Holiday Tides (Wilks Beach Holiday Novella)

6. Summer

six

Summer

T he speed with which I duck behind a pineapple-themed Christmas tree would make any coach proud. I don’t win points for form, though, as I knock the tree, barely catching a surprisingly spiky glass pineapple from meeting its doom on the sidewalk. I close my eyes with a slow exhale, trying to collect myself. I should have figured that Nick would have a life of his own. It’s been nearly twelve years, for goodness’ sake! It’s not like I expected him to remain in stasis while I’ve been off living my life. Well… living is a gross exaggeration. Working nonstop is more like it.

“Why is that lady praying to the pineapple tree?” a small voice interrupts my thoughts.

In my haste to get out of Nick’s eyeline, I’ve crouched and am still holding the wayward ornament between my palms.

“I don’t know, honey. She—she must really like Christmas…or pineapples.”

My eyes fling open to catch the mother’s gaze, giving her a reassuring smile. After all, I’m a trusted pediatrician. I vote, recycle, always say “Bless you” when someone sneezes, floss regularly, and kids love me.

“Let’s, um…let’s go this way.”

She tugs her child away faster than a hot knife through butter. My smile must have looked more maniacal than mollifying. I sigh, placing the ornament back on the tree while standing.

Before I can stop myself, I lean beyond fake evergreen branches to spy on Nick again. Something about him with a baby wrapped to his chest beside his gorgeous brunette wife sends sorrow slicing through my ribs. I should be happy for him. After what Carol told me this morning, I should be glad Nick landed on his feet. It’s just…

I know we’re not competitors anymore, but this is just one more thing that Nick has won at. I succeeded at becoming a doctor, but he’s obviously won in the “things that really matter” category. A wistful noise escapes my mouth as Nick zips the baby back into his coat, saying something to his wife. Then, a man in all black approaches from her other side, entwining their fingers and kissing her temple. Nick’s wife turns to smile at him before catching the bearded man’s lips in a quick kiss. My forehead pinches.

What in the throuple situationship?

My gaze snaps to Nick, wondering how he’ll respond to this, but he’s looking…

Right. At. Me.

“Shoot.” I duck again, this time behind a pink, candy-themed tree whose base looks like it’s been picked over by toddlers.

Just when I’ve decided the coast is likely clear, a deep, mirthful voice sounds from behind me. “Thinking about stealing a little sugar pick-me-up, Bummer?”

Every muscle in my back tightens, but I set my shoulders, turning to address a smug Nick. “Hello, Nick.”

His smirk deepens. “I didn’t know you were on the tree inspection committee.”

“I’m simply giving the town’s hard work the respect it deserves.” A few seconds tick by before I can’t stop myself from asking, “So, you have—” I gesture to the baby and then to the couple holding hands across the courtyard.

Nick raises his eyebrows with an entertained expression, stroking the baby’s back. She’s tiny, probably only a few weeks old. I’m assessing a band of petechiae across her cheek when Nick says, “Little Mae is my brother’s pride and joy.”

“That’s not your baby?”

The relief sweeping my limbs is completely uncalled for. I shouldn't be relieved that this adorable child isn’t Nick’s. My focus darts to his left hand before I notice he’s wearing gloves. Everyone is. I rack my brain to recall if I saw a wedding ring this morning.

Not like it should matter , I remind myself sternly.

“No.” Nick chuckles, jostling Mae slightly.

“But she’s strapped to your chest. Why would you be carrying another man’s baby? Also, you’re an only child. How did you get a brother?”

Nick— darn him —only continues to smirk at me. “Was that it, or is there more to this interrogation? I’d like to answer the questions in order.”

I stride toward the front of the gazebo to give my antsy legs something to do. “Why shouldn’t I have questions? I haven’t seen you in years. You could have a mullet, or a slew of children, or”—my eyes subconsciously dart to Mae as Nick keeps step with me—“sixteen puppies.”

“Sixteen puppies? What if I want cats?”

