“I have her pearls.” Emery selected a fork from a rather nice collection. “I’ll be the fifth generation to wear them on my wedding day. I like to think Mom will be with me.”
“Do you want to get married?” He shot a glance her way but didn’t linger.
“I love the idea of being in a committed relationship with someone I love. And who loves me. My parents were a good example. But I’m not sure I know how to find that guy. I’m starting to realize how much Mom’s death affected me. Like I don’t cling to things. I reserve my heart. I get scared the other shoe will drop, like something happening to Dad. I want to move past that way of thinking, though, because Mom always chose to love.”
“She’d be proud of you, Emery.”
“I’d hope so. What about you? Is marriage on the drafting table?” Emery followed him to the living room with her plate and glass of wine.
Caleb wished herbon appétitand considered his answer. With the fire and lamplight low, the living room was cozy and romantic, perfect for being vulnerable for half a second. And it was Emery Quinn. The one who made things right.Thegirl against whom he’d measured all others.
He washed down a bite with a sip of wine. “I want to get married.” He glanced over at her. “To the right girl.”
When she smiled, heaven help him, he wanted to set aside their plates and pull her onto his lap and hold her. Kiss her. But the slamming kitchen door ended that idea.
Bentley dashed into the room. “I’m home. Early.” He skidded to a stop, his eyes on Emery. “Hello.”
“You must be Bentley.”
“And who are you?” He glanced at Caleb with sly grin. “Is this why you didn’t want to eat at Grandma’s?”
“No. Emery stopped by just as I was getting ready to eat.”
Bentley’s sly grin widened. “How convenient.”
“Bent, politely introduce yourself, then get to the shower,” Caleb said. The boy was too clever for his own britches.
“I’m Bentley, the nephew,” he said, shaking her hand, then rocking the house as he bounded up the stairs and down the hall.
“Make sure to pick up your wet towel when you’re done!” Caleb called after him.
“I can see why you like having him around,” Emery said. “My little sister Blakely was always asking those poignant or embarrassing questions at his age.”
“So, what would you tell him if he asked why you came by tonight?” Caleb stabbed at his lasagna, waiting for her answer.
“I’d say to see his Uncle Caleb, my only friend in town.”
13
EMERY
Then . . .
When she came in from the beach, Dad was pulling burgers off the grill.
“I hope you’re hungry.” He held up the plate of meat. “Or did you eat your fill at the food trucks?”
“I didn’t take any money, so I’m starved.” Her first-day sunburn had faded enough for her to tan golden brown. She sort of liked becoming a beach baby.
Inside, Emery set down her bag, taking out her towel, water bottle, and book. Mom was on the settee under the window, dozing with her head cradled against her arm.
Let her sleep. Dad would be loud enough when he came in. But as Emery passed by, Mom looked up.
“Are you having a fun summer?” She held out her arm, inviting Emery to join her. “You look beautiful.”
“I’m having fun. Are you?” Emery sat on the ottoman next to the settee.
“I am.” She’d been spending more time by the window, pretending to read but falling asleep. “Did you see your friend Caleb today?”
