Twenty-Nine. I’ll Stand by You

TWENTY-NINE

I'll Stand by You

Maren

It's really too cold to be sitting on the end of the dock, watching the sunrise creep over the frozen expanse of Fost's piece of paradise, but as it has a million times before, the water called to me. I've folded a thick quilt and laid it over the bench, and my hands are wrapped around a thermos of steaming coffee. Even with that, I huddle down into the layers of my heavy winter coat and tug my knit hat further down over my ears.

New Year's has come and gone and I'm still here.

Not only that, but I don't plan to leave. I haven't had any official conversations about it, but then again, I don't need to. Fost's bait shop is complete, along with the apartment. There was a time I felt weird about selling them off. Not guilty, necessarily, but awkward about it. Like Fost gave me this gift and I gobbled it up before venturing out, pretty much aimlessly, once more.

But that was before I found the letter in his drawer. Before I decided to stay. Fost wasn't trying to keep me here, but he was trying to give me a way to stay—a way to be my own "boat daddy," if I wanted.

And I do want. So I'll sell the bait shop and the apartment, and the piece of shoreline that comes along with it, and I'll buy myself a top-of-the-line fishing boat. One with all the bells and whistles and as glittery as a frigging sunbeam. One that I can run my guide business out of.

I should have enough extra for licensing, and if Cole's Landing doesn't want to take me on, since they already have two other guides, I'll branch out on my own.

I could rent a place in town with anything left over, but I suspect someone might take issue with that, considering I spend every night at his place anyway.

Maybe this is moving too fast, but I don't know. It seems like Joe and I got our start in the middle and once I stopped freaking out about it being wrong, I realized it felt overwhelmingly right.

Who am I to argue? So we took the long and windy path to find each other. Does the journey negate the destination? Or does the journey prepare you for it?

I sip my cooling drink and take a deep breath. The frigid up-north air freezes my nostrils and makes me cough a little, but I can't help the smile spreading across my lips.

Feels like home to me.

After I made the decision to stay, things started to come together pretty quickly. With Donna and Simon's help, I found a Realtor and put the bait shop and apartment up for sale. The location and access to the flowage was a prime investment, but it was Shelby and Cam's HomeMade touch that really drew the numbers. Knowing the reality show stars had sprinkled their home-renovation magic over the place was the clincher. I felt super weird about name-dropping them, and at first I avoided it altogether, but then Shelby was on the phone and in my ear yelling about family and loyalty and sisterhood and anyway, you don't mess with a woman who is nine whole days past her delivery date.

So yeah, Fost's gift was enough for ten top-of-the-line fishing boats, and plenty of cushion for me to get my business up and running. Joe thinks I should consider revamping Musky Maren, and I'm not sure he's wrong. Though I believe a new name and a new angle would be more appropriate. I would love to share my obsession with the Northwoods, fishing, and the outdoors on a new platform. I miss the educational aspect of my former life as a park ranger, after all.

So it's been in the back of my mind, as winter slips into, well, later winter. It's nearly April and while the lake is still frozen over and the ground a blanket of white and ice, the resort is in full-on summer-prep mode. Casper's decided to stay with his thriving charter business in the Keys, so the Coles formally took me on as their second guide. I worried my Musky Maren fame might be an annoyance to Johnson, but he assured me he's making the most out of his retirement after decades spent topping the financial district and is more than happy to lose customers to me.

While we wait for the ice to melt, there's been plenty of work on the villas to keep us busy, not to mention the day-to-day management of a resort and raising a family. I brought Joe and the kids with me to Nashville in February for Craig and Lorelai's wedding, and we extended that into a weeklong vacation on a quiet beach in the Keys where we did little aside from play in the water and take naps in the sand. It was the perfect low-key kind of trip to reintroduce Lucy to vacations and hopefully erase the disaster from Christmas out of her memory. Next time we're even thinking of adding an afternoon at Disney World.

Joe's not so sure, but I'm confident we can make it happen with lots of planning. I've been reading up on it, and it seems like Disney is pretty famous for accommodating autistic kids.

I officially moved out of cabin twenty a few weeks ago. I kept it eight weeks longer than I should have, but I didn't want the added pressure of "Oh gosh, now we're stuck with each other." Truthfully, Joe and I weren't actually worried about that happening. It was more for the sake of our parents, and, well, okay, my brothers. Liam said he would chill out and he did, mostly, but…

It makes sense to move my stuff all the way out. Not to mention all of the things I left behind in storage in Michigan when I sublet that apartment in my rush to flee the proposal that wasn't.

Wow, what a difference six months makes.

