Marcus frowned and opened the message.
Weather turning tonight. Stronger winds forecast. We may need extra pegs and sandbags for the marquees before tomorrow. I’ll check with Old Po.
Marcus looked up at the sky. The blue was still bright above them, but on the horizon, the grey clouds he had noticed earlier had thickened.
Rowan followed his gaze.
‘Problem?’ he asked.
Marcus let out a slow breath. ‘Possibly.’
Rowan placed his empty plate beside him and stood. ‘Then we sort it.’
Marcus looked up at him.
Not I’ll help if I can.
Not I’ll stay until the competition.
We.
A small smile tugged at Marcus’s mouth as he rose to his feet.
‘You know,’ he said, picking up the plates, ‘for a man who claims not to know how to stay, you do keep showing up.’
Rowan looked at him for a long moment.
Then, softly, he said, ‘I’m trying.’
Marcus’s heart warmed.
Behind them, Atlas stretched in the shade, perfectly at ease on Marcus’s front path, while the first restless breeze stirred the wet blue paint on the window frame.
The storm could come later.
For now, Rowan was still here.
Chapter sixteen
By the time Marcus reached the beach on Sunday morning, the wind had softened to a playful breeze, but the evidence of its overnight tantrum was everywhere: bunting twisted around posts, sand blown in ripples against the marquee legs, and one of Old Po’s handwritten arrows hanging at such an angle it appeared to be directing dogs, owners and half of Seagull Bay straight into the sea.
Marcus stood at the top of the steps, clipboard tucked beneath one arm, heart thudding with nerves and pride as he looked down at the competition site. After days of planning, panic, help, arguments, kisses, setbacks and second chances, the annual Seagull Bay dog competition was no longer an idea sitting heavily on his shoulders. It was real.
The voices of Christine and Tom from behind were music to Marcus’s ears. He spun around to greet them, not caring how manic his relieved smile was. ‘Thank goodness you are here. I think it looks worse than what it is.’
‘I agree,’ Tom said, ‘I’ve just been trying to tell Christine the same but she thinks it’s Armageddon.’
Marcus laughed with relief. Tom’s statement was just what he needed to hear.
‘But look.’ Christine pointed at the sand piled up against the marquee.’
Marcus poo-poohed her reaction with a swish of his hand. ‘Nothing a brush can’t sort out. We have half an hour beforeresident helpers arrive, and an hour before contestants register their arrival. I’m sure everything will be ship-shape before then.’
Christine eyed the tangled bunting with worried eyes. ‘If you say so. I guess we’d better get cracking.’
Twenty minutes later, the competition site looked exactly as it had when he’d finished securing it with Jack and Rowan, the evening before.
Marcus looked around for Rowan’s face amongst the residents, who were slowly making their way in a group from the steps leading down from the seafront onto the beach, but neither he or Atlas were amongst them.
