Tucker waves me off, clearly annoyed. “I’m good, man. When do you want your first lesson?”
I want to say immediately, but I also feel like this dude needs time to settle instead of rushing into immediately working. And knowing Brent, he’d agree.
“I have some prior commitments. How about two weeks from now?”
Tucker sucks his teeth and nods. “I know where yourhouse is now, the one at the end of Stillcott Lane. You got old Mr. Manchester’s house. Must’ve paid a pretty penny.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Well, I’ll be there Friday in two weeks at six, if that works?”
“Good for me.”
Tucker smiles tightly, then disappears toward the other end of the parking lot. Once he’s out of my sight, I stand there for a bit, wondering where the hell he’s going and how that enigmatic and shy young man from the beach turned into someone so stilted and cynical in just a few days.
CHAPTER THREE
TUCKER
Iwake up before sunrise again, because my body knows. The comfort of the familiar is healing me in more ways than I can say. Being back on Hope Island, well, something in the air is filling all those dangerous gaps that opened up inside me while with Anthony.
Some people go to a church building filled with pews on Sunday mornings, but my church is the beach with the sound of the waves as the choir and the sun as the final prayer. The air is muggy and warm as I step outside. Grabbing a beach towel Dad laid out just for me, I plod through the dunes, enjoying the short walk to the water, barefoot and smiling. The brine is stronger today, probably because of the storm that blew through overnight. The storm also blew some good shells in, so after I carefully arrange the beach blanket on the slightly damp sand, I walk slowly to the shoreline to shell hunt.
I find a few good shells and squat to wash them in the foamy sea water. I swipe my thumb over the black shell that caught my eye. Everyone always grabs the white shellswithout any cracks. Those are the perfect ones everyone wants. But I’ve always been drawn to the black or gray seashells. The shells that have a little crack in them, some tarnish that makes them look anything but perfect to another eye. Not to me though. Those are the most wanted shells for my collection.
“Mornin’.”
Startled, I almost fall on my ass in the water but steady myself with a hand on the wet ground. Looking to my left, I find a sweaty Charles paused and staring at me with a small amount of trepidation. I’ve seen him around town since buying the guitar, but we delayed the first lesson, so I haven’t really spoken to him since. He looks just about the same, but his smile seems sweeter this time. I fight the flush that wants to sweep across my cheeks, clearing my throat.
“Good morning.”
Charles points at my hands. “What have you got there?”
“Shells,” I say with a small hint of shame.
Charles just grins and steps closer. “Can I see?”
What?
I hold my hand out like a toddler presenting their most favorite rocks. Charles looks them over, then uses his finger to press against the black one I was just admiring before he scared me shitless.
“That’s my favorite.” He holds his hand out to me in a clear invitation to help me stand, and I take it because I’m surely possessed by some sort of demon in his presence. “Are you waiting for the sunrise?”
“Yes.”
“Can I join you?”
“Why?” I ask before I can shut my damn mouth. This time the heat does rush to my face, and it blooms hotter whenCharles stares back at me. “I mean, don’t you need to continue your run?”
“Nah. I’m cooling down now. Sunrise is coming soon.”
It is, if only by the way the horizon is turning deep orange, the sky lit up in pinks and purples that remind me of my favorite moments of my childhood. We head back toward the blanket, but Charles stops with a gasp and bends over, only to present his hand back to me. In it is a black shell that I’d missed earlier, this one with a few more cracks, but with a soft white inside that’s been worn with time. It’s perfect. He holds it out for me to take, and I shake my head.
“That shell is meant for you since you found it.”
“Ah,” Charles says carefully, but with a lot of weight to the word. “That’s how it works? Finders keepers?”
“Yes.”
