“Feeling better?” he asked earnestly.
She forced a short smile. The truth was she’d been feeling better over the cheesy pizza and easy conversation, but now the worries over her future were creeping back in, making her stomach turn. “A bit.”
He nodded, accepting her answer. “Hold on a minute, Cara.”
Cara sighed. “Let’s table this until tomorrow. I’m really tired and I want to take a bath.”
“But we never finished our conversation. You brought up a couple of important subjects and we didn’t give them their full due.”
Cara hesitated, but set the plates back on the table. Brett could be like a dog with a bone about unfinished business, work or personal.
“Cara, I don’t care if you sell the beach house,” he told her. “Or keep it. I support whatever you decide.”
“Thank you.”
“Now . . . the other subject.” He pursed his lips as he folded his hands on the table. “If you’re unhappy working with me at Coastal Ecotour, don’t wait. Quit now.”
Cara looked at him, startled. “I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can. We’ll manage. And I can always ask you to help out if we run into trouble.” His laugh was good-naturedly self-deprecating. “And you know I will.”
She looked at her hands, pensive. “But I haven’t a clue what I’d do.”
“Then take the time to figure it out.” Brett’s smile was full of compassion. “I want you to be happy, Cara. I don’t want you to feel stuck. Or tethered.”
She blanched when she saw the hurt spark in his blue eyes and realized he’d caught her meaning earlier. “I don’t feel tethered to you,” she said, grasping his hand. Then, looking at their joined hands, she laughed. “Well, I guess I am. We’re married. . . . I’d never feel stuck with you.” She squeezed his hand. “I love you.”
He returned the squeeze, his hand so large it engulfed hers. “And I love you.” He pushed his chair back to stand, tugging at her arm to guide her to her feet. His ruddy, tanned face eased into a seductive smile. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s take that bath.”
The pizza carton, the plates, and the wine bottle lay forgotten on the table as they made their way across the living room, still hand-in-hand. They’d just reached their bedroom when the front doorbell rang.
Brett cursed under his breath. “Now, who the hell could that be at this time of night?”
Cara fought the urge to duck into the bedroom. She wasn’t up to talking to anyone. But curiosity won out. She followed Brett to the front door and arrived just as he swung it open. Standing at the door was her brother.
“Palmer!” Brett called out in a somewhat forced cheery tone of welcome. “Can’t get enough of us?”
Cara peeked around Brett’s shoulder. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”
Palmer had the faint sheen of too much alcohol on his face, and under the harsh light of the porch lamp she could see where his blond hair was thinning on his scalp. Palmer grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and waved it in the air. “I’m waving the white flag,” he said. Chuckling, he tucked the handkerchief back in his breast pocket. He was smiling wide, bursting with news. “I had to come over and tell you in person. I’ve got news.”
“Well, come in,” Brett said, and opened wide the door.
As he entered, Palmer was shaking his head with disbelief. He stopped in front of Cara.
“This afternoon you shouted so loud that the beach house was for rent I swear God must’ve heard it. What was that thing Mama always used to say? Something about God closing a door?”
Cara looked at her brother, amused. “When God closes a door, He opens a window.”
“That’s the one. Well, sister mine, God opened a window.”
“Sit down and tell us all about it,” Brett said, slapping his hand on Palmer’s shoulder. “Want a beer?”
Cara shot him a warning glance. It seemed Palmer had already had enough to drink.
“Nah, thanks. I just came from a dinner meeting.” Palmer walked to the brown leather chair near the fireplace and unceremoniously plopped down into it. He looked up at Cara expectantly.
She went to the leather sofa beside him and slid onto the cushions. Brett sat beside her.
“So what’s up?” she prodded.
Palmer spoke with intent. “First, answer me this. Is the beach house already rented out for the summer?”
Cara shook her head. “Actually, no. I kept it off the rental market until we finished the renovations. You never know if there are going to be delays. I was about to put it back on.”
“Well, don’t.”
Cara glanced at Brett.
Palmer had the look of the cat that had just swallowed the canary. “Not long after I left the beach house today—after you shouted at me the house was for rent and not for sale—I got a call from Devlin Cassell.”
“As in Cassell real estate?” Cara asked.
“The very one.” Palmer grinned with amusement and singsonged the firm’s slogan: “Your house is your castle.” He chortled. “Nice guy. You remember him?” he asked Brett. “Old surfing buddy from way back.”
“Sure. Know him well. He flips an occasional house, and sometimes he contracts me for the odd job here or there.”
That interested Palmer. “Does he, now? Well, hell, Brother, remind me to talk to you about that later. I have a few ideas I want to toss around. But for now . . . after I left you, I returned Devlin’s call.” He steepled his fingers and leaned forward. “It seems he’s got this banker from Charlotte looking to rent a small beach house for the entire summer.”
Cara’s eyes widened. “For the summer?” Normally she had to schedule renters week by week, the usual summer routine. The relief—the luxury—of a single renter for the whole summer seemed too good to be true. “Does he have any idea how much a house rents for by the week?”
“He does. Apparently money is no object. The problem is finding a place that’s available. This late in the season, most everything is booked for large chunks of time. Dev called me to ask if I knew of anything, and voilà!” He spread open his palms. “I thought of you. Destiny, don’t you think?”
Cara leaned back against the cushions. “I’m stunned.”
“Well, I’m relieved,” Brett said. “I confess I was worried we were entering the rental market late. After all the work we did, we could sure use the income.”
“He’s willing to pay the going rate?” she asked.
“He is,” Palmer assured her. “Dev says he’s as rich as God. So when that proverbial window opened, he got the word direct.” Palmer pointed to the heavens.
Cara laughed and said, “Mama would say you’re being blasphemous.”
“Hell she would. Mama would be dancing right now with this news.”