Page 41 of Rhodes

"So it's an oyster thing," Trey says, turning his wineglass by the stem. "Like actual oyster money. One of those rich, old Charleston families."

"You've got it in your head wrong." I pull a piece of bread apart and dip it in the honey butter on my plate. "We own a lot of land. We're not fancy, and we're definitely not rich."

"Waterfront land in Charleston isn't cheap."

"That's the whole trap. It's called land-poor. The money's only real the day you sell it, and we don't sell."

"That's so cool. Do you guys still farm oysters, or do you hire it out?"

"I mean, my grandfather and my father run the business, but yeah, they have a crew. We all still go out and work the beds by hand, same as my family did a hundred years ago. My dad does a little development on the side. Nobody's got a yacht."

"Sounds like Outer Banks meets Yellowstone."

That makes me smile. I've never thought about it put that way, but it fits.

The candle throws a little wobble of light across the table. "I plan to go back after college and keep it going as long as our land can produce the oysters."

"You really love it, don't you?"

"I do," I say, nodding, as I look off, thinking about Grandbank and my dad out there in their waders, pulling shells.

And then, because my brain will not leave it alone, I count them. My father did it on the dock, Coop did it in my kitchen with a box in his hands, and Libba did it in my ear on the way to a meeting. Three people who love me, and not one of them will finish a sentence about that property.

I don't know what it is yet. I know it's something, and I know I'm going to be the last one told. Fine. I'm home at Easter, and I'll get it out of Grandbank in his own kitchen if I have to sit there until dark.

"What about you? How did you get into the water and working on boats? Were you born with the salt water in your veins, too?"

"Believe it or not, I'm not even a coast kid. I grew up in Ohio, only child, moved down after high school. I wanted a boat I couldn't afford, so I taught myself to fix up a junker, and never looked back."

I can't believe I didn't know he is from Ohio. He fits right in with the Bayou crowd.

"I love that."

"What about you, any siblings in Charleston?"

"A brother and a twin sister. My sister's in school there, and my brother was here in New Orleans, but is studying abroad at the moment."

He asks about them, warm and curious, a whole string of little questions, and it's nice that he's interested.

He's handsome in the candlelight, dark eyes, good forearms I already knew about from the boat. And those dimples are delicious. He listens with his whole face, which is sweet.

He ordered the wine without once looking at me to see if I wanted any, which I noticed. I'm guessing Jo told him, or it could be he realized I'm a big girl and would order a wine if I wanted it. Either way, I appreciate it.

But with all the positives about him, for some reason I'm not digging him.

Under the table, I turn my phone face-up on my thigh. Holy shit, it's almost eleven. Then a text comes in from Jo, the bubble making me smile.

fuzzies or no fuzzies???

I flip the phone back over without attempting to covertly answer.

"Okay, so," Trey says, leaning in, "you want to hear how I lost an entire outboard to a pelican?"

"I absolutely do."

I absolutely couldn't care less.

He tells the story, the kind with a build and a turn, the bird and the cooler and his uncle screaming from the dock. I can tell this is his go-to story, because he's really getting into it. Right at the end, Trey tips his head back and lets it go.