Page 95 of Second Tide's the Charm
I believe in finding that perfect person, because I have, in Hope. But staying together? Building a future? That takes work. That takes commitment. That takes the persistent, joyous belief that my life is better with her in it. And that’s something I’ll work to show her every moment of our lives together. For now, I lean down and kiss Hope Evans, my forever. The sunset to my sunrise.
forty
hope
I never thought I could be this happy in sequins and makeup, but sitting in a room surrounded by people eager to fund opportunities to give aspiring young marine biologists a real-world introduction to shark research is hard to beat. Oh, and there’s the fact that my favorite scientist, who also happens to be the sexiest man in the room—or any room for that matter—is sitting next to me, sharing the experience, our fingers intertwined on the table.
He looks sickeningly good in his blue suit, his skin radiant, the dip between his collarbones exposed by the open top button of the crisp white shirt underneath. The flickering glow from candles in the centerpiece plays across his face—a face I’ve seen more often in 2D than real life lately—and I lean into the solid warmth of his shoulder, just for a moment, to remind myself he’s here with me, and to hold fast this moment in my memory for the times when he’s not.
When I pull away, he glances over at me and nudges his knee against mine. “I missed you.” The fresh scent of cedar reaches me as he shifts closer and murmurs, “Think we can skip out early?”
I shush him with a finger to my lips, careful not to smudge the red lipstick Zuri helped me reapply in the bathroom a few minutes ago. Her presence here tonight was another surprise from Adrian. Having my best friend, my rock for the years we’ve spent together and apart, here to celebrate with me tonight means the world.
She’s watching us, intent and serious, but when I make eye contact, she gives me a subtle thumbs-up. Apparently, she put Adrian through the wringer when he called to book her tickets, and he aced the test.
She’s bought a new pair of glasses since I last saw her—clear frames that accentuate her broad cheekbones and straight brows—and looks effortlessly gorgeous in a burgundy jumpsuit. I can’t remember the last time she had a night out, but you’d never know from her relaxed poise that she’s a mom of three running on caffeine and toast crumbs. I plan to stuff her full of Southern cooking before she leaves, and I’m sure Adrian will try to talk her into siding with him on the sweet tea debate.
Marissa and Gabe are on the other side of the table, heads tipped together, arguing over whether the acoustics are doing the slideshow justice. Their whispers are animated enough to draw the attention of the people near us, but they’re oblivious or more likely, unconcerned. On Adrian’s other side, Iris is posing for a selfie with her turquoise clutch, her hair twisted into sleek Bantu knots. Marissa wrangled her into our shopping trip and she surprised us both by forgoing her usual chic pants ensembles and choosing an off-the-shoulder gown.
She shows the picture to Adrian. “I’ll tag you in it,” she says with no irony, and it’s pretty sweet. I noticed she’s recently started commenting on his posts, long-winded questions which he always answers as thoroughly as if she were an inquisitive stranger. Or maybe like a younger brother with something to prove. I smile a little at the thought.
The uplighting along the walls casts a soft focus over everything, like we’re underwater, and I have the sweetest feeling of relief. Of finding my place. Of a bright future, even if the next steps are hazy. The bracelet Adrian gifted me glitters with memories, and there’s plenty of room for more. I twist the chain, admiring each charm, and holding on to the last one like a promise.My heart is yours.
Iris gestures for us to scoot closer. Snaps a picture of Adrian pressing a kiss to my cheek. Then they’re announcing me—I’m supposed to give a speech about how my entire journey led me here. A few of Gabe’s photographer friends are here to document the evening, but I’m not worried to speak in front of this crowd, because if I stumble, all I need to do is keep going.
There’s no limit to what I can do or discover. I want a future with this man by my side, the man I never stopped loving. Our lives and hearts are forever intertwined. Adrian is my person. Maybe not everyone has one, but I do. And my heart is his.
epilogue
hope
Adrian holds his phone up, his other arm around my waist. “Say ‘olives are a fruit’!”
“Ew.” I laugh, and he clicks the photo button. “Where do you come up with these things?”
“Facts.” He turns and enfolds me in his arms. “I think the word you’re looking for is facts.”
“Trivia,” I counter, rising on tiptoes to kiss him. Gulls swoop overhead, and a pelican has been paddling around the boat, receiving glares from Adrian all morning, but other than that, we’re alone in the muted light of dawn.
We’re gearing up for our third round of “Spend a Day with Shark Scientists” and we always document the entire day to share later. I’ve come to love the visual memory, the record of how far we’ve come and how far we’ve yet to go. Toward each other, and on this journey. Okay, so maybe the voiceovers and sappy music are what make it all feel so weighty, but regardless, the camera is no longer my enemy.
A couple hours later, the teens start arriving, some dropped off with a quick wave, others unable to detach themselves from anxious parents. Local baked goods are a staple at these events, and the orange cinnamon rolls are always the first to go, followed closely by peach-ginger muffins, which is why I stowed a few on the boat earlier. Perks of being in charge of the operation.
One mother breaks free of the group near the refreshment table and makes a beeline for me. My hackles rise. Historically, this won’t end well. I square my shoulders, ready to brave the encounter and do my best to not ignite a slew of retaliatory comments on social media.
“Are you Ms. Evans?”
With no escape route evident, I nod.
“You’re the shark woman my daughter won’t stop talking about.”
Biting back a remark about feeling like a fish-human hybrid, I crane my neck, looking for evidence of said offspring, who might be more tactful, though unlikely.
The woman turns and points. “She’s there, in the high-tops.” She points out a teenager, laughing with a group of girls. “She somehow got three of her friends to sign up, too, though I don’t know how they convinced their stick-in-the-mud parents.” She swings her gaze back toward me. “Thank you for this.”
“Uh, you’re welcome,” I stammer, realizing that this isn’t the tirade I was expecting.
“My daughter’s always loved animals, but since she discovered your channel, it’s sharks all day. She elected to take high level math courses this year. Enrolled in a biology course at our community college. She’s a force. For so long I felt like all she needed was direction.” Her eyes are shining now. “What you’re doing is about more than just the sharks. I hope you know you’re in the right place.”
