Two mornings later, Matias had both dogs down on the beach in front of the foreshore park. They each had a KONG on a rope to chase, but were more focused on competing for a thin, six-foot-long log rocking in the shallow surf. They were growling and playing tug-of-war. He appreciated the entertainment. Gave him something to do other than worry about Violet.
Last he’d heard from her, she was still on Orcas, supporting her client through a marathon delivery.
“Hey!” he called to the tussling dogs. “Spam for brains! Here!”
He tossed the rubber toys in opposite directions, hoping to get the dogs to stop tussling and start running off their excess energy. He didn’t know when Violet would get back home today, but he didn’t want her to return to a wired-for-sound Labrador. After a few minutes of trying to divert their attention, he gave up. In true “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” style, he picked up the small log and heaved it into the water.
Honu bounded in, kicking up a spray and soaking the shins of Matias’s pants. Otter stood at the edge, paws touching the lapping waves, whining at Matias.
“Since when do you not want to go swimming?”
Otter waited until his friend hauled the log to shore. While the other dog was shaking off his thick black fur, Otter clamped his jaws around the hunk of wood and started to run away with it as fast as he could.
Matias jumped out of the way before he got clobbered by either a furry beast or a piece of wood as long as he was tall.
They dragged it up the beach. He turned from the water, making sure the dogs didn’t dart up the short path to the park.
It was too bad Violet was missing this. She always laughed at their antics.
Hell, he just wanted her home. She was going on forty-eight hours of being away. Hopefully the person in labor was okay.
Violet had to be tired. Would she have managed to get any sleep? Maybe she and Wren took turns to make sure they each got a break.
Gravel crunched behind him, and he startled, then spun toward the noise.
Sam and Kellan floated in their kayaks at the water’s edge, grinning at Matias as if they’d meant to make him jump. The men were in wet weather gear and coordinating knit beanies. More of Sam’s stepmom’s handiwork, no doubt, and a sign of how quickly Kellan had made himself an essential part of Hideaway Wharf. A person wasn’t a real Oyster Island resident until Winnie gifted them with something from her fast-moving needles.
Matias picked up the dogs’ log again and hurled it into the water, away from Sam and Kellan’s boats.
“Taking up caber tossing?” Sam asked.
Matias snorted. “Trying to keep them from capsizing you.”
Ignoring the chunk of wood, the dogs bolted into the water, up to their bellies, and greeted the kayakers.
Sam spluttered as Otter gave him a full-on face bath. Kellan scratched Honu’s ears, looking smug that the calmer dog had chosen him. Both dogs ran to get their KONG toys and then brought them back to Sam, dropping them on his kayak skirt. Obliging, he tossed one, then the other.
“Heading out, or coming back?” Matias asked.
“Day trip,” Sam said.
“On the hunt for cockles,” Kellan added.
Kellan was an ultra-talented chef who’d been making a name for himself in London before he fell in love with Sam. He’d decided to leave his Michelin Star dreams in the UK and had expanded on Sam’s business. The two of them led foraging-and-diving tours, and then Kellan took the day’s spoils and cooked a one-of-a-kind meal for their guests, putting his Irish spin on things. And once a month, he guest-cooked at the pub, too. Which was coming up, come to think of it.
“Shoot me a list of whatever you need me to order you for next Friday,” Matias said.
Kellan nodded. “I’m aiming to keep it simple. Forecast looks like trash, so folks will be in the mood for something hearty. Stew and soda bread, like. Maybe colcannon as a meatless choice.”
“I’ll tease it on our Instagram. People will be lining up at the door for it.” A lightbulb went off. “I’ve got a batch of stout that’ll be ready by then. Want me to save some for your stew?”
The Irishman’s smile widened. “If you have enough.”
“I should.”
Sam threw the orange rubber toy for Honu, then peered at Matias. “Heard a rumor you’ll be upping your production soon. Your plans are coming to fruition?”
