Pieces Of Us (Angel Sands 6)

Maybe. “Yeah, I am. Probably.”

“This is so unlike you. I don’t know what to say.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Have you talked to a therapist?”

Lydia started to laugh. Autumn shook her head, trying to push down her smile. “No, Dad, I don’t need a therapist. I’m okay, I promise.”

The waiter came over with their lunches, sliding the plates carefully in front of them before filling up their water glasses. Autumn welcomed the silence his presence had enforced.

Whether her dad liked it or not, she was going to California. And if it turned out to be a bad decision, it would still be okay.

It couldn’t be any worse than marrying Josh, after all. And she’d somehow managed to get herself out of that.

It was time to grab the bull by the horns and head to California.

* * *

It was almost nine that evening by the time the last of Griff’s customers stepped off the boat. It took another hour for him and his assistant, Brett, to wash down the deck, sort through the lifejackets, and make sure everything was shipshape ready for the next day’s excursion. Griff rolled his shoulders as he locked up, his body aching. Not only from eight hours on the boat, but also his early morning surfing.

“Those corporate guys were something else,” Brett said as they made their way onto the pier. “They think they know everything. Can you believe they brought beer on board?”

Griff had confiscated all the alcohol he could find, and gave it back to the group of management consultants when they left. They’d been on a team-building trip, which actually meant they’d spent most of their time begging him to get closer to the Orcas, asking to steer the ship, and generally making a nuisance of themselves.

The problem was, corporate hires were lucrative. Especially at this time of the year when the tourist season hadn’t ramped up. And it had been amusing when at least half of them had started to feel seasick as soon as they reached the open water. It was choppy as hell out there today. Great for surfing, not so good for city-boy stomachs.

Just as they reached the glass and wooden structure of Delmonico’s, Griff’s phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Ember.

She was his best friend’s wife, and had become one of his best friends, too. She and Lucas would have been his couple goals, if he’d had any.

“You go ahead,” Griff said to Brett, nodding at his phone. “I gotta take this.”

“Okay. I’ll see you on Saturday.” Like nearly all Griff’s staff, Brett was a part-time Oceanography student at the local college. “Have a good evening.”

“You too.” Griff watched Brett walk, his fingers sliding along the wooden rail at the edge of the pier, then answered his still-vibrating phone.

“Hey. Everything okay?” he asked Ember.

“I need you to sing for me,” she pleaded.

He shook his head. “Not again. Where’s Lucas?”

“He’s working. And I can’t get ahold of Jack or Breck. You’re the only one who can help.”

“Why can’t you sing?” Griff asked. “You have to know the words by now.”

“Because Arthur only calms down when a male voice sings to him,” Ember said, her voice tight. “And he’s been screaming all night.”

Now that she said it, Griff could hear the muffled wails of his godson through the phone line. And damn if he didn’t have a soft spot for that little kid. At eight months old, Arthur always grinned toothily whenever Griff was around.

“Okay. Put the phone to his ear.” Griff sighed.

“Thank you,” Ember breathed. “Did I say you’re my favorite guy?”

There was an abrupt change in sound, as Arthur’s sobs and sniffles increased. “Hey buddy, you teething again?”

There was a brief moment of silence, followed by another loud cry.

“Please start singing,” Ember begged.

Griff leaned on the wooden rail and looked out across the bay, his phone at his ear. To the right, the lights of Angel Sands were sparkling in the night air. To the left was the dark abyss of the Pacific Ocean, lit by a sliver of the moon.