“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were going to say ‘I told you so’ or ‘your mother would have loved this’ or both.”
“I was going to say she looks good in that slip.” He climbs out of the cart and walks the length of the yacht, one hand brushing the dock railing, nodding to himself. “New cleats?”
“Replaced them last week.”
“Good boy.” He pats my shoulder the way he’s been patting my shoulder since I was twelve, and Ilet him because some things aren’t worth fighting. “Your mother would have loved this.”
“There it is.”
“She would have been up at four in the morning to watch it dock. Would have made coffee for the whole crew.” He looks at the yacht, but he’s seeing something else. “She liked big occasions. I liked small ones. That’s why we worked—she made me show up for things and I made her slow down enough to enjoy them.”
He says it easily. The way he talks about Mom now—like she’s a memory he can carry without bleeding. I’m not there yet. With Holly, I’m not there yet.
“The wedding’s going to be something,” Dad says.
“It’s going to be chaos.”
“Same thing.” He winks at me and gets back in his golf cart. “I’m going to tell Vivian. She’ll want to see it.”
He means Grandma Hensley. He drives away humming something I don’t recognize, and I stand there on my dock between a mega yacht and a houseboat and wonder when my lifebecame this.
Levi and Delilaharrive an hour later.
Delilah steps out of the SUV already talking—on her phone, gesturing with one hand, holding a binder in the other, wearing a sundress covered in flowers that might be an actual fabric pattern or might be her own handiwork. With Delilah, you never know.
Levi follows at his usual pace. The man never rushes. Rock stars apparently don’t experience urgency the way the rest of us do. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt and sunglasses pushed up on his head, and he looks like a guy on vacation, which I suppose he is, except his vacation involves a yacht and a wedding and my marina.
“Paul!” Delilah waves from the parking lot. “She’s here! Isn’t she incredible?”
I look at the yacht. The yacht looks back at me with the quiet confidence of a vessel that costs more than my entire life.
“Arrived this morning,” I say, which is the most enthusiasm I can manage.
“Levi, tell him about the deck.”
“You tell him. You’re better at it.”
“The sun deck has a retractable awning and a sound system and there’s a hot tub—ahot tub, Paul—and the ceremony space at the bow can seat ahundred and fifty people and the salon has a full bar and —”
“Delilah.” I hold up a hand. “I need to walk the dock with you. There are logistics.”
“Logistics.” She says it the way a child saysvegetables.“Levi, he wants to talk logistics.”
“Let him talk logistics. That’s what we’re paying him for.”
“You’re paying me for dock space,” I correct. “The logistics are free. And mandatory. Because if a hundred and fifty people are on that yacht at the same time, I need to know about weight distribution, power draw, water supply, waste pump-out, and emergency egress.”
“You are the least romantic man I’ve ever met,” Delilah says. “You’re talking about waste pump-out at your own wedding venue.”
“It’s not a wedding venue. It’s a marina.”
“It’s a wedding venue now. Accept it.”
Levi nods. “Whatever you need.”
We walk the dock. I show them the reinforced slip. The new fender system. The upgraded electrical panel that can handle the yacht’s shore power requirements. I explain the water hookup, the pump-out schedule, the security perimeter I’ve planned along the dock to keepthe media out.
