The Choice - Nicholas Sparks [46]
“Cat’s meow?”
“I’m a vet. I like animal clichés.”
She couldn’t suppress a smile. “You’re probably right about playing with the kids. My favorite relative was an aunt who would climb trees with me and my sisters while all the other grown-ups sat in the living room talking.”
“And yet . . . ,” he said, motioning toward Stephanie, “there you were, just lounging on the towel with my sister, instead of taking the chance to show these people that you find their kids irresistible.”
“I . . .”
“I was kidding.” He winked. “The fact is, I wanted to spend time with them. And in a little while, they’ll start getting cranky. That’s when I finally collapse in a beach chair, wipe my brow, and let their parents take over.”
“In other words, when the going gets tough, the tough get going.”
“I think . . . that when the time comes, I just might volunteer your services.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No problem. Hey—you hungry?”
“Starved.”
By the time they reached the food, the kids were seated on the blanket with hot dogs, potato salad, and some diced fruit. Liz, Megan, and Allison sat near enough to monitor, but far enough away to converse. All three, Gabby noticed, ate chicken, along with various side dishes. Joe, Matt, and Laird had taken seats on the coolers and sat with their plates on their knees, bottles of beer propped up in the sand.
“Burgers or chicken?” Gabby inquired.
“I like chicken. But the burgers are supposed to be terrific. I just never really acquired the taste for red meat.”
“I thought all men ate burgers.”
“Then I guess I’m not a man.” He straightened up. “Which, I must say, is really going to surprise and disappoint my parents. Being that they gave me a masculine name and all.”
She laughed. “Well . . .” She nodded toward the grill. “They clearly saved the last piece of chicken for you.”
“That’s only because we got here before Stephanie. She would have taken it, even though she’d rather have a burger, just because she knows I’d end up not eating.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked her.”
They reached for some plates as they eyed the appetizing variety of side dishes spread out on the table—beans, casseroles, potato, cucumber, and fruit salads—all of which smelled delicious. Gabby grabbed a bun, added some ketchup, mustard, and pickles, and held out her plate. Travis dropped the chicken onto his plate, then lifted a burger from the side of the grill and added it to her bun.
He scooped some fruit salad onto his plate; Gabby added a taste of pretty much everything. When she was finished, she looked at both their plates with an almost guilty expression, which Travis thankfully didn’t seem to notice.
“Would you like a beer?” he asked.
“Sounds great.”
He reached into the cooler and fished out a Coors Light, then grabbed a bottle of water for himself.
“Gotta drive the boat,” he explained. He lifted his plate in the direction of the dunes. “How about over there?”
“Don’t you want to eat near your friends?”
“They’ll be all right,” he said.
“Lead the way.”
They trudged toward the low dune, a spot shaded by a sickly, salt-poisoned tree, with branches all pointing in the same direction, bent by years of ocean breezes. Gabby could feel the sand slipping beneath her feet. Travis took a seat near the dune, lowering himself to the sand Indian style in a single movement. Gabby sat next to him with considerably less grace, making sure to leave enough distance between them so they wouldn’t accidentally touch. Even in the shade, the sand and water beyond were so bright that she had to squint.
Travis began to cut his piece of chicken, the plastic utensils bending under the pressure.
“Coming out here reminds me of high school,” he remarked. “I can’t tell you how many weekends we spent here back then.” He shrugged. “Different girls and no kids, of course.”
“I’ll bet that was fun.”
“It was,” he said. “I remember one night, Joe and Matt and Laird and I were out here with a few girls we were trying to impress. We were sitting around a bonfire, drinking