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“Excellent. You let me know what time, and we can meet. We can meet at Goodrich’s if you want?” I mention one of the restaurants I saw yesterday while I was driving around town.

“That’s my favorite place ever. What time works best for you? The kids will be at school in the next twenty minutes, then all I need to do is stop by the office and make sure everything is good to go,” she replies.

“Eleven thirty work? I got some work to do on my truck and take care of one more thing down here in Cocoa Beach,” I tell her. One of those things is talking to Cruz. He’s the one reason I’ve been in Florida the longest. The other reason is I owe Rome Carter a bottle of Patron. He gave me a hint about what would happen when I met Emerson, and let’s just say he wasn’t wrong.

“Sounds great. I’ll meet you there.” In a perfect world, I’d be the one picking her up, but since she doesn’t know the plans I have for the two of us, I’ll give her this play.

“See you soon, sweetheart.” I hear the hitch in her voice but hang up before she can say anything or tell me it’s not professional. Oh yeah, this is going to be fun. I head back to the garage, whipping my shirt off, grabbing the tools I need, and then it’s time for me to work on my truck. I’ll tell you one thing, it may be hot as fuck in Florida, but there is no way in hell I would trade it to go back to Montana. Give me all the heat and humidity. I’ll gladly take it over snow any day of the week.

I go through the motions of changing my oil, thinking about what I have to pack up at this place. I’ve always packed light, mainly clothes, but since I’ve been here the longest, I’ve managed to pick up a few things. Not furniture or household stuff, but more tools, a surfboard, and a grill. Though the grill can stay for the next tenant. Once the paperwork is signed, sealed, and delivered, I’ll call back home to Montana.

My folks stored some things I left there when I first came home from my stint in the military, but it’s not much. A few pieces of furniture that were passed down through the generations. Though I’m sure my parents will finally get down here more now that I have my own place. We’ve met up in the different states I’ve been in, or we’d meet somewhere to visit for a few days, but for the most part, they stay in Montana. Mom says it’s where she’s always meant to be, and Dad is the type who, as long as his wife is happy, he is too. I bet they both would like Emerson, even if she does seem to trip a lot. That just gives me more of a reason to catch her before she falls. There’s no doubt about it—Emerson Watson will be mine. I just have to catch her up with that fact.

Six

Emerson

I feel like I’ve been rushing all morning. I love my niece and nephew dearly, but, Lord, do they give me a run for my money. I dropped them off, then came back home to clean up the abundance of trash and mess they left in their wake. Don’t get me wrong, usually, they clean up after themselves. Last night and this morning were different though. I just wanted to soak in their presence and absorb the time with them. Josey was talking about this new boy she likes and how she’s trying out for the cheer team, and Mack is trying to ace his Algebra class, so he doesn’t have to take it in high school while maintaining his favorite sport, track and field. If this is anything to go by, I’ll be busy forever. I don’t know how Jace and Misty do it, and with a full-time jobs to boot.

I cleaned the house at warp speed, took a fast shower, barely taking the edge off, knowing full well that seeing Saint again will do nothing but make that ache burn even more. Especially after last night and not being able to relieve that ache, not with two kids in the house, one in the spare room, one on the couch, and not a single noise to drown the moans that escaped my lips in the shower. Boy, that would be a story for them to tell my brother and sister-in-law.

Since we’re meeting at Goodrich’s, a place that serves the best fried gator and shrimp po’ boy sandwich, I opted for a short flowy skirt, tank top, and flat sandals. I probably should have dressed up more, considering I’m closing a deal on a million-dollar house, but it’s more comfortable and I’m less likely to fall flat on my face. It didn’t take me too long to stop by the office, not that many of the realtors use it much anymore. Most of us are doing everything remotely, and I’m one of those who absolutely love it. If it weren’t for the fact that I needed the funding paperwork for Saint to sign, I wouldn’t have even stopped there. A closing of this magnitude, the bank wants papers signed and electronic signatures. It’s overkill, if you ask me. But what do I know?


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