Love You More(69)

“I don’t need a picture. It’s right here,” Mick says, tapping his temple.

He casts again, the line whispering over the lake before it drops with barely a ripple. Somewhere in the distance, a loon calls—a long, low note.

When the sun finally dips below the trees, Mick reels in his line and stands, the boat swaying under his weight. I shiver, pulling up the hood of my sweatshirt.

“Time to head in,” he says.

I gaze at the far shoreline, where the pines lean toward the water, shifting into shadow. We putter back to the dock, where Mick coasts in, the hull kissing the bumpers with a soft thud. Phoebe and the dogs scramble onto the dock, and once again, Mick’s hand finds mine, holding it tight as I step out.

He ties the boat off in a quick motion, then climbs out and jogs back to his truck. The sound of his boots on gravel fades, replaced by the hush of water against the pilings.

I look back over the horizon, the last streaks of orange fading into night.

Across the parking lot, headlights flare. Mick turns and backs the trailer down the ramp.

Phoebe and I watch as he swings out of the cab and strides onto the dock to untie the boat, throwing the rope inside. He wades ankle deep, maneuvering the boat with a rope until it’s close enough to hitch to his truck.

Once it’s snapped into place, he looks up at us. “Okay, girls, we’re all set.”

We climb into the truck, the dogs jumping up beside Phoebe.

Mick shifts into gear, rolling away from the lake.

The ride back feels intimate, the dash lights washing Mick’s profile in sharp relief. Phoebe falls asleep in the back, her head resting on Cash’s side. I let my head tip against the window, watching the telephone poles flash by.

Dean would hate this, I think. Not the lake, not the boat—but this.

Mick shifts his grip on the wheel, then he glances into the rearview mirror. “She’s out.”

I look over my shoulder, studying Phoebe’s rounded cheeks. “Today was good for her.”

Mick’s jaw moves like he’s about to respond, then doesn’t. Instead, he eases the truck through a curve, the headlights washing over a row of pines.

Eventually, we reach my old neighborhood, then Joan’s driveway. Mick shifts the truck into park, and I turn just as Phoebe’s eyes blink open.

“We’re home,” I say.



* * *



— Inside, Eliot looks up from his laptop and stretches. “Did you catch anything?”

“A few,” Mick says. “How’s Joan?”

“Fine. Good. We watched a bad Hallmark movie.”

“Is there another kind?” Mick smiles.

“Oh, please,” I say. “You love cheesy movies.”

He smiles and shrugs.

Eliot heads out, and Mick and I make a quick dinner—grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. After we eat, I go upstairs with Phoebe, Hank at our heels.

When we enter Joan’s darkened room, we find her in bed, staring at the ceiling. She looks over at us, smiling.

“I caught a fish, Gram,” Phoebe whispers.

“That’s nice,” Joan says.

I turn to Phoebe. “Why don’t you go wash up and put on some PJs?”

She nods, then says, “Will you sleep here tonight?”

“Sure,” I say.

She smiles, then runs out of the room.

I sit on the edge of the bed, studying Joan’s face, thinking of Phoebe moving away from her.

A moment later, Phoebe returns, jumping into bed, cuddling against her grandmother.

I smooth the covers over them, Hank curling up at the foot of the bed.

“Good night,” I say, standing. “I’ll be back soon to check on you.”

Phoebe nods, then yawns, her eyes already closed.



* * *



— When I get back downstairs, Eliot is gone, and Mick is leaning against the counter, arms folded, the kitchen light pooling over his shoulders, Cash sprawled in the corner.

“I’m staying here tonight,” I say. “You can go.”

He hesitates. “You sure?”

“Positive,” I say.

He nods, his gaze lingering on me, like he’s looking for something he’s not sure he wants to find. Then he steps forward, closing the space between us.

“Billie.” He says my name low, like a question and a warning at once.

A precarious beat hangs between us.

“Thank you for trusting me to take Phoebe to New York,” I finally say.

“You’re welcome.” He swallows. “I’m going to miss her.”

“I know you are,” I say.

He inhales, his chest rising. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

I hesitate, thinking of Dean, but say it anyway. “I feel the same.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“It’s true. Tonight felt special. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out on a lake like that.”

“Maybe we can do it again sometime soon.”

“I’d like that.”

He stares at me a long beat. “I should go.”

I nod.

He calls Cash, and we go to the door.

When we get there, he turns and faces me, his hand on the knob.