Chapter 22
Ike
Oh crap, there are six dead lobsters in my truck.
After Boone’s play, I forgot the cooler was wedged behind my seat. My mind was fixed on the idea of a goodnight kiss with Diana. I missed my chance, then tossed and turned all night. I made the starry-eyed drive to Marlow’s and back and still didn’t notice or remember the cooler.
Then, I finally kissed her, and Diana’s kiss changed me.
I was instantly addicted. Educated. Ruined.
Exalted. I can smell her everywhere I go, and I can feel her under my fingers.
I haven’t been able to form a coherent thought without the taste of Diana’s lips barging into my mind. I’ve been a walking disaster all day.
I certainly haven’t thought about that cooler. It stayed there all night and for this entire, sweltering August Saturday. Now the sun is shooting its last few streams of gold around the trees, and I’m sweating about that stinky cooler.
Six lobsters is a lot of lobsters for two people, but it’s dumb to arrange a whole lobster bake for only two lobsters.
It’s a ton of work. Go big or go home, right?
I hate that saying, and now I have half a dozen undoubtedly deceased crustaceans in the back of my cab, and I’m about to open Diana’s door.
I gotta go big or go home. I have no choice.
I hesitate. They're in an old, red Igloo cooler that’s had a long life.
I can leave it in the parking area. I don’t want to draw attention to it, though.
I don’t want Diana to know I murdered innocent sea creatures.
What’s starting between us is as fragile as a sandcastle.
Six dead lobsters would destroy it, for sure.
But I don’t want to give her a ride in a truck that smells like death, either.
What choice do I have?
Go big or go home.
I still hate that saying.
I swing the passenger door wide, hoping to quickly air out any potential stench. Relief flows through me when the cab smells like it always does—leather seats and the peppermint gum I keep stashed in the console. Phew. Bless that old, red Igloo for keeping the stank to itself.
Diana murmurs a “thank you” as I help her up into the truck. She doesn’t ask about the cooler. She’s quiet tonight. She seems nervous.
The hem of her blue dress is brushing the door sill, and I tuck it safely beside her before I close the door.
It’d be a shame to mess up that dress. I love Diana in jeans, but I’m dying inside over how that soft fabric looks draped across the bench seat of my truck.
Has anything so feminine ever been inside this rig?
I still can’t believe she said yes to tonight.
I speed to my neighbor’s house to pick up Boone.
We’re losing daylight. I’m ashamed to admit I want to do the sandwich thing quickly so I can have Diana to myself.
I’m a terrible person. The feeling only intensifies when I spot Boone and Louise waiting on their front porch.
She’s a tired mom who needs an hour of peace, and all I can think about is canoodling with my wife.
They meet us in the driveway. “Heyyyy,” Louise calls as Boone opens the passenger door. “Oh! Hi.” She looks from Diana to me with a gleam in her eye. “This is fun.”
Boone is eyeballing Diana in his usual seat like she’s a lettuce leaf in his sandwich.
“Hello again.” Diana’s red lips smile widely at Boone. “Hi, Louise.”
Louise smiles, but her concern is obvious. She swings open the back passenger door. “Hop in, kiddo.” Her eyes are wondering how Boone is going to handle this addition to our sandwich night.
So far, he’s stone faced, staring at Diana in his spot.
“Is it okay if Diana joins us, buddy?” I ask, but he won’t make eye contact, and he isn’t climbing into the truck. His blond cowlick waves in the breeze while we wait.
“Sorry,” Louise whispers. She’s as desperate to make this work as anyone. “Hop in, Boone.”
He doesn’t.
I’m silently begging the skies that Diana won’t offer to sit in the back with the lobster sarcophagus. Before I can think of another solution, she scoots across the bench toward me.
“Does this work? I’ll sit right by stinky Ike and you’ll have all the room you need.” Diana’s voice is tender and quiet. “Okay, buddy?”
That does it. Diana calling Boone my little nickname for him, combined with the feel of her soft hip pressed against my side?
That’s pure magic. This woman has total control over me.
She could drag me to the top of Mount Everest and make me toboggan down the back side, and I’d do it with a dumb grin on my face. There’s some witchcraft happening here.
Louise breathes an audible sigh of relief when Boone climbs onto the seat. She gives Diana a look of pleasant surprise, then shuts the back door with a, “Thanks.”
