“Together.”
epilogue
josephine
* * *
SIX MONTHS LATER
* * *
The sand ishot beneath my bare feet. A light, tropical breeze stirs the hair around my face as I stare out over the crashing turquoise waves.
I’m going to miss this.
Two tan arms wrap around my midsection without warning. I’m pulled back against a warm chest. Archer’s deep voice rumbles in my ear as he bends his head to nuzzle my neck.
“You ready to go back to cold New England?”
“Not at all.” I sigh. “But spring semester starts on Monday.”
We’ve spent my winter break here, on the sun-kissed beaches of Vieques. Riding horses with Miguel, cooking delicious meals with Flora. Laughing and loving each other far from the snowdrifts of Rhode Island. The frigid waves of Narraganset Bay seem a world away, as we stand here on the precipice of the Caribbean, our toes in the sand, warm sea-foam frothing around our ankles.
“We’ll come back next winter,” Archer promises. His chin hooks over my shoulder. “Maybe we’ll bring Tommy. He’s going out of his mind with boredom, now that he’s retired. The man joined a bowling league for god’s sake.”
A laugh tinkles from my lips. “We should invite him. I’d pay good money just to see that stubborn old fart in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts.”
“That would be quite a sight.”
I turn in his arms, looping my wrists over his shoulders so we are face to face. His eyes scan down my body with appreciation, lingering on every curve beneath my bright yellow bikini.
“Don’t you look at me like that, Archer Reyes.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re planning to eat me alive.”
His grin is wolfish. I have no more than a second to brace myself when he drops suddenly, ducks his shoulder into my stomach, and hitches me up over his shoulder.
“Hey!” I protest, spanking his butt. I can barely get the word out over my laughter.
He runs headlong into the waves. They crash around us, a warm embrace, as we fall into them in a tangle of limbs. When our heads break the surface, I wind my legs around his waist and bring my lips to his in a lingering kiss that sets a fire inside me.
“Remind me again why we have to leave?” I whisper.
“You can’t miss your classes.”
“Right. Classes.” I bump my nose into his. “Plus, you have your new coaching gig.”
Archer smiles. “As soon as the diamond is thawed, we’ll start spring training.”
He doesn’t talk about it much, but I can tell he’s thrilled by this new venture. Last fall, at the urging of Chris Tomlinson, Archer called his old coach at Exeter Academy to ask if he knew of any coaching opportunities. His tee-ball camp was over, and he wanted to find a way to keep baseball in his life.
Coach Hamm offered him a position as assistant coach on the spot — one Archer gladly filled all autumn, while I was away in Providence. It was a perfect fit for him. The long practices kept him busy while I was in classes during the week; the games occupied him on the rare weekends I wasn’t able to make it home. He did such a great job as assistant coach, he’s been put in charge of the entire JV team this spring.
It doesn’t pay much. Archer still heads out most mornings to check his traps on my namesake, The Josephine. Lobsters keep the lights on and the rent for our new apartment — a modern loft overlooking Gloucester Harbor, a stone’s throw from the docks and a four minute walk to Tommy’s place — covered each month. But Archer doesn’t coach for the stipend. He coaches because he loves the game.
Baseball is a part of him. It’s in his soul. And getting out on that field again has brought so much light back into his eyes, sometimes it nearly blinds me.