“I’m actually the opposite, if you can’t tell, just standing in the middle of it, thinking it’s harmless, surprised when it knocks my feet from under me.” I looked down the beach, where Finley was doing some searching of her own. “So what’s she looking for?”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching Finley pick something up. “She wants a perfect conch shell. We come out a lot at low tide so she can search.”

We passed a family building a sandcastle, and I offered them a smile.

“What’s she going to do once she gets the perfect conch?”

Jackson grinned. “Decide she wants something else and start that search.”

I chuckled. “Typical girl. We want what we want until we have it, and then it’s on to the next thing.”

“That’s most guys, too,” he countered.

“You?”

He shook his head. “Not really. At least not since Finley was born. Kids have a way of changing the way you look at the world and your role in it.” He paused, bending down to grab something. He brushed his thumb over it and then grinned, handing it to me. “Here you go. It’s pink. That color’s really rare.”

He dropped a piece of sea glass in my hand. Its peachy pink color caught the sun as I flipped it over in my palm.

“Thank you!” I crossed behind him and dipped it into the water, letting the next wave wash away the sand. “It’s beautiful. I didn’t realize there were rare colors.”

“Oh yeah, there’s classifications and everything. Christina makes jewelry with it. Her shop’s down by the bakery. I bet she’d be happy to teach you all about the different colors.” He raised his eyebrows in an obvious way.

“What are you? The matchmaker for friends?” I teased. It wasn’t a half-bad idea to acquaint myself with the local shops, or to make a friend. “Okay. Give me the address, and I’ll go visit the shop.”

“Good. That’s good,” he said with a nod. “Hey, slow down!”

Finley turned and nodded, slowing from her run to examine the ground more carefully.

We walked a fair distance in companionable silence, and I let the waves lull my head into a calm sort of quiet.

“Tell me about the truck.”

“What?” I startled.

“The giant F250 in your driveway that you said was left to you. Tell me about it.” He looked at me with a mixture of expectation and patience, like he knew I’d eventually tell him and was willing to wait for it.

“That…” I ran my fingers over the sea glass as my throat tightened in warning. “That is a really long story.”

“That you don’t want to tell?”