Boone is careful to leave a few inches of space between himself and Diana like he’s put up an invisible cootie forcefield. She must sense his discomfort because she scoots even closer to my side. No complaints here. This is why the bench seat was invented, right?
As we pull away, I catch Louise dancing up her driveway in my rear view mirror. Good for her. I know she loves Boone, but her job never ends. Watching her happy dance reinforces that I made the right choice tonight.
We swing by Marlow's, and I run in to grab our standing take-out order, with a surprise addition for my date.
“Ready for a wild Saturday night?” I wag my eyebrows at Diana, passing the brown bag to her as I get back in my truck.
Thanks to the humid ocean air, it’s warm even now that the sun is lowering.
I’m sweating. And I’m nervous about my worlds colliding.
What if Boone doesn't take to Diana? I need these two to click. Louise seemed to like her—a huge point in her favor. What if Diana doesn’t take to me?
“Did you get a whoopie pie for me?” Diana asks.
I reverse out of my spot in front of Marlow’s Diner. “It’s not fun to surprise you when you guess the surprise.”
Boone grunts. It’s as much as he’s said since we picked him up. I’m calling it a happy grunt. Fingers crossed.
∞∞∞
It was not a happy grunt. We ate our picnic at an overlook facing the Atlantic, with Diana and me providing all of the small talk.
This only seemed to agitate Boone. I dragged things out for as long as possible to give his parents more time, but he is done.
And when my little neighbor is done, things can go sideways quickly.
The sun finished setting, leaving a glowing trail of pink and orange clouds behind us as we drop Boone back at home.
“Bye, buddy.” Diana’s voice is sweet, but strained. She’s tried so hard tonight.
He closes the door in her face.
With a tired laugh, she slides her hands down her legs as I back down the driveway. “There’s no way he’s heard the rumors, right?”
I chuckle. “Don’t take it personally.” I pull her hand away from her knee, lacing our fingers together. “It took him months to stop slapping me on sight. It’s not you. Boone is a tricky communicator. Give him time. He’ll love you.” I’m not giving her hand back, though.
She hmms, but doesn’t respond. She seems down, and that doesn’t work for me.
“Get over here.” I tug her hand, but she doesn't budge. She's belted into the passenger seat. With a huff I pull onto the shoulder, unbuckle her seatbelt, rearrange her in the seat beside me, and put the truck back in drive.
“Ike.”
“Yeah?” I signal onto the road that leads to our lighthouse.
“Stevie was right about you. You’re a big oaf.” She’s teasing, but her voice is still a little too quiet. A few seconds pass, then she asks, “What helps with Boone? What should I have done differently?”
An ache forms deep in my chest at her questions. “You did great.”
She snorts. “Come on.”
“No, really. That’s just Boone. It takes time for him to warm up to people. Same as it was with you.” I pull her hand to my mouth, kissing the back of it and holding it against my thigh.
“Nice, Ike.” She bumps my shoulder.
“What? It’s true. It took you forever to warm up to me, but look at us now.” I pull her hand back up to mouth, making monster sounds as I pretend to nibble the back of it. “Now you’re mine. I’m going to steal you, marry you, and carry you away to a deserted island with me,” I tease.
She takes her hand away. “Ugh. You are an oaf.”
I throw the truck into park. We’re a short walk from our house. The place where we sleep under the same roof. My heart is galloping. I need to be… not alone with her, and I’m not ready for this night to end.
“Want to go for a walk? Do some beachcombing?” It’s a nice night, and since the tide is coming in later and later, we have time.
Diana nods, following me out of the truck.
There’s a rocky stretch of beach with hard-packed pebbles near the shore.
Taking her hand, I move in that direction and remind myself to walk slowly.
I want to drag out this time with her, and I want her to see this place the way I see it.
I’m desperate for Diana to love living here as much as I do, but I’m not going to examine that.
It’s just so perfect here. The lights of Cape Georgeana bounce off the water, and a few stars are starting to blink in the lavender sky. Even the waves are calm tonight, barely lapping against the rocks. Tiny, twinkling fireflies flicker in the trees near the shore. See? Perfection.
I squeeze her hand, enjoying the happy swing of our arms between us while we make our way down the beach.
This is contentment. Things are going well with the lighthouse.
The townsfolk are appeased for the time being.