Matias jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Renting a warehouse is a lot more than thinking,” Sam said.
So the news had gotten around. Unsurprising. No doubt it had gone from Cathy Frost to Rachel and Winnie to Sam in less time than it took to drive around the island.
“Both true things,” Matias said. “It’s the right time, though. I’ve been working on it for a while.”
Kellan’s mouth flattened in thought, and he flicked an inquisitive glance at Sam.
Sam gave him a tiny nod.
“When you showed us your plans, I liked them. A lot. Do you fancy a business partner?” Kellan asked.
Matias blinked. “Huh?”
Kellan winced. “Sorry. Sam mentioned you might be sensitive about the idea. And I wasn’t necessarily meaning a hands-on partnership. But my investment in London has been paying off, and rather than looking to expand there, I’ve been thinking to find something here, instead.”
“You don’t want to put it into Forest + Brine?” Matias asked.
“It’s at the size we want it to be,” Kellan said.
“Busy enough to turn a profit, but not so much for it to feel like work, you know?” Sam said.
Matias nodded. It was a balance he’d need to consider, between the pub and a new venture.
“I hadn’t thought of taking on a partner,” he said. The possibility made his heart rate kick up a notch. Kellan had a proven track record with businesses, both the London restaurant he invested in and Forest + Brine. But Matias had a proven track record with trusting the wrong people. A lesson that was hard to shake. “I’d be interested in hearing more of what you had to say, though.”
“That’s grand. Always best to mull over an unsolicited offer,” Kellan said.
“Give me a few days. We’ll have coffee.”
Sam leaned to look past Matias. He waved.
Matias turned enough to check over his shoulder. A clearly exhausted Violet approached.
His heart lifted.
The dogs bolted in her direction.
“Otter! Honu! Sit!” he commanded.
Honu plopped his butt on the trail. Otter at least stopped, staring back at Matias with confusion.
Violet’s tired smile turned grateful. She scratched the dogs’ heads on her way by. They followed patiently.
Her steps wobbled on the rocks.
Matias held out a hand in case she needed it.
She ignored it, instead coming right up to him and ringing her arms around his waist. She buried her face in his down jacket and sank into him.
He held her tight.
“Tired, Vi?” Sam asked.
“We heard you were at a delivery,” Kellan said. “Did it go well, love?”
She nodded, her face still pressed into Matias’s chest. “Ten pounds, eight ounces of joy.”
Sam whistled.
“We’ll leave you two be,” Kellan said.
“You two?” Violet turned her head. “Not quite.”
One of Kellan’s dark eyebrows lifted, and he stared at them pointedly. Sam matched his fiancé with a curious smile.
“Matias was the first leaning post I found,” Violet explained. “Could have been you, but your kayak isn’t long enough for me to lay down on.”
Despite her excuses, and her obvious attempt to make it seem like their hug was a nothingburger, she didn’t let go.
So Matias didn’t, either. He nodded at their friends as they started to paddle in reverse. “Good luck with the cockles.”
Their friends turned and powered away from the shore.
Once they were out of hearing range, Matias asked, “You okay?”
“Mrph.”
He cupped a hand on the back of Violet’s head. Her hair was gathered in a messy knot at the base of her skull. It smelled like her herbal shampoo, and something mildly antiseptic. “Time to go to bed?”
“Are you going to join me?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Wish you were serious about that.”
“Right now? I am.” She tipped her chin up, swallowing him with her bluer-than-blue eyes. “I could not be more tired. And you are the best comfort pillow.”
“Might be best not to let that get out,” he said.
She sighed. “I know. And I probably shouldn’t have hugged you for so long. I just didn’t have the energy to move. What a long delivery.”
“The baby and mom are okay?”
Her face lit. She pulled her phone out and showed him a picture of herself holding a sleeping newborn. “Yup. Healthy. Worn-out, but healthy. So much magic, but so much work for them both.” She put her phone back in the back pocket of her jeans. “If my labor ends up being forty hours of back labor and then two hours of pushing, we will be having words, sir.”
