Page 75 of Meant to Be

“Whatstyle?” Berry said.

The two sparred for a few seconds, sounding like brother and sister, before Dottie cut in. “And how isyourjob going, Joe?” she said, eyebrows raised.

Joe avoided her gaze, taking a huge bite of a donut. “It’s okay,” he said with a shrug, powdered sugar on his lower lip.

Dottie stared back at him. “Just…okay?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “I’m thinking of requesting a transfer to another division. Maybe white-collar crime.”

“Why white-collar crime?” she asked. “Is it more prestigious than doing drugs?”

“Yeah. Well, Mother, doing drugs isn’t prestigious at all,” Joe deadpanned. “In fact, there is quite a stigma attached to it.”

“Oh, Joseph,” Dottie said, waving him off. “You know what I meant. Would this be a promotion?”

“No, Mother,” he said, speaking slowly, his jaw tensing. “It wouldn’t be a promotion. It’s just a different division…. I’m tired of prosecuting petty drug offenses that, for the most part, seem racially motivated. Gary agrees.”

Dottie nodded and said, “Would it be better in terms of making political connections? Ultimately running for office?”

Joe shrugged, and Dottie said, “What do you think, Cate?”

“About moving to white-collar crime?” I said, meeting her gaze, wondering why I felt so nervous.

Dottie shook her head and said, “No. About Joe running for office one day?”

I could feel everyone staring at me as I stumbled over my reply. “Umm. I don’t know,” I said. “I mean…I think he’d make a great…politician…you know…if that’s what he wants to do.”

“Key word beingif,” Joe mumbled.

Dottie pretended not to hear him as she kept staring at me. “Yes. I agree, Cate,” she said. “I think he’d be wonderful. He has so much to offer—and could really make a difference.”

For a few seconds, the mood at the table seemed a littleawkward. Then Berry righted the ship, chatting breezily about Joe’s cousin Peter’s recent engagement and the spring wedding he and his fiancée, Genevieve, were planning in her hometown of Annapolis, Maryland. I listened, wondering if I’d be attending. I could only hope that I would.

—

After brunch, Joeand I went to our respective bedrooms to freshen up and change into swimsuits. I wasn’t exactly sure of our agenda, only that we were going out on his boat, and that it was just the two of us. I’d been on boats before, but only the extremes—either yachts for modeling shoots or tacky river cruises with tour guides telling bad jokes amid nauseating gasoline fumes. So I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect or what to wear. I played it safe, changing into a tankini with a cover-up and a pair of leather sandals. Then, deciding I looked a bit too bland, I pulled the Hermès scarf Joe had given me out of my bag, folded it in half, and wrapped it around my head, tying a double knot under my ponytail.

When I finally opened my door, Joe was waiting for me in the hall.

“Hey, baby,” he said, grinning at me. “I like your scarf.”

“Why, thank you,” I said, reaching up to touch it. “This hot guy gave it to me in Paris.”

“Wow.” He grinned again. “He mustreallylike you, huh?”

“Seems that way,” I said.

—

It took sometime to get to the marina, and even longer to get Joe’s boat freed from the dock. It reminded me of snow skiing—the one time I went, I couldn’tbelieveall the effort that wasrequired just to get onto the slopes. It didn’t seem worth the trouble, and it kept crossing my mind that I’d rather be sitting on the beach with a good book.

Once Joe and I were out on the sparkling water, though, with an ocean breeze on our faces, it all made sense, and I almost understood why these people loved their boats as much as they did. It really was exhilarating, and my heart raced as Joe revved his engine and sped toward the horizon under the brightest blue sky painted with thin, wispy clouds.

As gorgeous as the views were—in every direction—it was hard to take my eyes off Joe. I don’t think I’d ever seen him look sexier than he did driving his boat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching up to keep his backward baseball cap in place as he took sharp turns in the water, showing off. Gripping the top of the windshield on the center console, I yelled for him to slow down, but he only laughed and went faster as we got wet from the sea spray. I rationally knew we weren’t in any real danger—that Joe knew what he was doing—but there were moments I still felt a little scared. It was thegoodkind of scared, though. An adrenaline rush from the beautiful world and this beautiful man.

After Joe got the speed out of his system, we turned around, heading toward the shore. I thought maybe we were going back to the dock, but instead we puttered up and down a series of peaceful inlets. Along the way Joe occasionally let me steer as he told stories. Some were about his father and grandfather, family lore passed down to him. But he also shared his own memories, which ranged from simple and sweet to outlandish and braggadocious. There was even one tale of a near-death experience involving kayaking in a storm. I listened, marveling over both his stupidity and his bravery. I was especially fascinated by thereaction from his mother and Berry; his mother had been terrified, and Berry only angry. It was a dynamic I could perfectly picture after having met them.

As if reading my mind, Joe suddenly asked what I thought about them.

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