Stifling a laugh, Dusty stood and stretched. “That’s a lot of construction. I need a snack. Anybody else?”
They ate on the blanket—grapes, crackers, juice. Olive sat between them, eating her grapes the way she did the blueberries—one at a time, slow and deliberate.
Afterward, she turned back to the castle, looking around the sand.
“More shells?” Tessa asked. “More jewelry?”
Olive nodded.
“Let’s look together,” Tessa said, standing and picking up Dusty’s empty bucket. “Let’s go find every single shell and cover those towers until they are glorious.”
It was pretty obvious most of that was lost on a two-year-old, but the little girl took Tessa’s hand—not dutifully this time!—and they walked toward the section of sand piled with shells from the last tide.
Side by side, they filled about an inch or two of the bucket, then took it back. And the same way she ate blueberries and grapes, little Olive placed each shell one by one all over the tallest tower, nearly covering it until she lost interest.
While she did, Tessa leaned close to Dusty as they watched her together, praising her work and whispering to each other that she was cute and bright and perfect and dear.
The sun blazed on them, relentless, but Tessa didn’t care. She loved this moment, this day, this tiny community of three people life had thrust together—yet they looked, acted, and talked like any other family on the beach.
The very idea made her feel…something. She couldn’t quite name it, but knew in her bones it wasgood.
“This castle is perfection, Olive Oyl,” Tessa announced. “What do you call it?”
She could feel Dusty hold his breath just as Tessa did the same, waiting for an answer—any answer—to break the silence.
Olive took a slow breath and touched the top shell with one baby finger, staring at the sandcastle. Her lips formed again and they waited, silent and expectant.
Then she turned around and looked toward the house.
Tessa swallowed a soft grunt of frustration, then they quietly packed and went upstairs, where Tessa helped Olive clean up from the sand, eat a few crackers and banana slices before getting her down for a nap.
When she came out, she found Dusty in her living room, his head back, eyes closed.
She slipped onto the sofa next to him. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer, planting a kiss on her head.
“She’s asleep,” Tessa announced.
“Mmm. We all should be after all that sun and sandcastle building.”
Smiling at that, Tessa closed her eyes and nestled her head into the crook of his neck.
“You’re a good mom,” he whispered.
If she was, wouldn’t Olive speak?
She didn’t know and right then, she couldn’t worry about it. She just snuggled closer to Dusty, and they fell sound asleep on the sofa together.
By the time Lacey, Meredith, and Jonah—with Atlas in a harness against his chest— reached the top of the Back Porch’s steps, the sky had softened into that familiar Destin palette of peach and coral melting into lavender. The breeze off the water brushed her bare arms, warm but gentle, carrying salt and grilled shrimp and music from a small quartet on the sand.
Lacey walked between her cousins, who were teasing each other like only a brother and sister could. Sometimes, when she was with them, she wished she’d had siblings. But then she remembered that she’d grown up with these two, spent every holiday and many weekends with them, so they truly were the closest thing to siblings she’d ever had.
Which was why she had pushed for a dinner alone with them, so they could really talk. Because Lacey needed advice and she respected her cousins’ opinions as much as anyone’s. They were older, wiser, and certainly more experienced, and they knew Lacey well.
Atlas snoozed in what Jonah called his “baby pouch,” his tiny cheek pressed into the soft gray fabric of his father’s T-shirt. Jonah moved with the quiet confidence of someone who hadlearned how to navigate the world without waking a baby—one arm instinctively curved around the bundle, his steps measured, his body angled slightly forward as if shielding Atlas from wind and noise.
Meredith walked on Lacey’s other side, her dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail, a chic linen dress swaying against her knees. She looked calm in that effortless way Meredith always did, but only a close cousin like Lacey knew that nothing was effortless for Meredith Lawson.
Effort was her middle name, her worldview, and her belief system. And in these past few weeks, she’d put a lot of effort into getting over the loss of an unexpected pregnancy.
