11. Fisher #2
Blue is climbing out before the wheels have come to a complete stop on the dirt patch behind the house. But I know better than to try to control the man who’s lived on this island his whole life.
During the offseason, a peaceful silence hovers over the piece of land floating in the ocean, especially at night. And with so few lights, the entire night sky is visible.
But tonight, the inn is lit up. Almost every window shines with a yellow haze that even the blinds can’t hide and the air buzzes with noise. It’s nothing like Boston, but also nothing like the peace of a month ago.
“No, we don’t go to the inn inn .” Sutton yanks Libby’s hand, pulling her toward the back of the large bed-and-breakfast where Blue has just disappeared. “We go to Mrs. K’s house. Only family comes to Sunday dinner.”
In this case, family means Sutton and me, Mr. and Mrs. Knowles, their kids Wilder and Eddy, and their granddaughter Lindsey. And, of course, Gramps, a.k.a. Blue, a.k.a. Mr. Knowles’s almost ninety-year-old father. That’s it. Yet tonight, Libby is here, having somehow wrangled an invitation.
As I follow her toward the house, unable to avoid noticing the way her blond hair shines in the moonlight when she gently bumps her shoulder against Sutton’s, I don’t feel like complaining.
I lock my jaw. I’m not dumb enough to believe the Hollywood princess will make it more than a few weeks on this island.
But so far, Libby has surprised me. She’s nothing like what I expected when her father called to let me know she was coming.
She’s got grit and personality. She’s nowhere near the plastic Hollywood drama queen I expected.
Honestly she seems more like her character on the show than the girl plastered across the cover of every tabloid.
“Fisher, you comin’?” Sutton asks as she holds the back door to the Knowleses’ home open.
With a nod, I quickly eat up the space between my truck and the door. The second I step inside, the scent of the salt air is replaced by the aroma of coffee and Murphy’s Oil Soap.
“Did you hear she’s tired of getting things rammed down her throat night after night?”
I fight the smirk, though I have no idea what prompted that response from Gramps.
“You did not just say that.” Eddy groans. “Especially in front of Lindsey.”
Wilder chuckles. “Like Lindsey gets it.”
His mom steps up behind him and whacks him on the back of the head. “Do not encourage your grandfather.”
“Ouch.” He runs a hand through his hair, but his face quickly splits into a grin. “But he’s life goals. I want to be just like him when I’m old.”
“We’re here,” Sutton calls out.
Lindsey lets out the kind of ear-piercing shriek only a three-year-old can make. Jesus, it’s going to be a long night.
Thirty minutes later, I’m proven right.
“Fisher, don’t be slipping her the sausage at the table.”
Eyes wide, Libby gapes at the plate of sausage and peppers I just passed to her, then blinks at Blue.
Eddy groans, Wilder laughs, and Mrs. K shakes her head. Mr. K has spent sixty years ignoring his father, so he’s got it down to a science.
“Why? Don’t you like sausage?” Sutton asks, blissfully ignorant to the innuendos constantly spilling out of Blue’s mouth.
“No, I love it,” Libby says quickly. Half a heartbeat later, her cheeks go pink. Maybe because she’s worried about hurting Mrs. K’s feelings, but more likely because of the double entendre.
Wilder waggles his brows at me. I glare back. I’m not going there. I absolutely can’t picture Libby on her knees in front of me. Her big blue eyes shining up at me as her lips part?—
Wilder barks a laugh so loud everyone around the table jumps.
Fucking hell.
Between Gramps and Wilder, this meal has gone off the rails.
We need a change of topic. “Talk about the dancing show,” I practically growl at my niece.
“ Dancing with the Stars ?” She shoots up in her chair.
Typically I dread listening to her go on and on about the voting and her theories, but I’m desperate.
“Oh my gosh,” Libby squeals. “I love Joey. I hope she wins.”
“Me too,” Sutton says. “She’s going to crush it tonight.”
“I really hope so.” Libby shrugs. “You’ll have to tell me how she does.”
Eddy tilts her head, studying Libby. “Do you have plans tonight?”
My chest goes uncomfortably tight. I feel like I’m on a roller coaster with the way my adrenaline has spiked over the last hour and a half.
I grit my teeth and ignore the sensation.
We’ll be out of here by eight thirty, and since I’ve got a kid and a job to get back to, my night will be over.
But I guess for a lot of people, the night only starts around that time.
Especially people from Hollywood. I shake my head. I’ve been on this island too damn long.
“My cable and Wi-Fi aren’t working.”
“At all?” I ask.
Head lowered, she lets out a long sigh. “Nope.”
How? Her place has a satellite dish. We all do. That’s the only way we can watch anything out here. Dammit. I should have confirmed the dish was functioning correctly when I made sure the house was ready for her.
“You can watch with me,” Sutton offers. “Right, Fisher?” She smiles up at me.
The idea of bringing Libby back to my house has my heart rate picking up. It’s either the best idea or the worst. All I know is that now that the idea is in Sutton’s head, I don’t have the heart to refuse.
Across from me, Wilder spins his beer bottle on the table. “Fisher would love that.”
“Why isn’t your cable working?” Eddy asks.
Exactly. That’s what I want to know.
Libby shrugs.
“It happens,” Mrs. K assures. “It can be spotty here.”
Accurate, but not for one house, and no one else has had any issues. If they did, I’d have heard about it. Unfortunately, I’m like the customer help line on the island.
“I’m sure Fisher can fix it.” Mr. K points his fork my way. “He’s a genius with computers.”
Told ya.
And while it might be true, thirty minutes later, when I’m standing on her roof, looking at the satellite, it’s clear my computer skills won’t help me fix this problem.
I crouch and pick up the sliced wire, then peer across the yard to where Libby and Sutton sit together inside the large window in my living room, smiling while they watch the stupid dancing show. Gut tightening with unease, I survey the roof, then the yard.
“Who the hell would want to cut your internet access, Princess?”