The Reality of Everything - Rebecca Yarros Page 0,28

of sea glass in my hand. Its peachy pink color caught the sun as I flipped it over in my palm.

“Thank you!” I crossed behind him and dipped it into the water, letting the next wave wash away the sand. “It’s beautiful. I didn’t realize there were rare colors.”

“Oh yeah, there’s classifications and everything. Christina makes jewelry with it. Her shop’s down by the bakery. I bet she’d be happy to teach you all about the different colors.” He raised his eyebrows in an obvious way.

“What are you? The matchmaker for friends?” I teased. It wasn’t a half-bad idea to acquaint myself with the local shops, or to make a friend. “Okay. Give me the address, and I’ll go visit the shop.”

“Good. That’s good,” he said with a nod. “Hey, slow down!”

Finley turned and nodded, slowing from her run to examine the ground more carefully.

We walked a fair distance in companionable silence, and I let the waves lull my head into a calm sort of quiet.

“Tell me about the truck.”

“What?” I startled.

“The giant F250 in your driveway that you said was left to you. Tell me about it.” He looked at me with a mixture of expectation and patience, like he knew I’d eventually tell him and was willing to wait for it.

“That…” I ran my fingers over the sea glass as my throat tightened in warning. “That is a really long story.”

“That you don’t want to tell?”

“It’s more complicated than that. Where I’m from, in Alabama, the truck kind of tells the story for me. Everyone knows. It’s nice to be somewhere where it’s my choice to tell—or not.” I left out the part where my anxiety attacks shut down even the possibility of talking about it most days.

“Does it have anything to do with why you bought the house that time forgot?” His tone was easy, and he kept his eyes on Finley, which helped my throat loosen the smallest degree.

“It has everything to do with it,” I admitted. The wind whipped a strand of hair over my face, and I twisted it up around my ponytail to keep it out of the way. Gray clouds moved up the coast quick enough that I could visually track the movement. “That’s not serious, right?” I asked, pointing at the sky.

“No,” Jackson answered. “It’s too early for hurricanes or anything. Might mess with your drilling schedule, though.”

“How would you know that?”

“I ran into Steve when I got home and asked. That’s also how I knew that you usually stop by around now to check on the progress. It’s amazing what happens when you ask him things. He gives you answers. Novel concept.” His voice was flat, but his eyes sparkled with the tease.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Daddy, look!” Finley raced over to us, a small conch in her hand. “Not big enough, but good for today!”

Jackson dropped down to examine her treasure. “Whoa! It’s gorgeous, Fin! Worth the walk?”

“Yep! I’m gonna see if I can find another one. Morgan, want this one?” Her eyebrows rose in question, and I found myself smiling bigger than I had in a long while.

“I would be honored to have it,” I told her, bringing myself level with her.

She grabbed it from Jackson and presented it to me with a flourish, like I wouldn’t know she’d actually been the one to give it to me if he had handed it over.

“Thank you,” I told her as I held it up to study its markings. “I will treasure it.”

She grinned, big and wide, her nose scrunching in the best way. “Good! I’ll find more!” She smacked a kiss on Jackson’s cheek and then raced off back toward the house, examining the beach with a new intensity.

“Be prepared to own quite a seashell collection,” Jackson warned as we watched her.

I clasped the shell she’d given me in one hand and the glass from her father in the other as a sweet feeling that I was scared to identify swept through me.

It felt too close to peace. Too comforting to rely on.

“She has your smile,” I told him as we followed her, walking the path where the water met the sand and swept over our feet every so often.

“Thanks. Lucky for her, she mostly resembles Claire,” he mused.

“Is that your wife?” I asked, then cringed. “If you don’t like to talk about it, I completely understand. I have no business prying.”

“I’m sure prying into your business,” he retorted with a grin that quickly faded. “Claire and I were never married. We