I need her to understand the depth of my feelings for Isabella. If Mom comes on board, then everybody else will follow. I should have had this talk weeks ago.
Without taking a drink, I drop onto a barstool and cradle the can in both my hands. “Isabella.”
She sighs. “I can’t help thinking you’re making a mistake with her.”
I rub the heels of my hands over my eyes. “You’re wrong, Mom.” I should have suspected she felt this way. I’m beginning to realize Isabella would have picked up on this.
“The first time I talked to Isa, Mom, I felt things I hadn’t felt since I was seventeen.” She eyes me even more skeptically than before, chastising without saying a word.
“Yes that, but you want to know what else I felt when I talked to her?” Mom shakes her head. “Hope, Mom. If you can believe that. I started to believe I just might be able to be happy again.”
Her gaze softens a little at this.
“Everybody else was inside the hotel bar drinking and dancing. Everyone except for Isabella,” I can’t help remembering that night. “When I saw her wading barefoot on the beach, nothing could have stopped me from going to her, getting to know her. And you want to know what she said to me?”
My mom’s brows rise.
“She said ‘what took you so long?’”
“What do youmean?” Except inside I know exactly what she means. This moment. It’s like both of us have waited for it our entire lives.
She jerks her head toward the hotel bar. “The bar’s not really your scene.” But she’s smiling. I’m mesmerized by the moonlight shining in her hair. Her dress is short, revealing long, toned legs and more than a hint of thigh. Gentle waves lap at her ankles and calves.
“What makes you say that?”
She shrugs. “You looked a little trapped. I figured you’d find your way out here eventually.”
Our gazes lock. Ever since being introduced earlier today, I’ve kept her in my sights. And I’ve been in hers.
“Where are you from, Tucker James?” She skims her toes along the surface of the water.
“Colorado.” I slip my feet out of my own shoes and roll up the bottoms of my trousers. I already know she’s from San Francisco. She’s the maid of honor at our friend’s wedding. I’ve made a few inquiries. She’s a successful author.
She’s not married or in a serious relationship. I join her in the water and her eyes sparkle with mischief as she wades farther from the sandy beach. The water doesn’t get much deeper. It’s warm, like a bath.
“What’s in Colorado?” she asks.
I follow her, not caring that the bottoms of my pants are getting wet. “My sons. My family. A ranch that’s been there longer than all of us combined.”
“I’m sorry about your wife.”
She’s obviously asked about me too. I suppose that’s the sort of thing friends share about you. I’m a widower.
“Thank you.” I don’t want to talk about Lenora. I’m within a few feet of Isabella.
And then…
“She tackled me.”I laugh at the memory. “Said I needed to get wet.”
My mom’s chuckling now too.
“Mom, I need your help. I need her to be happy here. Not just with me. Not even just with the boys. But she needs to feel like one of us. She’s never been part of a big family. It’s always just been Isa and her mom. She’s trying, Mom, but nobody’s making it easy for her.”
“Except your grandmother,” she acknowledges.
“Except Grandma.”
“Cassidy–”
