She holds up her hands in defense, a smile passing over her lips. “That was the last one.”
“Better be.”
She chuckles. “So, tell me, Ford Chance, what are some things you always wanted to do as a kid?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” I look out the window, where rain is starting to smear across the glass. Dark clouds loom all around the island, promising a storm is about to break open the sky. “Honestly, I have nothing to complain about. I’ve had a wonderful life. I was given what I consider a second chance when I was seven and my parents came along. I’ve never complained since then. I’m just grateful.”
“Did you ever ask for anything?”
I shake my head. “No. I had everything I needed. A home, people who cared about me, food, clothes . . . I was set.”
She pauses, and her head tilts while she studies me. “Because you didn’t have those things when you were with your birth mom and grandma?”
I smooth my hand over my cheek. “You know, the foster care system will help you realize one thing—the safety of a home is more important than any other material item. Growing up, that’s all I wanted for me and Cooper: to maintain that safety, to hold on to it.” I take in the four walls surrounding us while thunder rumbles in the distance. “I think that’s why I was hit pretty hard when my parents said they were going to move. Because this house brought me a level of comfort that’s hard to explain.” I blow out a heavy breath, a bittersweet sadness overtaking me. “Hell, I don’t think I realized how much it mattered to me until just now. Losing this place.”
Larkin glances down, growing serious. “I can’t say that I fully understand the connection you have, but what you’re saying makes so much sense.”
“And the reason why these boxes seem so sad is because I didn’t spend much time doing anything for myself. I helped around the house a lot. I did most of the chores. I wanted to do my part, because . . .” I bite down on my bottom lip and look up toward the ceiling. I hear Larkin move from the floor and make her way to the bed, where she sits down and places her hand on mine. “I know my parents adopted us, but I always had the fear in the back of my head—no matter how many times they reassured me—that we were going to have to leave, to give up this home and the love in it. I was worried Cooper and I were going to be split up, because that was a heavy concern while we were floating around in foster care. I was constantly trying to make sure that we were on our best behavior so we’d have a place to stay, a place where we could stay together.”
“Oh, Ford.” She places her hand in mine now. “I can’t imagine what that must have felt like, carrying that worry on your shoulders. Did you ever talk to your parents about it?”
I nod. “I had a panic attack one night. It was right after I forgot to mow the lawn that day. I remembered and bolted out of bed, down to the garage, and tried to start the lawn mower in the middle of the night. Mom and Dad stopped me and asked me what I was doing. When I told them how sorry I was and begged them to keep me, they had a long conversation with me about how they would never get rid of me, ever. But by then, I was in high school.”
“I can’t believe you held that in for so long.”
“I never wanted to worry Mom and Dad. And it’s not to say we never did anything fun, because we did.” Thunder cracks just outside, growing louder. “We went on vacation, but when I was home, I was keeping my room clean, taking care of chores, helping my siblings, anticipating their needs before Mom had to worry about it. I was doing the big brother stuff. And then in high school, I decided to hang out with Dad in the office and learn the business because I knew he’d put his life into the store, and I wanted to make sure that lived on.” I love the store, I really do, but a small part of me knows that I’m running Watchful Wanderers to prove to my parents that they made the right decision in adopting me and Coop many years ago. There’s a need to prove my worth, and I’m not sure that will ever fade away.
“So then, there seems to be a lot that you haven’t done, that you missed out on because of your fear.”
“Seems that way.”
She twists her lips to the side as she thinks. “You know, I happen to know a lot about this island,” she says. “And I happen to know a lot about the store.” Her eyes meet mine, our hands still connected. “What would you say to letting me show you around my childhood? You could experience everything from the smallest of things, like eating ice cream on the perfect rock, to going to Watchful Wanderers with an adventure planned.”
“It sounds like I’m in good hands.”
“Yeah?” she asks, hope blooming across her face.
“Yeah. I think that’s just what I need.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
DR. BEAU
Rain pelts my windshield as I navigate Marina Island’s narrow back roads.
I hate house calls.
It’s the one thing I can’t stand about being a doctor on an island. And yeah, that might make me look like an ass, but there’s something about not having all the things that I need when making a house call. This is my second time returning to town after having to drive back because I didn’t have all the right tools; thankfully this return is bringing me back home rather than having to make another trip. And because of that, I’m now stuck driving five miles per hour in a torrential downpour.
Using the controls on my steering wheel, I turn down my music, because that always seems to help people drive better during stressful situations. I keep my hands firmly placed at ten and two as I lean toward the windshield, hoping for any sort of visibility.
I’ve reduced my speed to barely moving when I catch a flash of teal and red off to the side. I brake and spot a lone figure wandering along the side of the road.
“What the . . .” I pull forward some more until I’m right next to the person.
Palmer.
Why the hell is she out here in the storm?
I roll down my window and shout, “Palmer, what are you doing?”
Startled, she jumps to the side, trips, and falls flat on her butt in a puddle of mud.
Thankfully no one is attempting to travel these roads besides me . . . and Palmer, apparently, so I put my car in park, throw on my hazards, and hop out.
Drenched, she has her cast arm cuddled into her chest, her short ponytail is clinging to the back of her neck, and her T-shirt is practically see-through.
“What are you doing out here?” I shout over the pounding of the storm.
“What does it look like?” she yells back, still on the ground. “Enjoying a lovely walk in the rain.”
“You’re not supposed to get your cast wet.”
“Well aware, Dr. Obvious.”
I open up the passenger door of my car and hold out my hand. “Let me help you up and get in.”
“I’m wet and muddy and you have a nice car.”
“That’s what car detailing is for!” I shout, yanking her up by her good arm.
Before she can protest, I guide her into my car, shut the door, and then quickly get in on the driver’s side. The rain pelts the metal of my car as I take a deep breath. “Christ, you’re really far from your parents’ house.”