They were, after all, in a fishing town. It was easy enough to get the food for seven seafood dishes. Bisky was half-Italian, so the Italian American tradition made perfect sense.
Paul had gone to church beforehand—he’d needed it—but the calm produced by the beautiful service dissipated as he approached the rowdy group. Was it even kid-friendly? But then he spotted a couple of the families from Davey’s class and realized adults and kids of all ages were here.
In fact, everyone in town was here. And he didn’t want that much of an audience, but for Amber, he’d do it.
He sucked in a breath, inhaling the fragrances of fish and spicy tomato sauce and garlic, and plunged into the outdoor crowd, heading toward the house, gripping Davey’s hand more tightly.
And there, on the other end of Bisky’s long porch, was Amber.
She wore a sparkling red dress that clung to her slender figure, and she was laughing at something someone else had said. She looked like an exotic bird that a mundane creature like Paul could never hope to catch.
He didn’t want to weigh her down, tame her fire, even if she was willing to be his wife.
“There’s Justin! Can I go play with him?” Davey was tugging at Paul’s hand.
Paul tore his eyes away from Amber, ascertained that Justin’s mom was keeping an eye on several small boys and let Davey run to join them.
When he turned his gaze back to Amber, she was looking at him. And then someone stood up in between them, and when he looked again, the spot where she’d been was vacant. She was gone.
He wove his way through the laughing, loudly conversing people, or tried to. But Bisky stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Hey, glad you came. You’re empty-handed. Let me get you a drink and point you toward the food.”
“It’s okay, I’ll help myself.”
“What kind of a host would I be if I let you do that? You have to eat.” Bisky’s words were ever so slightly slurred.
Paul had the feeling he wasn’t going to escape her firm grip unless he let her in on the reason he wasn’t hungry. “Actually,” he said, “I was hoping to find Amber. I have to apologize to her for something I said...something I did...that was wrong.”
Bisky stopped still and faced him, frowning. She was a big woman, nearly as tall as he was, and her expression was as severe as his fourth grade teacher’s had been. “Don’t you dare hurt that woman.”
“I did hurt her,” he admitted, scanning the room for that red dress. “I want to make it right, but I have to find her first. Did you see her go by?”
She looked into his eyes, then nodded. “She’s in the kitchen, I think.” She gestured toward the back of the house.
“Thanks.” He headed toward the kitchen, making his way through the crowd.
“Hey, my good man. Give me a hand with this?” Kirk James was about to pick up a large tureen of oyster stew that smelled fantastic. Paul needed to find Amber, but he hastened to grab the other side of the giant vessel, and the two of them carried it to the serving table. Immediately, people clustered around it.
As they walked away from the table, Paul asked Kirk how he was doing, figuring he needed to make some effort to be a decent party guest.
“I tell you what,” Kirk said, “I’m a happy man because my neighbor Mary isn’t moving away. I just wish I could make some progress with her.”
“I know what you mean.”
He must have said it in a heartfelt way, because Kirk studied him, then nodded. “Yes, I believe you do,” he said.
“If you don’t mind, I need to find Amber.”
“She was in the kitchen a few minutes ago.”
But when Paul finally reached the kitchen, filled with bustling men and women, lots of talk and laughter, and amazing smells, Amber wasn’t there.
“Anyone seen Amber Rowe?” he asked the group at large.
“She’s right...no, she’s not,” someone said.
“She was slicing bread. She must have taken a tray out to the docks.”
“She did,” someone else said. “That’s where they were asking for more.”
“The docks?” There were more people out there?
“There’s a table and tent set up out there, with gas heaters,” someone else explained.
“Thanks.” He headed that way, the ring in his pocket seeming to dig at him.
He wondered why Amber was playing a host role at Bisky’s party. But then again, she was a great cook, and this seemed to be a community effort. And that was the kind of person Amber was. Despite her supposed party-girl image, she was actually a nurturer to the core.
He walked down the porch steps, waving to Hannah and Mary and a couple of other people he knew. He kept moving so no one would stop him. He was on a mission, and he wasn’t going to relax and socialize before making one of the biggest moves of his life. With the most potential for embarrassment or failure.
“Daddy!” Davey’s voice rang out from the front yard, and then Davey broke off from the small gang of kids to run over and cling to his leg. “There are too dogs here! I wanted to bring Sarge! He didn’t get to have a party!”
“Sarge is better off at home,” he reassured his son. When somebody’s big gray wire-coated dog came over, too, along with a couple of little boys trying to ride him, Paul realized why Sarge had come to mind. “Boys, don’t ride the dog.”
They didn’t look inclined to obey him, but he channeled Amber and Davey’s teacher, Kayla, and went for a sideways distraction. “I think they just put out some cookies inside the house. They smelled good.”
“Cookies!” Most of the boys ran off, and the dog sank down into
