Maurice smiled despite himself. This—Tommie and Lanie’s easy affection, Deb’s quiet pride, even Sunny’s cheerful efficiency—this was what family looked like.
“Where’s Ricky?” Maurice asked, noticing the absence.
Sunny’s expression tightened slightly. “Phone call. Work never stops, apparently.”
Maurice scanned the beach and spotted him near the bar, phone pressed to his ear. Shoulders drawn up and jaw tight, Ricky’s body language was sharp with irritation. Three days after Christmas and thousands of miles away, but fires still needed to be put out.
Maurice’s eyes moved on before his brain decided, attention shifting back to the water, searching—there.
Monique had left her lounger and was walking toward the tide pools at the far end of the beach. She’d dropped the towel somewhere, and Maurice could see the full shape of her now in the navy swim dress—curves and softness and the careful way she held herself, like she was still deciding whether to be visible.
She was beautiful.
“You like her.”
Maurice turned. Sunny was watching him with those sharp reporter’s eyes.
“She’s here alone,” Maurice said carefully.
“So are you.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Why not?”
Because Monique didn’t know what he was. Didn’t know what he’d done. Didn’t know that twice now he’d deflected when she’d asked about his work, and each deflection was a lie of omission.
It had angered and offended her. She’d called him out on it, yet she still offered him grace.
“There’s something more to her,” Maurice said instead. “Something I don’t understand yet.”
Sunny followed his gaze to where Monique crouched by rocks, camera trained on the water. “Yeah. There is.”
Before Maurice could ask what she meant, Ricky was walking toward Monique, phone finally away, his expression unreadable.
Maurice’s entire body went rigid.
Ricky said something. Monique stood—too fast—and swayed.
Maurice was moving before he consciously decided to move. Two steps, three—
Monique recovered, her fist going to her shoulder and then her hip. That rubbing and pressing gesture Maurice noticed yesterday, like she was stemming a flare of pain. Her face had gone flat. Closed. Gone was the contented concentration he’d witnessed moments ago.
Her lips pursed as she pressed harder against her hip.
Monique said something back, sharp, even from a distance. Ricky walked away, jaw tight.
Maurice stopped. Forced himself to stop. She’d handled it. She didn’t need him charging in. But his hands and jaw were still clenched.
“Here.” Sunny pressed a water bottle into his hand. “I been in New York too long. Forgot the sun works overtime down here in the winter.”
She took off her oversized hat, a ridiculous and floppy and expensive-looking thing, and handed it to him too.
“She looks like she could use it more than me.”
Maurice looked at the hat, then at Sunny.
“Go on,” she said. “Before you combust.”