She smacked him on the head. Not hard. But still. “Don’t talk about him like that. He raised you.”
Aonghas stepped over the rail of the boat and tucked their bags in the cabin. He’d loaded his grandfather’s boxes already: three coolers full of milk, dairy, and fresh produce—more than usual, because he and Thuy were staying—plus mail and two boxes of books and magazines. He held Thuy’s hand to help her on board, and then pulled her tight against him. He could feel her pressing against the ring box in his front pocket.
“He didn’t have much of a choice about raising me, Thuy. He wasn’t going to let his grandson go to the orphanage, and after my parents died . . .” He shrugged. “But you’re right. He’s a good man. He’s a tough bastard, and he has his ways, but I love him, and he’ll love you, Thuy. I promise. I love you, and I love him, and love’s the sort of bridge we can all cross over.”
“You say pretty things sometimes,” Thuy said, and then she kissed him and went forward while he started the boat.
That was one of the other things he liked about her. He could say stuff like that—that love was a sort of bridge. He could read poetry and good books, and she never, ever, tried to tell him that he should write a “real” book, that he was wasting his time on the Harry Thorton novels. He’d had girlfriends before who pushed him, and in the end, he had to admit he loved those damned mysteries more than he’d loved any of those old girlfriends. He’d grown up with the books, helped his grandfather come up with new plots for them—two books a year, every year, for as long as Aonghas could remember—and taking over the writing of them was all he’d ever wanted to do.
He looked at the way Thuy sat near the bow and marveled again at his luck. She should have been a painting, the way she looked against the water. The weather never seemed to bother her, and even though it wasn’t that cold, there was a bit of spray coming off the water. He liked watching the way she leaned into the wind, how she zipped her jacket but let the hood stay down, catching the mist on her face. Two more months. Two more months. He said it over and over in his head like a mantra. Two more months and she’d be doing her residency in Stornoway. The idea of living with Thuy, of having her on the Isle of Lewis all the time, not just for a long weekend every couple of months, was enough to make Aonghas almost burst with happiness. He patted the ring again.
She was going to say yes. She had to. He couldn’t think about her saying anything else. He felt sick and knew it wasn’t the waves or the water: they’d never bothered him. It was the gauntlet of facing his grandfather.