Her labor?
She’d said it like a joke. It was anything but.
“You know for sure?” His question rasped from his dry throat.
She tugged her lip between her teeth and worried it for a long second. “No. But let’s go find out.”
The main area of Violet’s office felt preternaturally quiet, as if the walls understood the significance of her coming out of the bathroom with the little white stick in her hand. Finding out felt like jinxing things. But so did pretending nothing was happening, too. If she was gestating a little spark of life inside her, it needed to know it was so, so welcome.
Matias stood in the waiting area, staring out the window with his hands clasped behind his back. His hair was discombobulated, the thick, near-black strands a mess from his fingers carding through them almost the whole time it had taken to drop the dogs off at her apartment.
He turned. His gaze was measured. “How fast does it work?”
“Another minute or two.” She pointed at the exam room. “The couch is more comfortable.”
He followed her, taking in the space, from the low, squishy sofa and armchairs to the change table. “You know, I’ve never been in the waiting room, let alone where you see the parents and babies.”
“It’s not exactly the place people visit without reason. And until recently, you were the reigning monarch of Childfree Island.”
“Ha, ha,” he said with a pointedly dry look. “Are corny jokes part of the service you provide for clients?”
“If I can tell a person is tense, then yeah, sometimes. That’s my usual chair, for the talking part of any appointment. A lot of it is talking. Going over worries, discussing changes. Building trust. In the end, unless an emergency arises, I’m just a guide. The person in labor is in control.”
It was something she’d barely had the chance to consider. She’d never felt in control of her pregnancies.
He sat on the couch, stretching one long arm out along the back. “Who will you see?”
She clutched the capped plastic stick. “What do you mean?”
“If the test is positive. Where will you get care?”
Her knees wobbled, and she plunked down next to him. “You know how I started practicing at the clinic on San Juan? Jenny’s still there. Hopefully she has space. The ferry rides won’t be the most convenient, but I’ll need her support. She knows my...history.”
She couldn’t picture delivering anywhere but in the comfort of her home. She wanted the extra care for monthly visits, too. To have someone who believed in her own intrinsic power, in birth being holistic.
This morning, when her client had finally held their baby for the first time and Violet had witnessed the initial wave of love passing from parent to child, she’d nearly collapsed under the weight of wanting to be the one delivering. She’d spent so many years participating as a care provider, ushering in new life. Reveling in the high moments, in the love. And yeah, also supporting people in times of grief, when things went sideways or upside down.
“I’ll need a partner who’s willing to be with me on the journey,” she said.
“I want to be that for you.” The sincerity in his gaze made her believe it. Believe his intent, anyway. Sometimes, things got so hard that a person who’d promised the world couldn’t follow through.
“I know you want to try, at least.” Tipping her head back and resting her neck against the biceps he’d built from hauling around kegs and heavy kitchenware, she closed her eyes. She opened her fist, holding the stick up for him to see. “Do I need to call Jenny?”
Silence spread between them. He curved his arm. His fingers tangled in her hair. His lips landed right next to them.
The comfort could mean either yes or no.
“What do you want it to say?” His whisper teased her scalp.
She wanted the pinkest, brightest plus sign, along with a written guarantee that when the leaves started to turn colors and drift from the trees, she’d be the one laboring in the presence of people who loved her.
But in the absence of such a guarantee, and even with the grief she’d always carry... “I’ve always wanted a yes.”
“Well, then, everything’s coming up violets.”
She lost her grip on the test, and it fell to the floor. “The phrase is ‘roses.’”
“Not in my world.”
She spun, bending her legs against his thick thigh and staring at him.
Hope flickered in her soul, banishing her fear to the corners.
“I’m having a hard time believing this is real,” she whispered.
He stroked her cheek. “Me, too. But I was hoping for a yes, too.”
“I... That’s good.”
