Page 59 of Summer Reading

Ben burst out laughing, which eased the fever a bit. I let go of his arm with great reluctance and finished my wine in one swallow.

The check and cheesecake arrived in minutes. Ben paid the tab and hustled us out of the restaurant and into the summer evening. Around the side of the building, he stopped and turned to face me. I had a paper bag of cheesecake dangling from my fingers. He didn’t care.

He cupped my face in his hands, and his gaze latched on to mine, full of lascivious intent. It was a deliciously wicked look on his handsome face. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, the anticipation as sharp as the first bite of an amazing-looking dessert. Would it taste as sweet, or was I doomed to disappointment?

My insides tightened as if bracing for impact, and then his mouth was on mine, and it was such sweet relief. I gasped. He deepened the kiss, and my buzzing brain went into hyperfocus on him. The lush press of hismouth against mine. His tongue sweeping across my lower lip, wooing me under the tender assault. The scent of him, not an aftershave or cologne, but a scent that was particularly him, warm and musky like the woods after a fresh rain.

Instinctively, I leaned in closer until my front was pressed up against his. I dropped the cheesecake so I could twine my arms about his neck and pull him in even closer. He hummed in approval and slid one hand into my hair while the other moved to my lower back, holding me in place while he broke the kiss and moved his lips along my jaw to settle just below my ear.

I arched my back and tipped my head, giving him full access. I forgot we were in public, on the street, and I might have started to undress him had he not pulled me into a fierce hug and held me while his breath rasped in my ear and his hands slid up and down my back as if trying to tamp down the fire that raged between us.

“Well, that escalated quickly,” he said. He took a small step back, allowing the air to move between us. I wanted to close the gap again. Instead I laughed.

“You made me drop my cheesecake,” I said. “This might set a new bar for future kisses.”

He scooped the paper bag up and peered inside. “It appears to have survived the fall. Does this mean when I kiss you, it’ll only be successful if you drop things?”

“Hmm,” I considered. “To be truly successful, you’llhave to kiss me when the only thing I can drop is my clothes.”

“Mercy.” He blew out a breath and looked adorably wide-eyed. He took my hand and we walked to his car. He put the cheesecake inside and said, “Want to take a walk? I think I need to cool off a bit.”

“Same,” I said.

We strolled down narrow streets busy with summer tourists. There was laughter and conversation, and we swerved around a family, a couple of senior citizens, and a pack of teens. The night air was cool, but it pulsed with that intoxicating feeling of summer that to me always meant freedom from school, books, lessons, and the constant anxiety of trying to hide my learning issues. Summer on the Vineyard had always been a magical respite for me. It hit me again how much I’d missed it.

We wandered down Cooke Street until we reached a small inlet. Ben gave me a sideways glance and asked, “Beach?”

“Always.” I kicked off my sandals while he did the same with his shoes, and we left them in a happy tangle of straps and laces for when we returned.

Small boats were tied up, scattered across the water, but it was quiet as everyone was off foraging for their dinners. The beach was deserted. The breeze made me shiver, and Ben put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. My side locked into his with my head resting on his shoulder.

“I wonder if my parents walked along this beach,” he said.

I slid my arm around his back, settling my hand just above his waist. He was all muscle. I tried not to get distracted.

“I suppose it’s possible,” I said. “What was your mom doing on the island that summer?”

“She worked as a waitress at one of the restaurants,” he said. “She was a student at the Rhode Island School of Design at the time, so being here was her summer getaway. My grandparents would have preferred that she live on the Cape with them, but she isn’t one to do what’s expected of her.”

She sounded like a woman after my own heart minus the naked and chained to a lighthouse thing, oh, and the not telling her son who his father was.

“You’re sure it was during her summer here that she got pregnant?” I asked.

“It checks out on the timeline,” he said. “I was born in March of 1990, which puts her in the middle of summer on the Vineyard when she got pregnant.”

“Do you know what restaurant she worked at?” I asked.

“I know it was on the island,” he said. “But not the name. She says she doesn’t remember, which I find hard to believe. Honestly, it feels hopeless.”

We walked toward the water. The waves were small in this tucked-in little cove. Our toes were licked by thesurf, just a tease and tickle, before it slid back down the sand into the bay.

“Well, it’s a good thing you looped me in,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “I happen to be an Agatha Christie superfan.”

Ben looked at me in surprise.

“Masterpiece Mysteries, featuring Miss Marple and starring Julia McKenzie, specifically,” I clarified.

He grinned. “What about Hercule Poirot?”

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