Chapter 7
Ike
I park my truck in Stevie’s driveway, slamming the door behind me.
She never returned my leaf blower last week, and tracking down my tools when I have work to do makes me uncharacteristically stabby.
I have two yards to deal with—mine and my parents’—and I’m burning daylight.
If Stevie wasn’t such a good friend she’d be banned forever from borrowing my stuff.
Maybe I’ll start taking care of her yard.
It would save both of us a lot of hassle.
These grumbling thoughts accompany me to her front door.
I knock, straightening my ball cap while I wait. Women’s laughter filters from inside.
The door swings open. “Oh, hey!” Stevie’s eyes dart to the side deviously as her breathless laughter fades.
I understand why when I see Diana seated on the couch behind her, her hands folded over her stomach.
Her bare feet are crossed on the coffee table.
She’s smiling. I didn’t know she was capable of relaxation.
It’s a good look on her. I’m glad the reception she got at our town meeting hasn’t dampened her spirits.
That was brutal. I’m not used to feeling sorry for Diana York, but here we are.
I straighten my hat again. “Hey, do you have my leaf blower?” Why am I asking? We both know she does. I got a text from her twenty minutes ago reminding me to come grab it.
Stevie grins and I know I’m in danger. That’s the smile she wears when she’s about to ask me to clear the leaves from her rain gutters or fix a plumbing issue. But she doesn’t say anything.
“What?” I prod her along, but it’s hard not to smile back. Stevie is always up to something and so full of crap. She’s like the little sister I never had.
“Why don’t you come in for a minute?” She swings the door wide. “Your timing is perfect. Diana and I are having breakfast. I’ll make you a plate.”
I don’t know what possesses me, but I step inside.
There are a few dishes on the coffee table with the remains of scrambled eggs.
Stevie heads to the kitchen, and I feel Diana’s icy blue eyes following me.
I don’t know what to do with my hands. I try my hips, then my pockets, before finally crossing my arms over my chest. There. Now my hands are in jail.
Diana smooths her palms over her knees, drawing my eye.
I stare at the popcorn ceiling. She’s dressed for a day of laughing on a yacht with all the other rich people.
I’m wearing a threadbare Red Sox t-shirt and jeans, like I’m about to do her landscaping.
We’re a study in opposites. That white dress does nothing to hide her legs—not that I’m paying attention. This popcorn ceiling is riveting.
Diana sighs delicately.
I clear my throat. “Sorry about the—”
“Why don’t you sit—”
We talk over each other.
“Go ahead,” she says with a deceptively sweet smile. “But please sit. You’re making me nervous.”
Ha. Doubtful. But I do as she asks, lowering myself onto the yellow loveseat. “I’m sorry about last night.” I frown. I really am. No one wants that lighthouse restored more than I do, and she didn’t deserve the Angry Villagers treatment. I clear my throat again.
She blinks, pressing her red lips into a tight line. “Thank you.”
What’s taking Stevie so long?
“I never thanked you for saving me the other night.” Now she looks uncomfortable. She drags her hands over her white dress.
I wish I could purge the memory of her rescue from my mind.
Last night marks two nights in a row where I dreamed of carrying Diana through the water.
In my dreams she smiles at me. She feels all too real in my arms. Then I wake up, and the real Diana is looking at me like I need to clear the plates.
“It’s my job,” I say with a shrug.
The clock on Stevie’s mantel ticks.
“Oh, my gosh. Torture.” Stevie comes in from the kitchen with a plate of eggs.
She shoves it at me. “Listening to you two try to act civil is actual torture.” She plops onto the couch beside Diana.
“Okay, listen up because I’m not gonna repeat myself.
Diana, Ike is a good guy and my friend. He’s not” — she imitates Diana’s silky, measured tone — “a demon put on this earth for the sole purpose of terrorizing you.”
Say what now?
Stevie isn’t done. “Give him a chance. And Ike.” She shakes her head at me. “Ike, Ike, Ike.” She tsks. “You know better than to make assumptions about people based on gossip. You also know better than to spread gossip.”
That’s not what I do. “I don’t—”
“I did not invent paper straws.” Diana arches an eyebrow. “I know you started that one.”
I did. I tighten my jaw to stop my smile.
I didn’t think the story would gain so much traction.
It was years ago. I was immature, but I had good reason.
“You ran over my mailbox,” I accuse her.
I know she did. My mailbox was smashed and her fancy black Mercedes happened to go into the shop the same day?
Fishy. I take a bite of eggs, watching her.
