FAITH GREER HOOKED her pinkie into the bar handle of the sliding door, pulling it open just enough to wedge a foot between frame and door to scoot it open the rest of the way. Her right hand held two glasses of cranberry juice with a carafe of coffee dangling from her index finger while the other balanced two plates of eggs, bacon, hash browns, and blackberry jam on toast. She could have been a waitress with that balancing act. Selby finished setting the table on their wooden deck as Journey serenaded them from the speakers. The salt spray brushed against her face as the breeze pulled playfully at her wheaten hair, whipping it around her face and shoulders.
“Will you take these please,” she laughed. “I can’t see where I’m going.”
Selby laughed with her, but instead of helping her, he pul
