Page 76 of Anchored

“What?” Mom leans heavier over Dad, her hair swinging down to block his face. “To who? When did this happen?”

I tilt the screen so the camera shows Holt sitting next to me on the couch in the cabin. He looks sexy in his thick black glasses. “This is Holt McGrath. Holt, these are my parents, Darryl and Bethany Thatcher.”

Mom’s mouth flops open and closed a few times. Dad finally pushes her hair out of the way and glares into the camera. “Holt McGrath? Who the hell are you?”

“Dad!”

Holt puts his hand on my arm. “It’s okay, Maple. Nice to meet you, sir. I’m a physical therapist at Sunny Shores. I live here in Anchor Lake.”

“A physical therapist? You mean, like, massage or something?” Mom pipes in, clearly unable to believe I’m marrying a man with an actual degree and profession she might be proud of.

Because of course she still doubts me.

“No.” Holt clears his throat. “I’m a licensed physical therapist at Sunny Shores Retirement Home, which I also own, along with several other facilities on the East Coast. Maple coming to visit Gracie this summer has afforded us the time to get to know each other and fall in love. I would have asked your permission to marry your daughter, but she’s a fully grown adult who can make that decision herself.”

I beam at my future husband. God, I love it when he goes all alpha male in the face of a bully. He’s absolutely getting a blow job tonight. Not that I’ll say that in front of my parents. It must show on my face though, because when Holt glances at me, he does a double take and the tips of his ears instantly turn red.

“Well, we’re so happy to hear the good news!” Mom says, her tone markedly different than before she discovered Holt’s actually quite successful.

“Do you play golf, Holt?” Dad says, sporting an easy smile I’m very rarely on the receiving end of.

“No. I prefer hiking, lifting weights, and yoga.”

Dad is taken aback, not used to people not immediately kissing his ass. “Well, uh, we’ll have to try a hike together when we come visit. Maple?” He turns to me, looking like a fish out of water, wishing he could jump right back into the familiar but plowing ahead anyway. “I was thinking we could come visit you and Gracie soon. Is there a good weekend?”

I glance out the window at the setting sun, but don’t see pigs flying through the sky. “Maybe Labor Day weekend?”

Holt nods. “Sunny Shores is having an end-of-summer party that weekend. It’s going to be a fun time. We’d love to have you.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” Mom assures us.

I don’t yet believe they’ll come out to visit, but they’re trying at least, which is more than they’ve done in the past. We hang up soon after and Holt pulls me into his lap.

“They’re…” He trails off, his big hands stroking my hair and back.

“Formidable?” I supply.

He nods. “Thank God for Grandma Gracie.” His hand slides under my skirt to trace rough fingers up my thigh. “And thank God for this dress. Can I please, please, please see that bikini top now?”

I tilt my head left and right, pretending to think about it. “Since you’re wearing your sexy glasses, I suppose I’ll say yes.”

Holt abruptly stands, me in his arms. “Let me get the blankets spread out.”

“Actually,” I stop him. “I was thinking your bed sounds like just the place for what I have in mind for you tonight.”

He pauses, looking deeply into my eyes to judge my sincerity. “You’re sure?”

I realized earlier today as I stood by Grandma’s side that all that baggage from my ex is gone now. It used to be the anchor keeping me stuck in a low-self-esteem spiral. Now I’ve tossed the whole damn chain overboard and untethered myself from the past. It’s time to anchor myself to Holt, to Anchor Lake, to a future brighter than the summer sun.

“I’m sure.”

And then Holt is running to the bedroom with me bouncing in his arms, laughter filling the cabin that’s seen the very best kind of love.

Epilogue

Holt

Debbie has outdone herself this year for the Sunny Shores End-of-Summer Lakeside Bash. The theme is ’80s this year and every surface of the pool deck and lawn is covered in something neon. A disco ball hangs from the large tree that provides the shade our residents enjoy when strolling on the lawn. Strobe lights of various colors shine up from the depths of the pool. The hired disc jockey is rocking pink Hammer pants and a neon green suit jacket with shoulder pads the size of my head. Balloons are fucking everywhere, and I start to wonder if they might become a trip hazard for the residents. Add in the sheer amount of hair spray the elderly women are rocking and I’m concerned we might have a fire hazard too. Basically, it looks like an iconic 1980s Hollywood prom has exploded here at Sunny Shores.

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