Page 7 of Tides That Bind

I swat Nate’s hand away when he tries to pull me in for a hug.

“Yeah. Come on, Harper. Lighten up,” Riley mocks.

I’m about to press Riley’s face into the cake. If he’s going to act like a dick, he can eat one too.

“Relax.” Nate manages to grab my forearm, sliding his grip down to my hand. “We’ll fix it.”

“Fix what?”

We all turn, finding Caroline standing at the entry. Her slicked-back, auburn hair makes it easy to see the Air Pod in her ear. Between that and the phone in her hand, I know she’s likely on a work call. Regardless, her presence in my home is welcoming. Unlike her brother’s.

There is, perhaps, one positive thing about Riley, and that happens to be his sister—who has become one of the closest people to me since I moved to California after Nate and I married.

It didn’t take long for us to fall into an easy, strong friendship, despite our different backgrounds and interests. The only issue with Caroline is now she spends too much time in New York since she took over their father’s law firm after he died years ago.

“Alright, I get I’m the only attorney here. You might want a different cake because there’s no getting a Child Protective Services visit cleared from your record, especially”—she stares Nate down—"when you’re an officer of the law.”

Caroline presses the screen of her phone, resuming the call and walking into the living room.

“Hey,” Nate calls out to her. “Your brother—"

Riley quickly interjects, “You asked me to get the cake an hour before this starts. Isn’t that the first thing you think about when throwing a birthday party for a kid?”

"We had one,” Nate clarifies. “But Harper dropped it.”

Tides barks from the backyard and two seconds later, the doorbell rings. “You two are both in the dog house.”

Organization has never beenmy specialty. I was that kid who never put the assignment in a folder, usually tossing it into my backpack, later handing it in late with crinkled corners and tiny tears along the edges. And now? I’m the thirty-seven year old who has approximately ninety-one folders on the desktop of my computer.

“You’re up early.”

My brother-in-law eyes me curiously, his light, bushy eyebrows knit together. “Or maybe you didn’t sleep and are just up late.”

Righting myself in the chair, I smirk. “Somewhere in the middle.”

“And why exactly are you at your desk?” Finn reaches for a wetsuit hanging on a shower curtain I’ve sandwiched between my office walls—that’s how small the space is. But this is The SurfShack. Give us consistent branding, or give us death.

Or Southern California rent prices.

“I’m sending that stuff to the accountant,” I lie.

Finn throws the wetsuit over his shoulder. “Didn’t he want that yesterday?”

I move my mouse, minimizing the browser. I swear, over aweek later, in the right light my hands are still stained pink from the frosting of the dick cake that Harper made me and Nate deconstruct and carve into something more appropriate. We didn’t succeed, but Claire did manage to save the day and bake one while all the kids played.

Moms, man. They’re the real life heroes.

“Last week actually.”

The first thing it takes to be successful in business is to recognize your strengths. Finn is a better teacher than me. He can handle snobby locals with ease, and I pitch in to help during high season when we also bring in another instructor.

But no matter the season, I’ve got all the admin work because legal and business jargon gives Finn a headache. And having gone to law school, I’m technically the better choice for such work even though this stuff isn’t my cup of tea either. It’s not that I mind doing these things, it’s just that anything involving my brain and words on paper can come as a struggle. I’m not sure how the partner with dyslexia ended up at the helm of the administrative ship.

Riley, if you went to law school,Finn always argues.You can deal with our taxes and shit.

I can’t disagree. There really is nothing harder than law school.

Except maybe, sitting for the State of California’s Bar Exam.

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