There’s a proud twinkle in Diana’s eyes, but she doesn’t respond. She knows what she did. She looks to Stevie for rescue.
“Diana is an incredible woman, Ike,” Stevie says, tightening her red ponytail. “Now, listen. She just told me something very interesting—”
“No, Stevie.” Diana straightens. “No. Don’t drag him into this.” Her cheeks turn an almost flattering shade of pink.
“I’m not dragging him in. I’m throwing it out there. Brainstorming.” There’s a heavy measure of false innocence in her tone.
Diana groans. It’s the most unladylike sound I’ve ever heard her make.
“Charles and Patricia York have offered to fund the renovation of the lighthouse, with a few tiny conditions.”
Diana covers her eyes with her hand, rubbing her temples on either side.
Stevie has my full attention. I slide my plate onto the coffee table.
I don’t care what the conditions are. Updating that lighthouse would change things for Cape Georgeana.
Tourists might do more than just pass through.
They’d spend money here. And side benefit: The nagging feeling of failure whenever I spot the lighthouse from the highway might finally abate. “Well? Out with it.”
Stevie bites her lip. She’s loving this. “They want Diana to get married and live in the lighthouse with her husband until the renovation is done. That’s all. For, like, millions of dollars.” Then she mutters, “Rich people are freaking crazy.”
Diana is still kneading her temples. “Not live in the lighthouse. Live in the keeper’s house, but maintain the lighthouse.”
That’s a simple enough solution. “Are you going to do it?” I ask.
Stevie’s eyes dance while Diana covers her face with her hands. “No.” The word is muffled behind her hands. She drags them away from her face, then says with resolve, “I’m not getting married.”
She’s nuts. I’d marry someone for a year in exchange for a few million dollars to spend how I want. “Why not?”
Little lines form between her arched eyebrows.
Stevie looks like she’s going to pummel me.
“What?” I ask. What am I missing? This seems like a no-brainer. It’s practically free money.
Stevie makes another face at me that I can’t interpret. She re-emphasizes the same expression silently. I’m not getting it.
“I don’t know anyone…” Diana’s barely audible voice trails off. Then she shoves Stevie away, mouthing something that looks like, “You are dead to me.”
Whoa. That isn’t at all what I expected her to say. Princess Diana—with that face, that body, and everything going for her—doesn’t know a single man who she could invite to live in a lighthouse with her for a year?
“You don’t have to look so shocked.” Diana frowns.
Stevie makes that unintelligible expression again while I consider who might be willing to agree to this. There has to be someone.
“We can ask August,” I suggest off the top of my head. “He’s single. He’d go for it.”
“Ooooh, yeah.” Stevie grins. “August is a hottie. That’d be fun.” She wags her eyebrows at Diana.
Then images pop into my head of my brother married to Diana: August coming home to her every night. Diana kissing his cheek. Him seeing what she wears to sleep and carrying her through the water when the tide is high.
Man, those dreams are messing with my head. I swear I can feel her in my arms. August is my brother, and I trust him. But no.
No.
My blood is pumping like I’ve been chopping wood.
“Not August,” I say with finality.
Stevie chuckles. “You’re the one who suggested him.” She leans back next to Diana. “What about Desmond Perry? He’s a nice guy. And cute.”
I shake my head. “He has a girlfriend.”
He doesn’t.
“Okay.” Stevie stares at the ceiling, thinking. “Oh! Adam.” She waves her hand to jog my memory. “You know, Adam what’s-his-name.”
“The guy who works for the Forest Service?” I say with disgust. Those eggs are churning in my stomach. Forest Service Adam isn’t at all right for Diana. “He never wears a shirt.”
“I do not want to get married,” Diana reminds us, emphasizing every word.
Stevie’s eyes are bright. “You will when you see Adam.”
I growl. The eyes of both women snap to mine.
I straighten my ball cap. “I’ll do it,” I say like it’s no big deal. I feel Diana’s gaze on me. I meet her eyes, and the knot in my stomach untangles. “I’m doing it.”
Stevie looks pleased with herself.
“No.” Diana shakes her head aggressively, making her hair swish around her shoulders. “That wouldn’t… Just no.”
Rich people are crazy. “Are you serious? It’s essentially free money. So we have to live under the same roof for a while? We’ll put masking tape down the middle of the house, and in a year the lighthouse will be fixed.” Why am I trying so hard to talk her into this?
Because you want the lighthouse fixed, I lie to myself. Not because you can’t stand the idea of Diana marrying Shirtless Adam.