Nick shrugs. “You could wear a burlap sack to marry me. I wouldn’t care.”
I peer at him while I polish off the last bite of chicken wing, then reach for another. “I think you really mean that.”
“Couldn’t be more serious.”
The warmth of him saying it, the way his eyes hold mine, steady and certain, spreads through me like the last of the day's sun soaking into my skin. This man who could give me anything, and has, yet what he wants me to know is that none of it matters to him.
Only me. Only us.
I lean forward and kiss him. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
He smiles, pulling me closer. "I have some idea. But feel free to keep reminding me."
Setting the plate aside, he wraps his arms around me and kisses me deeper. I struggle against him, laughing as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. “Nick, stop. My lips are coated with chicken grease.”
“I don’t care.” He makes a hungry sound and keeps kissing me. “You taste delicious to me. I want to eat you up.”
We’re still laughing and kissing as music starts up behind us. Steel drum first, bright, syncopated, unmistakably tropical. Then guitar weaving underneath, bass holding the bottom, keyboards filling the spaces between.
"The instructors aren’t ready to call it a night yet," Nick says. "Bonfire. Live music, dancing. You up for it?"
I nod. “Sounds perfect.”
With the half-eaten plate of food in one hand, his other hand resting lightly at the small of my back, we walk toward the group. There are perhaps a dozen people gathered, some standing with drinks in hand, a few already moving to the music. Rusty is there, beer bottle catching firelight as he gestures through some story that has his audience grinning. An older woman with silver-threaded hair and the deep tan of someone who lives in the sun bursts out laughing at whatever he just said.
We're spotted before we reach them. Rusty breaks off mid-sentence, raises his beer in greeting. "Hey, glad you’re joiningus. Avery, have you met Linda yet? She’s one of the kids’ favorite instructors."
The silver-haired woman extends a hand, her grip warm and firm. "Don't let Rusty oversell it. I’m a former teacher, retired now. I know how to work a classroom full of squirming young people." Her eyes are kind, crinkled at the corners. "It's good to finally meet you, Ms. Ross."
“Just Avery,” I say.
“Would you like a drink, Avery?” She gestures toward a collection of coolers, where some of the other instructors are plucking out bottles of beer and cans of soda.
I hold up my cup. “Thanks, but I’ll stick with water for now.”
Nick sets my plate down on a nearby table and accepts a beer from Rusty. “Great job on today’s cookout,” he says, including everyone who’s begun gathering around us. “The guests all seemed to enjoy it, and we did too.”
I nod in agreement, glancing at each of the warm, friendly faces of the instructors. “I’m really glad we were able to participate. Thanks for including us.”
“Anytime,” Rusty says. “Don’t think you can only come down for special occasions.”
“Special occasions?”
Nick pointedly clears his throat and Rusty rushes to clarify. “I mean it’s a special occasion for us because it’s the first time you’ve been here since we’ve open for guests.”
He’s not quite convincing, but Nick nods in agreement and quickly changes the subject. “I got a chance to watch some of the sailing instructions this morning. Looks like that’s going well.”
“Yeah,” Rusty says. He motions for another instructor to come forward. “This is Franklin. He’s been teaching the younger kids.”
Franklin moves to the front of the small group. I guess him to be in his early twenties, with floppy, sun-bleached hair and a big, easy grin. We exchange hellos, then he and Nick fallinto conversation about a kid named Jaylen who's apparently a favorite with the instructor. I let the words wash over me, my attention drifting to the larger scene.
This is what it looks like. What Nick built from the wreckage of his own childhood. Now, it’s music and firelight and people who show up every week because they believe in something. Families healing. Kids learning that the world can be safe.
Our child will never know the fear that shaped Nick's early years and my own. We'll make sure of that. Nick will make sure we’re all protected and secure, with the same fierce devotion I've watched him pour into this place, these families, and me.
But I don't want our child to grow up behind walls, either.
The thought surfaces gently, carried by the music and the laughter and the sense of freedom in the air tonight. In New York, there's Kelsey and Vaughn tracking my movements. The constant, quiet presence of people paid to keep me safe. Nick needs that. He needs to know I'm protected when he can't be beside me. I understand that.
