"You first, Evie," Locke says, leaning back against the sofa cushions and pulling me against his side, his heavy arm wrapping securely around my shoulders. He reaches under the low branches of the tree and pulls out a long, heavy rectangular package wrapped in thick navy paper.
Evelyn looks genuinely surprised, taking the box into her lap. "Locke, I told you explicitly not to get me anything lavish."
"Just open it, woman,” he grunts, taking a sip of his black coffee.
She carefully unties the gold ribbon and peels back the dark paper, lifting the lid of a dark, polished wooden case. Inside lies a restored vintage brass nautical barometer and tide clock, mounted on a piece of reclaimed ship timber. The brass gleams brilliantly in the firelight, pristine, heavy, and timeless.
Evelyn’s bre
