Their family had passed so many joyful hours on Crescent Beach building sandcastles, hunting for sea creatures, flying kites in the coastal wind. Rosie regretted that it had been years since she had taken the time to indulge in what had once been favorite activities.
That she had the chance now to share these moments with her daughter’s child seemed a rare and priceless gift.
She could see two problems right now, though. For one, they didn’t have the right footgear for tide pooling. She and Emma and Gary always used to wear muck boots to protect their feet and help them walk carefully on the slippery rocks without damaging the fragile ecosystems.
The second problem was Dottie. Her little dog, placid and easygoing though she was, would frighten the sea creatures.
She solved the second problem by finding a shady spot for Dottie nearby and securing her in place with her leash.
For the footwear issue, they would simply have to make do and stick to the tide pools closest to shore.
She and Olive were kneeling down admiring one of the larger crabs they found when Rosie heard the sound of approaching children. Apparently someone else had decided this was the perfect time for tide pooling.
Rosie pushed away the twinge of momentary annoyance. Crescent Beach was surely big enough for everyone who wanted to enjoy it, as long as they did so respectfully.
“Hi! You’re the bookshop lady!”
She turned at the greeting to find Finn Morgan along with a girl who had to be his sister racing toward the rocks wearing rain boots and floppy hats.
Olive beamed at them. “Hi! My name is Olive.”
“I’m Zara. And this is my brother, Finn,” the girl said.
“We found a crab!” Olive said. “I named him Bob. I think he likes me.”
“I’m sure he does,” Zara answered, giving the preschooler an indulgent smile.
“How do you know if a crab is a boy or a girl?” Finn asked.
“Easy,” Rosie answered with a smile. “You ask it.”
She heard a muffled snort and looked up to see the children’s father approaching them. For some silly reason, Rosie could feel her heartbeat accelerate. The man was far too gorgeous for his own good, with his lean features, stunning eyes and hint of afternoon stubble.
“If the crab doesn’t answer,” he said, “there are other ways to figure out whether a crab is male or female.”
“How?” his son asked.
“A crab has what’s called an apron that you can see when you turn it over. A male has a long, narrow apron like the Washington Monument and a female crab has a wider, shorter apron, more like the Lincoln Memorial.”
“Is that true?” Rosie asked. She had lived in Oregon most of her life and had never heard that. Not that she had spent much time studying the gender characteristics of crabs, but still.
“I swear.”
“Are you some kind of marine expert?” she asked.
“Nope. Just a guy with too much curiosity and a passionate love of trivia. I bought a book about the local flora and fauna of this part of Oregon when we were at your bookstore the other day. I read that particular fact in there.”
Olive frowned. “But we can’t pick up the crabs. My grandma said. We’re not supposed to touch the creatures unless a grown-up is there to help us.”
“Your grandma is absolutely right. About crabs, anyway.”
He said the last part in an undertone and Rosie sent him a sharp look. What did he mean by that?
Her mind immediately went to their previous encounter in the bookstore. She had been worrying ever since that day that he might have overheard what she said to Emma about his books. She truly hoped not.
“How are things going at Stormhaven?” she asked, hoping to change the subject. “I asked Bryce to light a fire under our subs and I made a few calls myself.”
“Whatever you did must have worked. We’ve seen a lot of progress this week.”