Николас Спаркс - The Choice

Stephanie had been uncharacteristically quiet since her last comment. In some people, that would have struck Gabby as discomfort or shyness; in Stephanie, it came across as the kind of confidence Gabby had always secretly coveted. Because Stephanie was so comfortable with herself, she made Gabby feel comfortable around her, which, she had to admit, was a feeling she had been missing lately. For a long time, she hadn’t been comfortable at home; she still wasn’t comfortable at work; and she was less than confident about where things were going with Kevin.

As for Travis—the man definitely made her uncomfortable. Well, when he wasn’t wearing his shirt, anyway. Sneaking a peek, she spotted him sitting in the sand near the water’s edge, building drip castles with the three toddlers. When their attention seemed to waver, he rose from his spot and chased them into the shallow surf, the sound of their joyous screams echoing through the air. Travis seemed to be having as much fun as they were, and the sight of him made her want to smile. She forced herself not to, on the off chance he might see it and get the wrong idea.

The aroma finally forced Gabby to sit up. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being on some exotic island vacation instead of only minutes from Beaufort. The gentle waves lapped in steady rhythm, and the few vacant beach houses behind them looked as if they’d been dropped from the sky. Over her shoulder, a path cut through the dunes, angling toward the black-and-white lighthouse that had weathered thousands of rainstorms.

Surprisingly, no one else had joined them at the cove, which only added to its appeal. Off to the side, she saw Laird standing over the portable grill, wielding a pair of tongs. Megan was lining up bags of potato chips and buns and opening Tupperware containers on a small fold-up table, while Liz was setting out condiments along with paper plates and plastic utensils. Joe and Matt were behind them, tossing a football back and forth. She couldn’t remember a weekend from her childhood where a group of families got together to enjoy one another’s company in a gorgeous spot simply because it was . . . Saturday. She wondered if this was the way most people lived, or whether it had more do with life in a small town, or whether it was simply a habit that these friends had formed long ago. Whatever it was, she suspected she could get used to it.

“Food’s ready!” Laird shouted.

Gabby slipped on her shirt and wandered toward the food, surprised by how hungry she was until she remembered that she hadn’t had a chance to eat breakfast. Over her shoulder, she saw Travis doing his best to herd the kids forward, scurrying around them like a cattle dog. The three of them rushed toward the grill, where Megan stood guard.

“Line up on the blanket,” she ordered, and the toddlers— obviously out of well-trained habit—did exactly as they were told.

“Megan has magic powers with kids,” Travis observed over her shoulder. He was breathing heavily, his hands on his hips. “I wish they listened to me like that. I have to resort to chasing them until I’m about to pass out.”

“But you seem like such a natural.”

“I love playing with them, not herding.” He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “But between you and me? This is what I’ve learned about parents: The more you play with their kids, the more they love you. When they watch someone who adores their kids—genuinely delighting in them the same way they do—well, he just becomes the cat’s meow in the parents’ eyes.”

“Cat’s meow?”

“I’m a vet. I like animal clichés.”

She couldn’t suppress a smile. “You’re probably right about playing with the kids. My favorite relative was an aunt who would climb trees with me and my sisters while all the other grown-ups sat in the living room talking.”

“And yet . . . ,” he said, motioning toward Stephanie, “there you were, just lounging on the towel with my sister, instead of taking the chance to show these people that you find their kids irresistible.”

“I . . .”

“I was kidding.” He winked. “The fact is, I wanted to spend time with them. And in a little while, they’ll start getting cranky. That’s when I finally collapse in a beach chair, wipe my brow, and let their parents take over.”

“In other words, when the going gets tough, the tough get going.”

“I think . . . that when the time comes, I just might volunteer your services.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No problem. Hey—you hungry?”

“Starved.”

By the time they reached the food, the kids were seated on the blanket with hot dogs, potato salad, and some diced fruit. Liz, Megan, and Allison sat near enough to monitor, but far enough away to converse. All three, Gabby noticed, ate chicken, along with various side dishes. Joe, Matt, and Laird had taken seats on the coolers and sat with their plates on their knees, bottles of beer propped up in the sand.

“Burgers or chicken?” Gabby inquired.

“I like chicken. But the burgers are supposed to be terrific. I just never really acquired the taste for red meat.”

“I thought all men ate burgers.”

“Then I guess I’m not a man.” He straightened up. “Which, I must say, is really going to surprise and disappoint my parents. Being that they gave me a masculine name and all.”

She laughed. “Well . . .” She nodded toward the grill. “They clearly saved the last piece of chicken for you.”

“That’s only because we got here before Stephanie. She would have taken it, even though she’d rather have a burger, just because she knows I’d end up not eating.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked her.”

They reached for some plates as they eyed the appetizing variety of side dishes spread out on the table—beans, casseroles, potato, cucumber, and fruit salads—all of which smelled delicious. Gabby grabbed a bun, added some ketchup, mustard, and pickles, and held out her plate. Travis dropped the chicken onto his plate, then lifted a burger from the side of the grill and added it to her bun.

He scooped some fruit salad onto his plate; Gabby added a taste of pretty much everything. When she was finished, she looked at both their plates with an almost guilty expression, which Travis thankfully didn’t seem to notice.

“Would you like a beer?” he asked.

“Sounds great.”

He reached into the cooler and fished out a Coors Light, then grabbed a bottle of water for himself.

“Gotta drive the boat,” he explained. He lifted his plate in the direction of the dunes. “How about over there?”

“Don’t you want to eat near your friends?”

“They’ll be all right,” he said.

“Lead the way.”

They trudged toward the low dune, a spot shaded by a sickly, salt-poisoned tree, with branches all pointing in the same direction, bent by years of ocean breezes. Gabby could feel the sand slipping beneath her feet. Travis took a seat near the dune, lowering himself to the sand Indian style in a single movement. Gabby sat next to him with considerably less grace, making sure to leave enough distance between them so they wouldn’t accidentally touch. Even in the shade, the sand and water beyond were so bright that she had to squint.

Travis began to cut his piece of chicken, the plastic utensils bending under the pressure.

“Coming out here reminds me of high school,” he remarked. “I can’t tell you how many weekends we spent here back then.” He shrugged. “Different girls and no kids, of course.”

“I’ll bet that was fun.”

“It was,” he said. “I remember one night, Joe and Matt and Laird and I were out here with a few girls we were trying to impress. We were sitting around a bonfire, drinking beer, telling jokes, and laughing. . . and I remember thinking that life couldn’t get any better.”