He nodded. “I know my parents weren’t the best example. But I want to prove there’s more of my aunt and uncle in me than my mom and dad.” A smile spread on his face. “They’re going to treat this like they’re becoming grandparents.”
She twisted her hands. How could she get to the point where she trusted anything he said? Lawson had said all those things, too. And then, when they’d hit the wall one too many times, he’d walked away instead of helping her stand up again.
She’d stood up herself.
And she didn’t know how to believe anyone else would stick by her enough.
But really... This wasn’t about her. This was about them having a baby together. Which made it better and, oh, so much worse, all at the same time.
“You can’t tell them,” she blurted. “Your aunt and uncle. Not yet. It’s too early.”
“Of course.” He rubbed his wide palm on her back. “We won’t tell a soul until you’re ready. However long it takes.” He chuckled. “I mean, somewhere around November sixth, people are going to figure it out when you show up with a baby, but until then, it’s no one’s business but yours. And I hope mine, too.”
“November sixth?”
His hand stilled. “I found a calculator online and entered the date we slept together.”
“You did?”
“Amongst other things. I have a lot of catching up to do when it comes to knowing how this all works.”
“You really want to do this? Be co-parents?”
Something unnamable flickered in his gaze.
“Violet. I am more attached to the idea of being a dad than I ever thought I’d be.”
“Exactly. It’s new for you. Give yourself time. And be prepared...for it not to turn out.”
He waited, long seconds while his dark gaze scraped along her skin, like the clam rake her dad had taught her to use to dig up the rocky beach out front of the family property. If only something so beautiful as littlenecks and manila clams lay below her surface.
When he finally spoke, his words were endlessly gentle. “Tell you what. I have eight-ish months to show you I can be the partner you were describing. And you can have as much time as you need to start believing this is actually possible.”
“It’s my miscarriages. Having two, and the stretch of not conceiving at all... It’s hard to describe how difficult it was.”
He stilled. “Ah, Violetta. I am so sorry. I can’t imagine how rough it was for you.”
She’d heard him use all sorts of different tones when he was providing unofficial counseling for people behind his handcrafted bar. But not like this. His voice was gentler than she’d known it could go.
Pressing her lips together, she shrugged.
Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She held a fingertip on either side of her nose, willing the waterworks to hold off.
“Damn it, I shouldn’t have brought it up. When being so tired wouldn’t make me prone to getting too emotional.”
“You think you shouldn’t get emotional?”
“I know I still have grieving to do. It never goes away. But I haven’t built up enough soft spaces to cushion it, yet.” A lump pressed against the walls of her throat. “I’m worried if I start crying, I’ll never stop.”
She could be afraid of uncontrollable emotions all she wanted, but she couldn’t hold the churning in anymore.
Hot tears spilled, streaking down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. Biting her lip, she tried to catch her breath.
“I can be one of your cushions,” Matias said, voice rough as he rose.
Scooping one strong arm under her knees and one behind her back, he lifted her sideways across his lap.
Sighing, she rested her cheek on his shoulder and let him hold her. Did she feel lighter, having let him into her grief? She was too tired, too overwhelmed to sift through the tangle of emotions in her chest.
She wanted to rely on him. But pregnancy and birth brought out the best and the worst in people. What if they hit a point, and he got overwhelmed?
She was sure feeling overwhelmed, herself.
“I’m supposed to feel confident in what my body can do,” she said. “I’ve been trained to believe in it. I know when miscarriages happen early, there’s usually a reason. But Lawson and I hadn’t gotten to the point of fertility testing yet—we’d planned to, after the wedding—so I don’t know why it didn’t work for us.”
“Must be hard not to have that answer.”
She nodded. The validation helped more than he likely knew.
And being in his embrace...
Her tension started to release. He did make a good cushion.
All hard planes and angles—no part of him was soft. But he was solid and so damn strong, and clinging to him made her feel more at peace than she had in days.