Page 64 of These Summer Storms

“Right,” she said, bending down to select a perfectly round, white pebble from the sand. “For changing your life.”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“He was on my side long before I was valuable on his.” It was a strange thing to say—while there were dozens of adjectives to describe her father (trailblazing, genius,etc.), people were rarely moved to describe him as helpful. Or supportive. Or loyal. Or kind. At least, not after first blush.

“How long did you know my father?”

A pause. Long enough for her to wonder if he’d tell her the truth. “About ten years.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“I’ve worked for Storm for five years.”

That wasn’t what she’d asked, though. “And for my father?”

He faced her. “Longer.”

“You’re not going to tell me what you did, though, are you?”

He bent down to the sand and selected a perfect match to her white pebble. When he stood, he extended it to her on his broad palm. Like a peace offering. “He wanted you here. You’re here. The rest is up to you.”

Why?It didn’t make sense. Franklin had everyone else leaping to do his bidding even now, dead. But Jack was, what, supposed to enjoy a vacation? Impossible.

“And if I stay? The whole week? What’s in it for you?”

“I think the question is—what’s in it for you?”

It wasn’t a reply, but she didn’t push him. He was a brick wall; no point bashing her head against it. “And if I don’t stay?”

“You lose the inheritance. So do your siblings.”

“And what do you lose?”

“Do I have to lose something?”

“You won’t admit to an incentive,” she pointed out. “So, yes.”

“If not carrot, then stick?”

She reached behind her and shoved her hands in the back pockets ofher shorts. “The Franklin Storm way. In the case of his family, both carrot and stick.”

Jack nodded, not looking away from her. “What if the incentive was this?”

Heat coursed through her at the words. He couldn’t mean—“This, what?”

“Sailing.” He waved a hand across the glittering blue Bay and recited, “On a day when the wind is perfect, the sail just needs to open and the world is full of beauty.”

She recognized the words her father had repeated enough that everyone in their orbit would. Replied, dry as sand, “If my father ever read Rumi, I’ll give up the entire inheritance right now.”

Dark brows rose. “I thought you wanted to give up the inheritance right now anyway.”

She swallowed around the knot of frustration in her throat, and he seemed to notice, changing the subject, waving a hand across the small beachhead. “I didn’t know this was here.”

Alice clung to the new topic. “It’s not always here.”

He took in their surroundings—wet sand, the green wash on the gray slate steps at the base of the cliff nearby. “Low tide.”

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