures. Geneva doesn’t let herself believe in fluffy stuff, like the goodness of others, baby giggles, life-long friendships—”

“Enough,” I bark.

I want to smack the look of victory off Noah’s face.

“Basically, there are some strange occurrences that most locals attribute to magic—the library presenting you with a book you should read, or the items you need repositioning themselves in your house, or it’ll rain everywhere except right around you. That kind of stuff.”

“Huh.” Van rubs his jaw. “So with the lightning bugs, that wasn’t some fluke?”

I’ll give it to Van, he takes things in stride. I nearly had a heart attack the first time fireflies flew in shape patterns around me.

“Nope.”

“Alright.” He takes another sip from his mug. “Unexpected wife. Magic island. Let’s roll.”

Noah’s smile grows ridiculously large. “I officially like you. You can stay. I mean, we’ve got to figure out a way for you to leave peacefully so it doesn’t ruin my mom, but in the meantime, you’re my new best friend.”

“You already have a new best friend. And he’s a billionaire,” I quip, just to keep the floor from slipping from beneath my feet.

“Wait. You’re kidding.” Van’s eyes widen.

“Technically, but he’s a down-to-earth guy. He’s a librarian, if you can believe it. Oh, wait, you met him last night. Finn.” Noah’s expression brightens, which should be impossible since the two of them in one room are like twin suns. “We should all get together sometime.”

“That’d be great.”

“No!” My outburst sounds ridiculous even to me, but I’ve never lost so much ground so quickly. I can’t have Van folding into the life I’ve carved out here. It’s the only one that’s ever felt genuinely mine. “He can’t because we’re supposed to be laying low, remember?”

Noah shrugs. “We can hang at my place. I live in the condo tower at the end of the— Dude, you play guitar?” When my easily distracted brother takes a step toward the living room, I catch him by the shoulders.

“Nope. None of this.” I forcibly push Noah toward the back door—since no one ever uses my broken front door. “Besides, you need to head home and get some sleep. Have a nice day, and we’ll see you never.”

Noah chuckles, allowing me to lead him outside. “Love you too, Geneva.”

I grunt in response as I close him on the other side of my gate. Then I take my first deep breath when I notice I’m alone in the backyard. Now that everything isn’t spiraling out of control, I let my chickens out of their coop.

“Good morning, ladies.” I give each of them an affectionate pat on the head, tucking Hank beneath my arm since she loves morning cuddles as much as I do.

When I turn around to get a scoop of their layer feed, Van is standing on my small deck, two steaming mugs in hand.

“I topped you off,” he tells me, coming barefoot into the yard and extending my mug.

It’s only then that I notice he doesn’t have coffee in his.

“What are you drinking?”

“Hot chocolate.”

As much as I don’t want to, I set Hank down to accept my mug. “I don’t have any hot chocolate.”

A soft-pink color sweeps across his cheekbones until it stains his ears. “I always carry instant packets with me since I don’t drink coffee.”

My heart does an involuntary pinch. How dare this man be this sweetly wholesome.

“What are you going to do with yourself while you stay here?” I ask, busying myself with scattering feed. “We can’t be in each other’s space all day, every day.”

“Technically, I’ve only been in your space less than twenty-four hours.”

“And it’s already too much,” I fire back.

“You know…” Van’s introspective tone makes me glance over my shoulder. “You get this little divot between your brows when you think you’ve gone too far.”

I should maintain my unflappable composure. After all, I just gained the upper hand, but my mouth drops open, stunned. How is it possible for Van to pick up on these little tells in such a short period of time?

“But to answer your question,” he continues, oblivious to the exposed sensation slipping over my skin.

“I’m not sure. I’ve been working non-stop since before I can remember.

I’d like to get the full beach experience for a few days.

Then I’ll probably volunteer at the free care clinic Noah told me about on the outskirts of Virginia Beach. ”

That could work. With him being gone during the day and me teaching classes at night, we could harmoniously co-exist. And hopefully, that’ll decrease the moments of sweet domesticity, like the one we’re experiencing now.

Moments like this are dangerous. I know better than most that they’re fleeting.

The second you get comfortable and expect someone to be there every day, they vanish.

“I’d also like to help around here—in lieu of rent since I’m still paying for my place in Nashville.

I could fix the front door. Paint the siding.

” He puts one hand on his hip, surveying my bare-bones backyard.

“Put some clover down for the girls. That’s supposed to be better for chickens than grass.

I looked it up last night when I couldn’t sleep. ”

I try not to let that last thoughtful suggestion arrow through my heart. Van is just looking for ways to do his fair share. I’d do the same thing in his position.

“That would work,” I say, picking up Hank again.

We’ll keep things friendly and platonic. And eventually, I’ll figure out some way to let Joanna down easy—since I don’t want Van to be the villain of the story anymore. He doesn’t deserve it.

Van smiles, a simple lift of his lips somehow brighter than the sunshine beaming down on us.

“I’ll head to the mainland and get those supplies, then.”

I watch him turn and climb the deck stairs, pressure building in my chest. It isn’t until his hand is on the doorknob that my words burst free like steam from a hot kettle.

“I’ll come with you.”