Toby didn’t have time to process what the heck that might mean.
“YOUR DAD’S HERE,” he bellowed. “HE’S BACK FROM BALI AND WE NEED TO COME AND SEE YOU!”
There was a yelp and a flat shuffling sound.
“She dropped the phone, dahling,” Maisy said a few seconds later. “Oh, now she’s crying quite a lot. Tissues are over there, dahling. I’ll tell you what, Toby. I’ll text you our location, and then we can all meet at the beach. We’re only an hour and a half from Melbourne, so it shouldn’t take long. Ta-ta, dahling. Drive responsibly.”
* * *
Toby sweat bulletsthe whole way to Rye. Edgar was driving, humming along to the radio like he hadn’t been living in Indonesia ten hours earlier. Sam and Scott rode in the back, and they were being followed by Noah in his van, along with Nicole and all six dogs. Toby wasn’t sure why they’d decided to bring them, but he suspected Nicole—who’d also packed a first aid kit, a complete picnic and what looked like half of Tabby’s wardrobe—was in panic mode.
“I want her to have everything she needs,” she kept saying as Noah tried to wrestle a tub of brownies off her. “I need to give her whatever she needs!”
Toby understood how Nicole felt because his brain kept proposing equally batshit ideas. He could give Tabby a million dollars. He could give her his Abbotsford house. He could give her a fucking space station. Sue Elon Musk into building one for her on the back of some investigative digging into Tesla’s finances...
“It’ll be okay,” Edgar said over and over again. “She’s fine, and everything’s going to be fine.”
The car had barely pulled into the beachside parking lot when Toby flung open the door and ran, his Timberlands sinking into the sand. He spotted Maisy first, sipping champagne on a beach chair. And in front of her, standing with her feet in the surf, was a gorgeous brunette. She wore a pink sundress, and her thick brown hair flowed down her back like a princess.
“Tabby!” he bellowed, still running. “Tabby!”
She turned and looked at him, then smiled and held out her arms. Even as he sprinted, Toby understood. This was the beginning. Edgar was here, Nicole was soothed, Sam was calmed, Scott and Noah had been reinstated to their places as beloved partners, and Maisy was watching. Everyone he needed was in one place—a home and people to have it with.
Someone released the dogs, and as he neared Tabby, they overtook him, splashing into the water and whining excitedly. Tabby laughed, ducking their wet paws. She had one hand pressed to her stomach, and he knew she was still pregnant.
Yes, every part of him said.Fuck yes.
He reached her, bent low, wrapped his arms around her hips and lifted her high.
“Dirty Dancing!” Tabby crowed. “We’re doingDirty Dancing!”
Toby wasn’t sure what she meant, but he didn’t fucking care. Water sank into his boots and soaked his jeans as he spun her around slowly, the dogs jumping all over him. He could hear Scott laughing. Nicole telling Sam to take a picture, Maisy introducing herself to Edgar, asking him how old he was in a voice he’d never heard before.
But none of it mattered. Tabby’s blue eyes were soft as she lowered her mouth to his and kissed him. She was soft as roses, warm as forever. Then, her hand brushed his T-shirt sleeve, pushing it back so she could see his tattoo.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I didn’t know how I was going to say it, but now you’re here, it’s easy. I love you. You’re mine.”
“Yes,” he said. “Always.”
They kissed again to the cheers and boos from the people behind them. Then Sam started trying to corral the dogs, and Maisy proposed drinks at an oyster bar, and Nicole said she’d forgotten her jacket, and Edgar asked if anyone minded if he had a smoke ‘of something other than tobacco,’ but Toby ignored that too. He looked into Tabby’s beautiful face, memorising the smile that said she was glad he’d come, but she was ready to go home.
EPILOGUE
One year later
Edgar watched from the chair on his porch as his granddaughters were placed side by side in baby bouncers, tiny cloth hats shading their eyes from the harsh Australian sun.
“Here, bubbies.” Tabby clicked her fingers rapidly, trying to get both girls to focus on the camera. Pearl Maisy DaSilva stared resolutely down at her toes while Clara Lilian DaSilva blinked benignly up at Nicole, who was hovering above, as though worried a bird of prey might seize the opportunity to snatch her.
“They don’t know how to look yet,” Sam called from the barbecue as Scott laughed and handed her chicken wings. “They barely even have eyes.”
“Hence the clicking,” Tabby shouted and clicked even faster. “Pearly-Whirly! Look at Mumma!”
Pearl was four months old, dark-haired, with big brown eyes.
“She’s a genetic throwback!” Tabby had crowed in the maternity ward. “Grandma DaSilva had brown eyes, and so does Dad, and so did Toby’s nana! Look at my little brown-eyed boo! Isn’t she gorgeous?”
She was. She had a quiet, introspective nature. More like her father than the older generation of DaSilvas.