Which is why we are going out tonight. Alone. Just the two of us and I'm giddy . Sure, we occasionally get stolen moments around the resort when Joe's bartending late and his parents keep the kids, or maybe when I sneak us into the boathouse for an afternoon delight… but an entire evening, preplanned, dressed up, and a quiet house when we come home?

We don't know her.

Simon stops by the house to grab the kids at four, and even Lucy is waiting at the window. They've been promised hot dogs (with no cheese) and at least two rounds of Clue before cuddling up with their (still) favorite movie, Home Alone . Bless the Coles. Bless them all the way to heaven.

I take over the master bath and treat myself to a long soak with scented oils, followed by completely blowing out my hair, applying full makeup, and wearing actual jewelry. I skip the heels and pearls because I'm an adult woman who makes her own choices, and those choices recognize there is half a foot of snow on the ground and my true love is a former Marine who only wades into politics when it's a debate of Lions versus Packers.

We live in a ranch, so there's no bottom-of-the-stairs moment, but Joe still looks at me like the sun shines out of my eyelashes when I come around the corner. He then proceeds to thoroughly mess up my lipstick before laying me back on the kitchen table and making me forget my name for a while.

We're late for our reservation.

I could not care less.

"I'm just gonna let them know we're here," Joe murmurs into my ear as we step into the cozy entrance of the high-end Italian restaurant he picked out. "I'm guessing we'll have to sit at the bar for a bit, do you mind?"

I'm already shaking my head. "Not at all."

I watch as he slips into the small crowd surrounding the hostess station and try not to drool at the way his golden hair curls over the edge of the fitted gray sport coat that outlines his broad shoulders and tapered waist.

I might fail, who even knows.

"Musky Maren!"

I jerk back from my musings as a too-familiar face practically jumps in front of me, blocking my view. It's Bryce.

"Mr. Callahan," I say, using the name I'd decided on when planning this out. Of course, I hadn't planned on a surprise attack at date night, but I'm comforted that I don't feel as rattled as I have in the past.

"Whoa, Mr. ? I like the sound of that."

I ignore his leering expression and hold out my hand as if for a handshake, keeping a professional boundary between us, the way it should have been all along. "You can call me Ms. Laughlin, thanks."

His smile slips, but it hitches back just as quickly.

"What are you up to? Visiting for the weekend, or… is your family around?"

"I'm here with someone important, actually," I tell him, seeing no need to lie.

"With me," a smooth voice says from over Bryce's shoulder. "Nice to see you again, Bryce."

"Joe Cole? Good to see you, man. Wow, so you two…" Bryce's eyes dart between Joe and me, taking in the way Joe's body settles at my back. "Wait, I thought you said you were married."

I scrunch my eyebrows together, looking confused. "I don't think so. But, I have been with Joe for some time. Hm. How weird." Joe and I exchange looks and he brushes my hair off my shoulder.

"Well, you're a lucky man, Joe. Catching Musky Maren. The way every guy I know was panting after this one back in the day," he continues as if I'm not even there. My stomach lurches at the gleam in his eye.

I open my mouth to cut him off, but he's on a roll.

"Many a night I fell asleep to her videos… her voice in my ear, helping me fall asleep, if you know what I mean…" he confides in a low voice, elbowing Joe, who's stiffened next to me.

And I'm done.

"That's enough, Mr. Callahan," I say, my tone icy, despite the surge of hot blood and adrenaline pulsing through my veins. "I can't fathom how you think it's acceptable to speak about a woman that way. I'm right in front of you. I don't even want to think about the things you say when I'm not around. You're disgusting, disrespectful, and small-minded. I've tried to be patient with you. I've tried to be polite. But it's clear you have confused common courtesy with interest on my part, which is absolutely not the case. Don't speak with me again, unless it is about professional matters."

Bryce is gaping at me, his face red and covered with a sweaty sheen. Good , I think. For once, let him be the one left shaken.

I turn to face Joe, whose face is split near in half with his proud grin. "I could use that drink?"

"It would be my pleasure."

I nod. "Great. Excellent." His large, warm hand slips low on my back and he propels me gently toward the gleaming bar, but at the last moment, I spin to face Bryce once more.

"All those things you and your perverted little friends dreamed up about me, they're true. But"—I reach for Joe's hand and squeeze it—"he's the only one who will ever know for sure and he's too much of a real man to talk."

Bryce swallows and nods his head, stonily, his eyes unwilling to meet mine. I half expect Joe to add something and meet his gaze with a questioning glance.

He shakes his head, his eyes glittering with humor. "I have nothing to add. After all, I caught Musky Maren . What more could I ask for?"

"Please," I scoff, as we walk toward the bar, leaving Bryce behind. "You're terrible at fishing. I obviously caught you ."