18. Libby
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
libby
I imagine being here on Monhegan Island is the closest I’ll ever get to being able to tap my red shoes and wish I wasn’t famous.
The number of times through the years I’ve wished for privacy is immeasurable—whether I wanted to go shopping on my own on a whim or out on a date without having to shield myself from camera flashes.
Celebrity status, unfortunately, means giving up just about all semblance of privacy.
But here, even going to the grocery store on my own—despite Doris’s now indifferent attitude—is like a breath of fresh air.
It’s been a month since I arrived, and finally, I’m feeling settled and enjoying the freedom. I’d be lying if I denied that part of my happiness can be attributed to the smiles I keep catching on Fisher’s lips.
When he drops off a donut at my house in the morning, swearing they bought too many, I get glimpses of smiles when he walks away.
And when he pulls off the road in town when he sees me walking and insists I hop in, I swear his lips tip up as I round the hood.
Though by the time I climb in, he’s wiped the expression away.
It’s like he waits until he thinks I’m not looking to enjoy the moment.
I’ve found myself viewing every interaction differently.
Wondering what will bring about another smile.
It’s exactly how I thought my mother would have handled Fisher. That thought makes my heart float in my chest. Maybe the island really is helping bring her closer to me. Reminding me of who I want to be.
There’s still plenty of the old Libby left. I can’t imagine not being giddy when I open the door and find a package waiting. To my utter surprise, Amazon delivers all the way out here, twelve miles from shore.
The peach nail polish I ordered three days ago is currently being used as a prop in the play. “Should I actually paint Marty’s nails?” Sutton asks from the stage.
She’s playing the role of Frenchie, as well as Putzie and Mrs. Murdock. When I asked why we were doing a play with more characters than the number of residents on the island, Maggie looked at me like I’d lost my marbles. “Don’t worry, the townspeople will be in the chorus.”
“But who will watch the play?”
She smiled her adorable smile, like she found my confusion endearing. “It’s called a participatory performance.”
I googled the term later that night.
Now, Maggie glances at me for input.
I nod. “Not a bad idea. And the color totally goes with your skin tone.”
Rowan, who is playing the role of Marty, sighs heavily. “Why do I have to be a girl? ”
From beside me, Maggie hollers back, “Fix that attitude. You’re supposed to be excited about the dance. She’s doing your hair and your make-up, and you get to wear a dress!”
“Oh goodie,” he grumbles.
As they run the scene again, Maggie looks at me, lips pursed. “You agree, right? They need to be more energized.”
“You’re asking the wrong person. While I used to love dressing up and doing my makeup, I’m perfectly content to slap on a layer of sunscreen and a pair of shorts and a tee before I leave the house.”
“Guess that’s good since you can’t really get any of the stuff you’re used to off-island,” Maggie says, her attention set on the kids. “I wish we had the good stuff. Or that I even knew how to use it.”
I shift in my seat and study her, confused by more than one part of that statement. “First, I can help you with your makeup. Show you some tricks. You don’t need expensive products if you know what you’re doing.”
Maggie’s green eyes lighten. “Really? You’d be willing to help me?”
“Of course. I’ll order what we need from amazon. It will be here in like two days.”
Maggie snorts. “What?”
“Amazon,” I say with a frown. Are there seriously people in this country who don’t have Prime packages delivered almost daily? “Ya know, the website that can deliver just about anything to your door?”
Maggie tilts her head, assessing me, then gives it a shake. “I don’t want you to waste your time. It’s not like I’ll ever have anywhere to go.”
“What about a date?” I suggest. “I always like getting pretty for a date.”
Maggie’s cheeks pink, and she looks away. “Oh, I’ve never been on one of those.”
Never been on a date? Wow. I knew Maggie was innocent, but she’s got to be in her mid-twenties like me. “Not even with Wilder?”
The pink turns into a crimson flush, and her expression oscillates between are you fucking kidding me? to holy shit how’d you know?
And I do know. Her little crush on her best friend’s brother may be a secret, but I can see the way she looks at him.
Though I can’t imagine watching him with a different tourist every weekend is any fun. I’m at a loss for what to say, feeling like I probably just put my foot in my mouth, when Sutton squeals. “Fisher!”
The name alone should not send a frisson of excitement straight to my toes, but my heart takes off, nevertheless.
He stands in the doorway, the sun a halo of light behind him, exaggerating his rugged features. He grunts by way of greeting and dips his chin.
“You coming to watch, or are you here to practice your part in the chorus?” I ask, my voice echoing loudly across the space.
Fisher steps inside, his shadow shifting into color. “Chorus?”
Maggie giggles. “Oh, Fisher doesn’t sing.”
Sutton bounces off the stage and skips past us. “Is it time yet?” she asks as she approaches him. “Do you have it?”
“Have what?” I ask, my feet forcing me their way, like there’s a magnet attached to the two of them, pulling me in. The magical pull they possess also causes my lips to tip up in a smile that spans my face. A current flows through my blood, making every step I take feel like I’m walking on a cloud.
As I get closer, the blurred lines of Fisher’s features turn vibrant. He’s wearing jeans and one of his standard shirts, the kind that shows off his biceps when his arms are crossed.
His lips twitch in one of those smiles that makes me melt. “Your golf cart,” he says, the three-word sentence probably the longest he’s spoken all day.
“You got a golf cart?” Maggie asks, sidling up beside me.
