“Ignore the expression. That's just how he looks.”
He stares at me. I stare back. The morning sun is beating down and on the dock three boys are offering beef jerky to a crustacean. He shakes his head once—slowly, a man accepting his fate—and retreats into the office, closing the door behind him with a quiet deliberateness that communicates more irritation than slamming it would have.
The second the door clicks shut, Lottie turns to me.
“You didn't mention he looked likethat.”
“Like what? Annoyed? That's his whole personality.”
“Grumpy marina owner who secretly fixes things for the sunshine single mom next door? Emma, that's a whole shelf at Barnes and Noble.”
“I will push you into the water.”
“Have you kissed yet?”
“Lottie.”
“You're blushing.”
“It's sunburn.”
“It's June.”
I hear the splash before the yelling starts. “Olson fell in!”
“I didn't fall! I dove! It was intentional!”
Lottie doesn't flinch. A child in the water is Tuesday for her. She spots Olson—waist-deep in the shallows, grinning like he's discovered Atlantis—and calls out, “Olson James Roberts, get out of the water, you've been here four minutes.”
“Five minutes!”
“Out.”
He climbs out dripping and immediately resumes the Gerald investigation, shaking himself off like a Labrador in his brother's direction.
The office door opens. Paul reappears, drawn out by the splash the way a fire chief responds to an alarm. His expression has entered territory I've never seen—a man recalculating whether his medication is strong enough.
“There are five of them now,” he says quietly. Like a man delivering his own eulogy.
“Five kids. Three of whom are running at peak reunion energy.”
“Welcome to Twin Waves,” he says to Lottie, and it sounds like a funeral announcement. The most Paul Spencer welcome anyone has ever received.
“Thank you,” Lottie says brightly. “It's so nice to finally meet you. Emma talks about you all the time.”
His eyebrows lift. “Shedoes?”
“I donot?—”
“All the time. 'Paul said this.' 'Paul did that.' 'Paul has opinions about my running light.' You're practically the main character of her texts.”
I am going to murder her. I grab her arm and steer her toward the U-Haul before she can destroy anything else.
“The houseboat already has four people and questionable wiring,” Paul calls from the doorway.
“The wiring is fine.”
“The lights flicker when you make coffee.”
