Page 45 of Making the Save

“Yes, please,” he said.

“We need a plan of attack,” Beatrice said.

“I thought we had a plan of attack yesterday,” he grumbled. He took a deep sip once I handed him his coffee. “That one didn’t work out so well for us.”

“We should have been more thoughtful,” Beatrice explained. “We rushed to get a story out and it was quite evident it was fabricated. Which means there is only one thing left to do.”

“Tell the truth?” Wyatt asked.

Beatrice scowled at him. “No, of course not. We double down on our story. I’ve spoken with Tyler and he agrees.”

“I bet he does,” Wyatt mumbled.

“Do you want me to make you some breakfast?” I asked Wyatt, remembering what Beatrice said about needing to feed this man often. “I can do eggs.”

“Eggs.” he grunted, as he sipped his coffee. Then almost as an afterthought, “Please.”

I started cracking and whisking them together. I poured them into a hot pan with some melted butter and a few minutes later he was forking them into his mouth.

“Hot sauce?”

“Hot sauce!” his eyes lit up. I don’t know why that gave me a secret little thrill.

My husband liked hot sauce on his eggs.

“Focus. I think the two of you should spend some time today in the ocean, frolicking.”

“Frolicking?” Wyatt asked. “Are you from the 1950’s?”

“Hardly. Here, I’ve brought you a swim suit, Mr. Locke. It should fit you perfectly.”

Beatrice pulled out a pair of men’s swim trunks from another bag.

“We swam in the ocean yesterday,” I pointed out.

“Did we frolic?” Wyatt smirked.

“We did! You threw me over your shoulder.”

He shook his head. “Because you squirted water into my face with that weird palm trick.”

I laughed. I did do that. Got him right in the eye too.

“I didn’t buy you swim trunks until just this morning,” Beatrice said, like she was confused.

“I just swam in my underwear.”

“His boxer briefs areveryversatile,” I noted.

“Yes, well, there will be no throwing or squirting today.” Wyatt choked on his eggs. “You have an audience this time. I want you to watch this.” Beatrice took out her phone, tapped it a few times and then set it on the kitchen island for us to watch.

“Another video of us?” I asked.

“No, this will give you inspiration.”

“Is it a movie? In black and white?” Wyatt’s face scrunched up as he bent down closer. Did my husband need glasses?

On the screen, a woman, wearing a black bathing suit that covered a whole lot more skin than my bikini, stumbled along the sand while a man in trunks chased her down and tackled her.