Page 67 of Happy Wife

I tried to change the subject. “Tell me about the photographer.” I pointed to the art on the walls. “Where’d you find these photos?”

“Those are mine.”

Goddamnit.

“I’m a beach bum at heart,” he said. “Maybe that’s why I never left Winter Park. It’s hard to walk away from everything that keeps this place close to nature. The beach is an hour away. We have nearly a thousand acres of lake here. I’m not sure I could live in a landlocked state and keep my head on straight.”

Este would be throwing up in her shoe right now. Or maybe she wouldn’t. There was something about Marcus’s love of where he grew up that was hard to mock. It was completely unpretentious. He was kind, and straightforward.

“A beach bum?” I asked, sinking my fork into the most tender short rib I’d ever seen.

“They let just about anyone on the semipro surfing circuit.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s what I hear.”

“I’ll try out tomorrow then. I could use a hobby. Should I just head straight to the Cocoa Beach Pier?”

“Tell them I sent you.”

“I’ll do that.” I took a bite of the rib and flavor burst on my tongue. “How dare you.”

“It’s good, right?”

“I’m upset. Nothing should taste that good. We’re all doing what it takes to increase our longevity, and you’re just out here slinging delicious heart attacks.”

“That cow was grass-fed. Does that help?”

“Does that help…” I shook my head and went back for another bite. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re good at this,” he said, and his expression was hard to read.

“What am I good at, exactly?”

“I’ve told you everything about me—where I grew up, my restaurant, surfing—and you’ve somehow managed to stay completely silent about yourself.”

“That was really everything about you?” I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That would be a very short biography.”

“See what I mean? You’re like a spy. If the semipro surfing circuit doesn’t take you, try the CIA next.” He laughed, wiping his hands with a bar towel. “Keep deflecting.”

I laughed a little, too, feeling uncomfortable. “I’m not—Am I deflecting?”

Was I?

“I think so.”

I put my fork down as a show of really paying attention even though the last few morsels of food on my plate were beckoning to me. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

“What do you get up to all day?”

He was trying to be nice. Make small talk. But it concerned me that I didn’t have a good answer other than…pal around with Este.

Did I really come all this way—land the guy, move into the big house—just to wind up lost again?

Instead of answering, I said, “I’ve been thinking of going back to school.”

“Oh yeah? What do you want to study?”

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