It’s a mistake to look at Nick’s playful green eyes. The holiday lights aren’t yet illuminated, but there are plenty of antique streetlamps surrounding the courtyard. I almost trip in the dark forest ring surrounding the pools of bright mossy green before I tear my gaze away.

“Then have cats. Have guinea pigs. Have ferrets. I don’t care.”

“You seem awfully flustered, Summer. Why is me carrying another man’s baby bothering you so much?” Nick gently palms the back of Mae’s head, steadying her in a way that messes with my internal organs. I can’t stop focusing on how tenderly he’s touching her. “Maybe I like carrying beautiful women. I carried you earlier.”

I don’t react. Nick didn’t mean it as a compliment. He only says stuff like that to rile me up.

“I know what it is.” The tone of Nick’s voice makes my neck pinch. A blow is coming. He’ll wrap it up in a smile so it doesn’t seem like an attack, but I know better.

“Are your ovaries exploding?”

“What?” I wheel on him. “No! Also, that’s not anatomically possible. Cysts can rupture, but not the ovar—”

“You want to sniff her head. Don’t you?” That smirk, that darned smirk. I’d like to smack it off his stupidly handsome face. “It’s killing you that I’m in sniffing distance and you aren’t.”

“I do not want to sniff a stranger’s baby.” I try to infuse ice into my words, even though holding newborns is the best part of my job, and I have, on several occasions, surreptitiously sniffed many a skull while examining a baby’s growth plates.

“Go on.” He pulls off Mae’s candy-cane cap with a flourish. “Give her a good inhale.”

“Absolutely not.”

We stand in this odd baby-sniffing standoff for five seconds before I hear my name.

“There you are. I’ve been texting you,” Cooper tells me.

“Sorry.” I slide my phone out of my peacoat pocket, noting twelve missed messages. “It’s noisy, and I couldn’t feel the haptics through my coat.”

“It’s fine,” he says, looking around. “Wow. You weren’t kidding. It’s like a Christmas movie vomited all over the place.”

I try to view the festive display from an outsider’s point of view. The exterior of the library is laced with a webbing of unlit Christmas lights, wreaths in every window. Lights drape the gazebo’s roof, encircling each post. Near the entrance to the library, a children’s choir is assembling to sing “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” like they do every year before Santa flips an oversized switch to light the whole complex. Since this ceremony is about Christmas, not commerce, there are no craft stands or snack vendors. It’s a time to get together with your neighbors, enjoy the crisp sea air, and officially start the holiday season.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” The effervescence in Nick’s voice is gone.

“Come on, man.” Cooper tilts his head. “It’s a bit much.”

“The only person I see unhappy with any of this is you.”

Cooper straightens, taking in Nick for the first time. An undeniable tension surges between them as Cooper replaces me in the standoff. What used to be teasing now takes on the air of danger—even with Perry Como’s “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” playing in the background.

“Nick, get over here,” the man in all black calls from the line to see Santa. Nick’s ‘brother’ and the baby’s father, I guess?

After a slow, nasally exhale, he moves, cradling Mae as he strides off.

“Who was that guy?” Cooper asks once we’re alone.

Normally, I’d explain our rival past, but I’m suddenly exhausted. Cooper not even trying to subdue his dislike of my favorite holiday on the heels of seeing Nick so affectionate with baby Mae is a confusing slap to the face. And was Nick defending Wilks Beach or me just now? I push away the swirling thoughts. I’m only feeling unsettled because it’s been a long day.

Instead of spending the day contentedly decorating Gramma’s cottage, I made call after call to different heating and plumbing companies, discovering that no one can help me for another two weeks. Then, when I tried to make a grilled cheese with the groceries I’d purchased at Dotty’s, a burning metallic smell followed by smoke informed me that the oven and range no longer work. After a fierce text conversation with Sam, he admitted he hadn’t used the range to boil water since he began dating Willow six months ago—almost exclusively eating and showering at her place.

“He’s nobody.”

It’s a lie, but Cooper accepts my answer, pulling me away as I use every ounce of restraint not to glance back at Nick.