Chapter 26
Diana
Bang, bang, bang!
What is happening? And why am I so warm? I vaguely register the sound of a door crashing open in my dream. I want to roll over and let unconsciousness whisk me away. I’m so tired. So unbelievably exhausted.
“Knock, knock!” a cheery woman’s voice calls through the fog.
I don’t have the strength to open my eyes, but memories of the last twenty-four hours resurface and yeah—I’m never eating crab again.
Or shrimp. Any sort of shellfish is off the table.
The thought of eating anything fish-adjacent makes my body revolt.
King Triton will be thrilled. And I’m craving more sleep.
“What” — the woman gasps in shock — “What is happening here?” She sounds ticked. What a strangely vivid dream.
Then I register the pressure on my abdomen. I think it’s an arm. I’m stretched out across the couch, and I feel Ike’s unmistakable form wrapped around me like a warm, weighted blanket. His beard scratches my temple when he sighs in his sleep.
Well, I’m awake now.
Ike and I must’ve crashed sometime in the middle of Quigley Down Under.
Feeling the weight of his arm against my stomach and the rise and fall of his chest against my back, I have no regrets.
I don’t know what time of day it is, or what actual day it is, but I’m curled up innocently with a handsome man who happens to be my husband.
My stomach isn’t actively revolting at the moment. Life is good.
“Isaac Patton Wentworth.” The woman in my dreams is using his full, legal name now. Ruh-roh. “What do you think you’re doing sleeping with that woman?”
That woman? It’s Diana Wentworth to you, lady. Technically, I haven’t changed my name, but she doesn’t know that. The irritation jolts me awake. What an annoying dream.
When I blink my eyes open, there’s a woman with a mass of dark, gray-streaked curls looming over the couch, her hands on her hips.
It’s Ike’s mother, Shelly. I haven’t seen her in years, but the judgy face?
The school sweatshirt with the glaring Kraken under a CGHS in big, blocky letters?
That’s definitely her. I wish I had time to appreciate the fact that Shelly Wentworth and the Kraken on her sweater are wearing matching expressions.
I’m in trouble. Once a school principal, always a principal.
She wasn’t even my principal, but she still carries that terrifying weight of authority. I bolt upright—I try to, anyway.
“Not so fast.” Ike’s voice is groggy behind me, and how on earth is he so strong? He pulls me back against him. “I like you right here.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “Ike. Your mother is here,” I hiss.
He chuckles, nuzzling my neck in his sleep. “That’s not funny, sweetheart.”
Shelly glares. I’m not making a great second impression on the former principal of Cape Georgeana High School. Her misdirected grudge about the stadium lights is holding strong, I see.
I wince. “Ike. Your mother is here,” I repeat, grunting as I work to extricate myself from his strong grasp.
His mother folds her arms across her chest. “Yeah, Ike. Your mother is here, and she’d like to know why she had to hear from Tina Murphy that you married the woman who ran over your mailbox out of spite.”
In one fast movement, Ike is standing, and my butt lands on our beautiful hardwood floor.
“Oh, shoot. Sorry, Di.” He reaches down to pull me to my feet. Then he goes for his mom, wrapping her in a hug. “What’re you doing back from your honeym—from your trip so soon?”
I’m grateful when the hug goes on long enough that I can tug my pink shorts back where they belong so I can properly greet my mother-in-law.
Shelly pulls away and smacks Ike on the shoulder. “You have some serious explaining to do. Start talking, boy.”
I clear my throat. “Hi, Mrs. Wentworth.” I reach a hand out for her to shake.
Shelly looks at it like it’s a live lobster.
She looks at my left ring finger. Then she looks at Ike with obvious hurt in her eyes.
“It’s true? You really did it?” Even Shelly Wentworth seems to know that you can’t believe the rumors until you see for yourself.
And she sees her son sleeping with the enemy and a ring on my finger.
“You’re being rude, Mom.” Ike runs a hand through his incriminating bedhead, then starts rubbing that spot in his shoulder that always seems to give him grief. “What are you angry about—that I married her, or that you heard about it from Tina Murphy?”
She doesn’t answer. She just looks from Ike to me and back. She obviously doesn’t want to do this with me here.
He checks his watch and pretends to yawn. “Can we do this tomorrow? It’s late.” Is Ike shooing his mom out of the lighthouse?
I have no sense of how long Ike and I napped, but the windows are dark and, unless Shelly rowed over here, the tide is out. It’s late, but I can take a hint. “You know what? I’m going to head upstairs so you two can catch up.” And leave me out of it, thanks.
If Shelly’s beef with Ike is that he got married without talking to her, I’d have to side with her. If she’s upset that he married me in particular, I want no part of that conversation. Either way, Ike can handle this. She’s his mother.
I can sit in bed and perfect my comfort spreadsheets while I overthink.
I’m long overdue for some trademark Diana overthinking.
Where are things headed with Ike, and how will I feel if this turns real?
My instinct is to dig in my heels—I don’t want to stay married because I can’t handle the thought of losing myself.
But I also like snuggling with Ike. I shouldn’t be doing that if this has no future.
I turn for the stairs, and Ike doesn’t stop me.
His voice drifts up the stairwell. “Let’s go for a drive and talk about this, okay?” I can hear the grin in his voice. “We can get one of those wild blueberry ice cream cones you like.”
“You’re not charming your way out of this, Isaac Patton.”
The door opens, and their voices fade as they exit through the breezeway.
Good. He can explain that this isn’t a real marriage, and tomorrow things can go back to the way they were.
