by Eddie Jones
“Yes.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Get me in front of a minister and I’ll marry you.”
Sonny looked past Joe. “He here?”
“Who?”
Sonny frowned, cut his gaze down the beach in the direction of the barbeque pit.
“Oh, him,” said Joe. “He was getting on the plane when we were getting off.”
“Doggone it, Joe! What was the last thing I asked you to do?”
“Before or after you told me to bring the jar of candy?”
“Before! Before! I told you to make sure the pastor didn’t get on the plane. That he’d be leaving when you arrived and you needed to stall him.”
Joe shrugged. “Guess I forgot.”
Anna saw Sonny searching the harbor, his gaze settling on the seaplane revving its propellers at the far end of the harbor. “Don’t you dare…”
But she was too late.
Sonny bolted for the dinghy, pushed it from shore and yanked on the starter cord.
“He’ll never reach that plane in time,” said Joe’s girlfriend.
“He might,” said Joe. “He just might.”
The gray inflatable shot across the harbor like a smooth stone skipping across the water. Cheers erupted on shore as Sonny veered towards the channel and the orange buoys marking the plane’s runway.
The big bird started forward.
Sonny, looking like a proud and tan revolutionary general—or maniacal romantic—raced across a turquoise cove, one hand on the outboard’s throttle, the other holding the bow rope.
Anna couldn’t help but watch and cringe as Sonny pulled even with the seaplane. The aircraft began to lift. Sonny dove for the wing support. The nose of the bird rose.
Sonny clung to the rear strut. His Panama hat sailed off his head. Surf trunks inched off his hips, revealing a narrow white band of untanned hide. For a few precious seconds he hung there, his feet skipping off the water.
The sea plane soared higher.
He clung to the dinghy’s tow rope but as the plane lifted, the burden became too great. He let go. The rubber boat cart-wheeled across the bay, ripping away the motor. Sonny pulled himself aboard and straddled the pontoon. For a moment, the image of her fiancé caught between the azure waters of the Bahamas and the empty golden sky caused her to smile. Then she scowled and turned on Joe.
“I’ll go get you that fruity drink now,” said Joe, standing. “Could be awhile before he comes back.”
“What makes you so sure he will?” asked Anna. “What makes you so sure he won’t fall off and die?’
“Sonny? Are you kidding? The guy is dying to marry you. You think something like this is going to stop him? No, he’ll be back. When it comes to you, he always comes back.”
Author’s Note
No boats, surfboards or beaches were harmed in the making of this book, though the author did develop a nasty case of toe fungus. ~ Eddie Jones
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May God’s glory shine through
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