But Delilah saidluminous,which is the oppositeof “your child has started a cryptozoology cult in the cafeteria.”
I sit on the houseboat steps and wait. The sun is already brutal, the dock boards radiating heat, and somewhere out on the sound a boat horn echoes across the water. Summer in Twin Waves is an assault on all five senses—the salt air so thick you can taste it, the cicadas screaming from the live oaks, the light bouncing off the water so bright it makes your eyes water. I love it. I love every sweaty, humid, salt-crusted second of it, which is something I never would have said in my old life in Chattanooga, where summer meant Matt running the air conditioning in the garage so his model trains wouldn’t warp.
Twenty-three minutes later—notthat I’m counting, except I absolutely am because I’m a person who fills anxiety with specificity—a black SUV pulls into the marina parking lot.
Levi gets out first, which is always sort of surreal. I’ve lived in Twin Waves long enough to stop being starstruck, but there’s still a small part of my brain that goesthat’s the guy from the radioevery time I seehim buying bananas at the Piggly Wiggly like a regular human.
Delilah emerges from the passenger side practically vibrating. She’s wearing a sundress the color of marigolds and her engagement ring is catching the morning light and she looks like a woman who is about to either deliver the best news of your life or recruit you into a very well-dressed pyramid scheme.
“Emma.” She’s speed-walking down the dock. Levi is following at a more reasonable pace, hands in his pockets, grinning.
“Hi, yes, hello, I’m sitting down, as instructed?—”
She grabs both my hands. “We want you to photograph our wedding.”
My heart does a little skip. “Delilah, of course. I’d be honored. I was hoping you’d?—”
“On a yacht.”
“I’m sorry, on awhat?”
“A yacht.” She says it like people sayon a Tuesday.Like it’s the most normal sentence in the English language. “Levi bought a yacht.”
I look at Levi. He shrugs in a way that sayswhat can you doand alsoI’m a rock star and this is what we do apparently.
“You bought ayacht,” I repeat.
“It seemed like the right call,” he says, like he’s discussing a moderately priced sweater.
“He’s being modest,” Delilah says. “It’s incredible. It has a sun deck and a grand salon, and the master suite has a king bed and a soaking tub. I’m pretty sure the galley kitchen is bigger than my entire apartment.”
“The galley is not bigger than your apartment,” Levi says.
“It has a wine fridge, Levi. Awine fridge.On aboat.”
I am still holding Delilah’s hands. I am still sitting on the steps of my houseboat, which has a mini fridge that makes a sound like a dying cat at three a.m. and occasionally freezes my lettuce solid.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “So. Wedding. On a yacht. Here? At the marina?”
“That’s the thing.” Delilah squeezes my hands. “We want to dock the yacht here, at Harold’s Marina. Levi proposed on the pier right down the shore—this whole waterfront is our place. And after the ceremony, we’re sailing to the Caribbean for our honeymoon.”
“You’re sailing your yacht. To the Caribbean. For your honeymoon.”
“That’s the plan.”
I look at the marina around us. The weathered dock. The fishing boats. Justin’s shrimp boat. My leaky houseboat with its flickering lights and possessed coffee maker. Harold’s office that smells like burned toast.
A mega yacht. Here. Atthismarina.
“Does Paul know about this?” I ask, because apparently my brain’s first response to life-changing news is to think about my annoying neighbor, which is a problem I’ll unpack later with a therapist or a bottle of wine.
“Not yet.” Levi’s grin widens. “We wanted to talk to you first. We’ll need to coordinate with Paul on the dock space and logistics, but?—”
“We want the whole wedding team to be people we love,” Delilah finishes. “You for photos. I’m doing my own flowers, obviously—my shop, my wedding, my flowers. And Aubrey Wheaton is coming from Maple Creek to coordinate. She’s handled celebrity weddings before. She’s incredible.”
“Aubrey’s great,” I say, because Jo’s told me all about her. The woman apparently runs events like a five-star general who happens to smell like peonies.
“Emma.” Delilah’s voice goes serious. Her eyes are bright and a little glassy. “I know this is big. I know it’s a lot. But Jo showed me the photos youdid for her and Dean’s wedding, and I cried. Actually cried. You captured something I didn’t even know was there.”