I have a guy coming to tweak some of our exterior lights.
Ike will go to work. Everything is going to be fine. Normal.
∞∞∞
The next morning, I wake to the sound of Ike whistling in the bathroom.
I was up half the night waiting for him to come home, but the tide came in, and he never came back.
He didn’t text or call. Just never came home.
And now he’s in the bathroom whistling like I didn’t spend eight hours tossing around and looking out the window. No way, sir.
I shove through the bathroom door to tell him exactly what I’m thinking.
Ike is leaning against the sink, whistling softly while he trims his beard. My eyes move down his bare chest, speckled with water droplets. A towel is tucked around his waist.
I yelp, covering my face at the sight. Suddenly, I’m a teenager again. Principal Wentworth wouldn’t approve of any of this. I apologize through my hands. “Sorry. I thought you were—”
“Dressed?” Ike teases. “No need to hide, sweetheart. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
He’s right. I’ve seen the man in wet swim trunks at the beach. This feels different. It’s the whistling, I conclude. The whistling is practically indecent, and I can hear it even when my face is covered.
When I open my eyes, Ike is smirking at me in the mirror. Does he think the towel and the whistling will make me forget why I’m mad? Think again, buddy.
“Late night?” I accuse.
He frowns. “Yeah, I was talking to my parents, and it was… a lot.” He goes back to trimming, contorting his mouth when he says, “I didn’t quite beat the tide, and the boat was over here.”
“You could’ve texted. Or called.” I sit on the toilet with a huff. “Or responded to my texts,” I grumble.
He taps the trimmer against the sink. “I didn’t see my phone until it was late. I thought you were asleep.”
“I wasn’t.” I hand him a few squares of toilet paper to wipe up the trimmings. He better get every last speck of that dark hair, or so help me.
He takes it, carefully wiping out the sink until it’s perfect. “I’m sorry, Di. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“I wasn’t worried.” I was… lonely. I’ve gotten used to having him around, I guess.
But he can do whatever he wants because this isn’t a real marriage, right? Tom Selleck reminds me. I haven’t heard from him in a while, and I don’t appreciate his input at this juncture.
Ike’s gentle smile tells me he knows better. He kneads at his shoulder while he apologizes. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know where I was. If it happens again, I’ll text you. I promise. Okay?”
And just like that, I’m not mad at him. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s probably the towel. He sounds so genuine, too. I nod. “Okay.”
His phone buzzes on the bathroom counter. He checks the screen and lets out a deep breath. I’m sure it’s work. Someone in town probably thinks the streetlights are too yellow. I want to applaud him when he lets the call go to voicemail.
I watch him style his wet hair, appreciating the view while I work up the courage to ask the question that has been weighing on me all night.
I bite my lip. I need to know. “So... Is your mom okay? With us?”
Ike hesitates, taking his time to put his toiletries in their places on the shelf.
“Oh, man. That bad, huh?” I ask with a stilted laugh. “You don’t have to tell me. I figured she wouldn’t be thrilled, but—”
“What? No. She’s fine.” He’s rubbing his shoulder again. “She’ll be fine,” he amends.
“Ike Wentworth. Are you aware that you have a tell?”
He stops massaging his shoulder to look at me in the mirror. “What?”
“Your tell. You rub your shoulder when you’re stressed out, or when you’re telling a white lie.”
“It’s just a dumb, old football injury. I messed it up my senior year and kept playing. That did it in.” His shoulders seem to tense at the memory. “My mom is… fine. Don’t worry about her.”
“Why did you keep playing if you were hurt?” I would take over rubbing his shoulder, but the man is still wearing a towel, and I’m hanging by a thread over here.
“I wanted to play.” He shrugs. “I was a stupid kid.”
“Your coach let you keep going?”
“I didn’t tell him.”
Something is off about this story, but I don’t push it. I’m more worried about his parents being back in town and within judging range. “Your mom can’t be fine. She looked like she wanted to shove me off the island last night.”
He shakes his head. “My mom is a complex person who is overly attached to her sons. She’ll work it out. One of us was bound to get married eventually.”
“But she wanted to be there, I’m sure. And she wanted the marriage to be real.”
The light in his eyes flickers, then he frowns. “She wanted to plan a wedding. She’ll get the chance one day.”
Now I’m frowning, too, imagining his mother planning a wedding with whoever comes after me when this business marriage ends.
She’ll probably like Ike’s next wife. I bet Ike’s next wife has never run over anyone’s mailbox out of spite.
Why do I care whether Shelly Wentworth approves of me?
Her future daughter-in-law is the one who needs to win her over.
I just need to get through this year and get this lighthouse finished.
This reminds me of an idea that I need to run past Ike.
When this renovation is done I want to hold a ribbon-cutting ceremony with the town.
We can spread the word and hopefully get some eyes on Cape Georgeana.
Ike is always thinking of ways to get more people here.
If the locals can act normal for a day or two when there are cameras here, we have a shot.
Can the people of Cape Georgeana catfish normal people long enough to get them to spend money here? That’s a big ask.
“Did I say something wrong?” He leans against the counter, folding his arms. “You’ve got the serious face going on.”
“No, I was thinking about when the renovation is finished. I had an idea. We should have a—”
His phone buzzes again, and his eyes dart to the screen. I try to get a look because I’m nosy. It’s his mom. He cringes, mumbles an apology, and swipes to answer, leaving me in the bathroom.
Where are you going in that towel, sir? I want to ask.
But he’s long gone.