Barefoot by the Sea

Tessa lost the fight to keep Elijah once he locked on his mommy-target. He made a cooey, gooey, gummy sound that gave Lacey a huge smile as she practically ran into the room.

“Did you hear that, Ash? He said ‘Mama’!”

Without letting Lacey see, Ashley rolled her eyes. “I think he said nyum-nyum-nyum.”

Lacey took the baby, eyes bright. “I just talked to Willow from the AABC and nailed down every detail. They are so excited about the wedding.”

Another eye roll from Ashley, but Lacey saw this one. “How was school, honey?”

“Fine.” She stood. “I’m starved. What’s for dinner?”

“Dinner?” Lacey gave a dry laugh. “Tonight’s the first walk-through of Tessa’s wedding.”

Tessa almost fell back on the sofa. “Already?”

“Oh, God, are you still going to use that thing I wrote, Mom?”

Elijah let out a power scream, slapping his little hands on Lacey’s shoulder.

“I gotta feed him,” she said, turning toward the bedroom. “C’mon, Tess. Did you want to talk to me about something?”

“It’s not important,” she said, getting a quick “I told you so” secret glance from Ashley before she rounded the counter and headed to the pantry.

“Are you sure?” Lacey said, picking up the vibe. “’Cause I can chat while I feed him.”

Tessa shook her head. She’d had enough maternal envy on the heels of infertility disappointments for one day. “I have to get back and finish my sweet potatoes.”

“Well, I’ll walk out with you.” Lacey stayed close until they reached the door, then she glanced over her shoulder. “What were you talking to Ashley about?”

The opportunity was too good to pass up. “Her F in calculus and how drunk she got last weekend.”

Lacey almost fell backwards. “Wha—”

“I’m kidding.”

“Why?”

“Because you needed the shock treatment.”

She frowned, shaking her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She may have promised to stay mum about the boyfriend, but she hadn’t promised anything about what had caused that small crisis.

“Your daughter misses you,” Tessa said softly. “And we’ve been friends a long time, so I feel like I have a right to remind you that you have two kids, Lace. One who’s been your soul mate for a long, long time.”

Lacey paled and her shoulders fell. “I know,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Clay said the same thing to me yesterday. There’s so much going on.”

“There’s a lot going on with her, too. Don’t let her fall through the cracks.”

“I won’t.” She leaned in to brush Tessa’s cheek. “So you came over for advice and I end up getting it.”

“I don’t need advice,” she said. “I need one of these.” She pinched Elijah’s little toes. “So anytime you want to pass him off and go shopping with your daughter, you know where to find me.”

“Oh, God, Tessa. What would I do without you?”

“Be lost.” She smiled and pulled Lacey in for a hug. “As I would be without you.”

Stepping back, Tessa took a moment to smile and sigh and face the warm sun. She had to remember that she had a family. Right here in Barefoot Bay—kids, sisters, and all the love she needed.

Tessa walked through the garden to do a quick visual assessment of the sweet-potato rows before changing into work clothes. She kicked off her low-heeled sandals and went barefoot through the leaf-covered path, longing for company to soothe the tear in her heart left by the trip to the clinic. The conversation with Ashley hadn’t really done the trick, and Lacey had been up to her eyeballs with her own issues.

On the way, Tessa peered down to the bungalows, seeing the back door to John’s place partially open. He wasn’t the company she needed right now, that was for sure.

Or was he?

She had decisions to make, and maybe it was time for a reset of how she got what she wanted in this life. Would an adoption really take years? Would she still be considered a bad risk after a decade of moving around, like she and Billy had been told they were? What should she do?

Dismay welled up as she scanned the horizon for the tractor, bubbling into confusion as she saw— nothing.

Where was her tractor? It wasn’t near the sweet potatoes, where she’d left it when she’d run off. Maybe John had driven it back to the equipment house for her. That was thoughtful.

She worked her way through the mustard and collard greens, vaguely noting that they were ready to be picked, too.

But where was the tractor and where—

She had to blink twice at the sweet-potato rows.

Make that the former sweet-potato rows. Every single yam was dug up and gone. She spun around, scanning the acres of her garden, her greenhouse, the compost bin, the equipment shed, and the storehouse.

The field looked liked she’d been working there all day and had finished everything on her list. Were the potatoes stored?

She made her way to the storehouse, opening the door slowly, squinting into the room kept dark by design. Bushels and bushels of sweets had been picked, dusted, and stored in neat rows.

Except for the potatoes on the floor. She stepped back and stared at the yams in a circle around the storehouse floor. No, not a circle. That was…

A giant heart.

“Oh.” She covered her mouth as his message hit directly where he’d aimed, right at her chest, making it swell with something so far past affection and fondness and friendship and like that it could only be…

No, it couldn’t be that. They were potatoes, and it was a sweet gesture. But not the honest, real, forever kind of thing she wanted. Most likely, that was not much more than a creative invitation to sex.

As if she needed to have him spell out his request in vegetables. She’d practically—no, she had—begged last night.

She stepped back, stamping the sight of that sweet-potato heart into her memory forever. Whatever he was trying to tell her, she wanted to know. Backing out of the storehouse, she closed the door, holding tight to the metal handle as if it could keep her grounded. Once she let go, she might bolt across the gardens right to his bungalow.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Tess,” she whispered to herself. “It’s just a damn heart made of potatoes.”

But her hopes soared anyway, and she should thank him. Despite the urge to run, she forced herself to walk across the garden to his bungalow. At his patio deck, she took a steadying breath and went to the open door to knock, her hand frozen mid-air when she heard his voice.

“I don’t think you get what I’m telling you, Henry.” The words, spoken harshly and in that same oddly British-tinged tone. “This isn’t a woman I can fuck with.”

She flinched, her hand still poised to knock.

“No, damn it. No!” He barked the last word. “I care about her.” He paused long enough for the statement to settle over her, letting it hit her in the same vulnerable place that the potato message had. “I mean, I really, really care about her.”

She let her hand press against her lips. I really, really care about you, too.

“Well, I’m sorry, too.”

She wasn’t. She inched closer, refusing to think about standing and listening as an invasion of privacy. He was talking about her. This was the answer to her question. This would tell her exactly what he meant with his unconventional message on the storehouse floor.

“Okay, okay. I understand. I understand. I can wait a little while, but not much longer. I want to tell her. I have to tell her.”

Tell me what? She fought the urge to call out the words, leaning closer.