The Red Sox are killing it this season. I get to live with this knockout woman.
I let out a long sigh, basking in this moment of peace before Muffie Horowitz finds a squirrel in her chimney or something.
Diana’s soft voice breaks through my thoughts. “What are you smiling about?”
Am I smiling? I guess so. “I’m content. The lighthouse is coming along, work is going well, and I get to be here. With you.” I shrug. “Life is good.”
“Hmm.” She clings to my arm with her other hand, moving closer. “I like to hear that.” She leans her head on my shoulder as we walk.
Do not scoop her up, I remind myself because everything inside me is screaming to scoop her into my arms and kiss her. Instead, I start a normal, adult conversation to keep myself in check. “How about you? Is life good?”
Her head is still on my shoulder, so I can’t see her face, but I can feel her thinking deeply. I don’t know how. The air changes. She’s still hanging onto my arm with both hands, and I don’t hate it. She can think and hang onto me as long as she wants.
“Life is good,” she finally concludes. Then she lets out a long sigh of her own. “I think.”
I chuckle. Not the reassuring words a man wants to hear from his wife. “You think?”
Another long exhale, then the dam breaks.
“Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. One, look at the lighthouse.
It’s making progress, sure. But the first thing I see is that we need to finish the exterior lights.
It’s too dim. The flagpole needs a light.
So I made a mental list of people I need to call to get that done.
Then I was thinking about you.” She clutches my arm.
“And?” I like where this is headed—unless she wants to repair me, too.
“I think too deeply and too far ahead to just enjoy this time with you. Like, we’re both super attracted to each other, right?
” Before I have a chance to agree, she’s moving on.
“But we’re married and living together. Where do we draw the lines?
What’s okay, and what’s not? What are we doing?
” She’s walking faster now. “And I’m also thinking about Louise and Boone and how Boone hates me like everyone else.
” She lets out one last, long breath. She’s almost winded after that rant. “So… yeah. Life is good.”
I listen to the ocean for a few seconds, considering how I’ll respond.
She’s right. The lighthouse needs more exterior lighting, and we’ve put ourselves into an awkward pickle getting married before we had our first date.
Boone doesn’t hate her, though. “Okay, let me get one thing out of the way first. Boone doesn’t hate you.
” I stop, turning to face her and taking in all of her details—the dark brown waves resting on her shoulders, the shape of her in that dress.
She’s perfect. But there’s a little too much red lipstick on those lips.
I can take care of that, but first: “Diana.”
She blinks up at me, waiting.
“I’ve never been one to advocate for this, but…” I trail off at the sight of her arched eyebrow. No, I’m right about this. I’m going to say it. “Have you considered… thinking less?”
Something about my delivery must’ve landed just right, because Diana is cackling.
It starts with a delicate snort and turns into a deep, belly laugh that echoes off the rocks.
While I’m wondering whether I might’ve pushed her over the edge, Diana tangles her arms around my neck.
Her laughter slows, and she’s breathless, hugging me like I pulled her out of flood water in a hurricane.
I run my hands up and down her back while I wait.
“Stevie and Marlow always say the same thing,” she says with a slanted smile. “But you were thinking a lot, too. What’s the difference?”
I can tell she doesn’t want an answer to that question, so I let her words hang in the air. My phone buzzes in my pocket. When I pull it out to silence it, my heart jumps. It’s my mom.
I haven’t heard from either of my parents in weeks, which has worked out great.
I can’t hide anything from them, and I have no desire to tell them I made a mockery of the institution by marrying Diana York for money.
No, thanks. I’m not ready. I swipe to ignore the call and slide the phone back into my pocket. It immediately starts buzzing again.
“Do you want to get that?”
“It’s my mom.”
“You should get it. Hasn’t she been away for months?” She nudges me. “Be a good son.”
“I’m being a good son by being a good date. She’d be appalled if I answered my phone.” I loop my hands around Diana’s back. “I’ll call her back, but right now—” I duck down, pressing a kiss under her ear. “I’m being a good date.”
She sucks in a breath. “Y-you are.”
I work my way across the silky skin of her jaw to her mouth. “Don’t think about the lighthouse or Boone. Don’t worry about the rules with us. We’ll figure it out. We can take things slowly—”
“We’re already married.”
I press my lips onto hers. “Don’t think. Just let yourself be happy. Okay?”
“Okay.”