Sunset Point: A Shelter Bay Novel by Joann Ross Page A

good thing is, my family gets free repairs.”
    “That’s handy. No pun intended.”
    “It is. Anyway, getting back to your question, along with my immediate family, I’ve various aunts, uncles, and cousins who are all still there, and I keep a beach house for when I visit. Or just want to get away for a while.”
    “From the madness that is Shelter Bay,” Tess suggested. “Where crime, I’m told, consists of barking dogs and mailbox assaults.”
    He laughed, pleased at the way she’d loosened up enough to tease him. “Hey, we have our moments. You should see how wild and crazy people get during the annual Dungenesss Days. Last year’s crab-eating contest winner, Lonnie Anderson, took the festival record with an even dozen.”
    “I hope paramedics were standing by.”
    “Lonnie’s been working up to it for a long time. He came in second for eight years in a row. When people started calling him the Susan Lucci of crabs, he got a mad on and trained like a demon for last year’s competition.”
    “Well, crab eating certainly tops our Rose Festival and Christmas Ship Parade,” she said dryly.
    “Both of which are worth attending,” Nate allowed. “Along with all the other things the city has to offer. But I guess because I grew up in a small town on an island whose entire population is about fifty thousand, give or take a few births and deaths, I have an affinity for Shelter Bay. Though my heart will always be on the island.”
    “That’s nice. The Lombardis have established deep roots here in Oregon, but whenever I go to Italy, it feels like a homecoming.”
    “That makes sense,” he agreed. “I suspect there’s something to the notion that heritage is wound into our DNA. Or at least our subconscious.”
    “Like Cajun food must be in the Douchett genes.” The spicy étouffée, made with what was obviously fresh shellfish and served over fluffy white rice, was everything comfort food should be on a rainy Portland night. “This definitely beats the scrambled eggs I had in mind.” And the fact that he’d gone to the trouble to make the drive from the coast made it even more special.
    “That hurricane that took out Sax’s grandparents’ Louisiana bayou island must have been tragic,” Nate said. “But Shelter Bay lucked out when Bernard traded in his shrimping business for catching crabs and Sax’s mom opened up Bon Temps.”
    The conversation flowed easily, from the topic of the weather (which was, no surprise, still rainy), the Trailblazers, and morning commute traffic tangles, which Nate admitted he was grateful not to have to deal with.
    “Your great-grandmother Lucia was the suffragette, wasn’t she?” Nate asked later as they sipped wine in front of the fire. His arm was draped loosely, unthreateningly around her shoulders, and Tess had relaxed enough to actually enjoy sitting close beside him, staring into the flickering yellow and orange flames.
    “You’ve been Googling me again.”
    “Guilty. Are you saying you didn’t do the same to me?”
    “It wasn’t that difficult. You not only have a website, Facebook page, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest accounts, you also have a Wikipedia page.”
    “The website was my publisher’s idea and although I drop in from time to time, the Facebook page, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest accounts are run by an assistant. As for the Wikipedia page, I’ve no clue who created that. It just popped up one day.”
    “Probably one of your fans,” she guessed.
    “I suppose. Some of the stuff is wrong, but I figure if I correct it, then I take ownership of it, so I mostly just forget it’s out there. And you were going to tell me about Lucia.”
    “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
    “What can it hurt to share family stories? I’ll start…My great-great-grandmother Pearl taught first to eighth grade in a one-room on the island. She ended up marrying the sugarcane farmer who hired her.”
    “She married the boss.”
    “After teaching