Hale Maree by Misty Provencher

Author:Misty Provencher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, love, marriage, arranged marriage, contemproary romance, contemproary

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Although we don’t see a trace of any other flashlights, Oscar doesn’t rub it in when we enter the wide ring of light cast by the beach house floods. We go in the front door, after Oscar announces us through the screen. Amy yells, Come on in, like her life’s been ruined. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, when we walk in.

“Landon’s sick,” Amy says, pointing to the bathroom. “Diah-screama. He’s been locked in there, howling and hanging onto the towel rack, ever since you guys left.”

“Serious?” Oscar says, and shouts toward the bathroom, “Land? You okay, buddy?”

“I’m going Sea Cucumber in here, baby,” Landon hollers back. The toilet flushes. “Stay out!”

“No problem,” Oscar says. “Hale and I can just hang out upstairs.”

I gulp. Just like I suspected, back here under the regular lights, I feel a little more self-conscious and reserved. How good it felt to let go with Oscar, out on the beach, seems a little fast and loose now that Sophia’s best friend is staring at me again.

“Hey, don’t go,” Amy says, before Oscar can grab my hand and drag me upstairs. “Let’s play Scrabble or something. I don’t have anything to do if Landon’s locked in there all night.”

“Sure,” I say, but Oscar flashes me a look that is pure disappointment. I slide into a chair at the table and turn to Amy. “Were you out looking for us?”

“Outside?” Amy asks. “No, why?”

“I swore I saw a flashlight out there. This isn’t hunting season, is it?”

“It’s always some kind of hunting season,” Amy says. “Good thing you didn’t get your heads blown off.”

Oscar, who had wandered out of the room, wanders back in with the Scrabble box. He lays it on the table and takes off the top.

“I think her eyes were playing tricks on her," he says, shooting me a grin.

“Out there?” Amy says. “There’s no light to play tricks with.”

“Thanks for helping,” Oscar says. He lays out the board and tiles, as the toilet flushes again.

“Sophia’s been blowing up my phone,” Amy says. “She’s saying you won’t talk to her?”

“I tried,” Oscar says. “Help me out, would you? Talk to her. I understand she’s upset, but like you said, just a couple of weeks ago, she was thinking of breaking it off too. I wouldn’t mind talking to her, if she’d listen to what I have to say.”

“Oh no, she doesn’t want to hear any of that,” Amy says. She glances at me. “Don’t worry about it. She’s just slammed that you ended everything first, and had someone waiting in the wings. The rejection stings a little, but I’ll straighten her out.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Oscar says.

We play two rounds of Scrabble, in which I seem to get the tiles that spell nothing more complicated than ‘cat’ and ‘sit’, but Oscar strings together ‘x’ words like infix and Xis that I challenge and lose on. Amy tries to make every word have some dirty root to it, spelling out suck, nip and lick, and then insists she should get extra points for working all her words into close proximity on the board.

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