My chest constricts. “I know summer people normally don’t?—”
Sutton grabs my hand and yanks. “It’s pink! I saw it this morning. Can I drive it?”
“Sure,” I say, just as Fisher growls, “Absolutely not.”
Sutton snaps her head back, her gaze ping-ponging between the two of us.
“Why not?” I take a step closer to the growly man. At least he’s consistent. Smiling one minute, then barely tolerating me the next.
He puts his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowing. “Do you even know how to drive it?”
As I position myself another step closer, the air around us charges. If I reached out right now, I could press my palm to his chest. If I tipped my head just a bit higher, his breath would fan against my lips. “I know how to drive.”
He lifts a brow, angling his chin so we’re nose to nose. “A golf cart?” The words skirt against my mouth. Without my permission, my tongue slides across my bottom lip, desperate for a taste of his arrogance.
“Are you gonna kiss?” The question comes from the stage. From Rowan, to be exact.
Breath catching, I step back, only now noticing that we’ve garnered an audience.
It looks like even in Monhegan, privacy is hard to come by.
“Of course not.” With another of his signature grunts, Fisher storms out of the theater.
I stand there speechless, too shocked to be upset about the rejection.
Before I can sort out my emotions, his disembodied voice echoes through the theater. “Well, you coming?”
Sutton bounces on her toes. “Bet you he lets us drive it home.”
Lets us. Internally, I scoff. He’s not the boss of me.
She darts for the door, and I follow with Maggie at my side.
“We done with practice?” I cringe as I turn to my new friend. I don’t want to shirk my responsibilities, but?—
“Oh yeah. Fisher teaching you how to drive the— pink golf cart ?” Her voice pitches higher as my gorgeous new ride comes into view. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
The second I saw it online, I knew I had to have it.
I wasn’t sure it would make it all the way to the island, and I definitely didn’t expect it to come so quickly.
It seems all my packages are being delivered within a couple of days.
That’s a big change from the days before tourists started showing up.
Fisher stands beside it, the keys in his hand, his lip quirked in what constitutes a cocky smirk for him. “Let me see you turn it on.” He nods at it.
With a haughty ha , I snatch the key from his hand. “Just you wait and see how good I am at this.” I hop in and stick the key in the hole. “Step back.”
The smile that splits Fisher’s face is so big, a dimple I never knew he had pops. Damn. I’m tempted to take a picture. “You sure about that?”
With a roll of my eyes, I step on the gas, and the golf cart whizzes— absolutely nowhere . It doesn’t even jolt forward. I push down harder, but it doesn’t budge. “What the?—”
“Want me to show you how it’s done?” he rumbles in a quiet tone as he steps up beside me and hovers close.
I appreciate the low volume, since we have an audience, but with his chest pressed to my upper arm, the low notes vibrate through my sternum and send sparks of electricity to my core, making it hard to see straight.
“Sure, fine,” I say, my voice reedy and my throat tight.
He talks me through how to go forward and how to reverse, pointing out the lever by my legs that has to be engaged to move.
“Do you want to drive home?” he asks me.
Once again I find myself dizzy from not only his proximity but his words.
Home.
He asked me if I want to drive home. As if this place is my home.
I shake my head. “Maybe you can show me again.”
“Hop on, Sutton,” Fisher calls, completely oblivious to the way he affects me.
We’re stopped a total of ten times as we make our way through town. Everyone has a comment about my pink golf cart—which they assume is Fisher’s. Over and over, they tease him, and each time he grunts rather than deny it, I feel a little more like myself.
When we pass the docks, Cank waves us down. “I see you been getting all your packages okay.” He gives the top of the cart a slap.
“Yes. I’m impressed that Amazon delivers right to my door all the way out here. You must appreciate not having to deal with all my packages now that summer is here.”
Cank tilts his head, his brows dipping low, but he doesn’t respond.
Fisher doesn’t join in on the conversation either, and after an awkward moment of silence, I clear my throat.
“Will I see you tonight at the lobster bake?”
He laughs. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Fisher hits the lever to reverse and pulls away from the dock, then makes the final turn toward our shared road. “You’re going to the lobster bake tonight?”
“Yeah, the guys at the dock told me I should come. Apparently there’ll be dancing again and you know how I love to dance.”
He pulls into my driveway, and the second he comes to a stop, Sutton jumps off and shouts that she’s got to pee as she darts across the yard. Thirty seconds later, the screen door slams.
I laugh. “She’s a handful.”
Without a word, Fisher steps off the cart then turns, like he’s waiting for me to follow. I slide into the driver’s seat and glance up at him.
“Be ready at six thirty.”
I blink. “For what?”
He bows his head and sighs like I’ve exhausted him. “The lobster bake.”
“You’re going?”
“Yes. I’ll drive you.”
I grin as I shift into reverse. “No need. I’ve got the golf cart. I can drive myself.”
He grunts. “Which is why I’m picking you up. You don’t know how to drive this yet.”
“Does the sheriff give out golf cart licenses too?” I tease.
With a shake of his head, he turns so he’s facing the house, but I can see the smile pulling at his lips again. “Be ready at six thirty.”
With another laugh, I press on the gas, jolting backward, then slam on the brakes.
He spins around again, those damn lips twitching. “You ready to go home yet, Princess?” The words come out smooth this time, the fire in his eyes telling me has no interest in me leaving.
I laugh as I press on the gas, jerking backward again. “Nope. Not yet!”