Page 51 of Stony Point Summer
“My turn.” Shane squints through the glass and quietly gauges the stuffed animals.
“Did you pick one?” Celia asks.
“Shh. I need to focus.” He puts a dollar bill in the machine as Celia presses close, leaning against his side, running her hand up and down his tattooed arm. So he turns to her in all seriousness. “You’re distracting me.”
When she holds up her hands and backs up a step, Shane works the claw. “It’s a little bit like being out on the boats,” he explains while maneuvering the claw to the side. “Seeing what comes up in the lobster pots.” Silently then, he drops the claw onto a ragtag tumble of plush animals and snags just the one he wanted.
“Yougotit!” Celia quickly claps as the claw lifts a smiling pink hippo with curlicue dimples and friendly, stitched eyes. “Woo-hoo!Omigosh, on your first try!” she adds when the animal drops into the chute.
Shane reaches in for the velvety hippo and gives it to Celia. He puts a hand on her face and kisses the side of her head, too, saying into her hair, “For Aria, when she gets back from your father’s.”
* * *
The whole drive back to Stony Point afterward, Shane steals glimpses of Celia beside him in the truck. He actually can’t take his eyes off of her as she sits there in the dark cab. Every bit of her, every nuance of her voice, every curve of her face fascinates him. He hears her undeniable happiness when her phone dings with a message from her father. He’s texting her a picture of Aria in her crib—which Celia flashes to Shane. Wearing a light onesie, the baby is asleep on her back; her fingers fisted; her hair dark against the white sheet.
“Oh, Dad,” Celia says to herself while texting him back. “Tell her night-night, sweetie. From me.”
When she drops her phone beside the little pink hippo stuffed in her satchel, Shane reaches over and drives with one hand on the wheel and one hand holding Celia’s.
And he thinks how goddamn lucky he is that one out-of-the-blue invitation from Lauren brought him this.
Brought him Celia Gray.
* * *
The night turns, then. There’s a pressure as the hour grows late. Celia has to get home. To get some rest. Tomorrow is huge for her.
“But I want to end the evening on a sweet note,” Shane tells her when he sets down her ice-cream cup on his bungalow’s back porch.
They sit side by side at the faded white table and face Long Island Sound. The night is warm and still; sea mist rising from the salt water drifts through the air. They swap samples of each other’s ice cream. She dabs a dot on his nose; he lifts a spoonful and holds it to her mouth for a taste. Her fingers trace a tattoo on his forearm. He leans into her.
“I have to go,” she finally whispers. “Anyway, aren’t you tired of me yet?”
Shane hooks his finger beneath her chin. “Let me answer that for you.” Bending close, he kisses her lips. His hand, it moves around behind her neck and pulls her even closer as the kiss deepens. As the waves break on the little beach beyond the porch. As the moon rises in the misty night. “Does that answer your question?”
Celia nods, and strokes his scruffy jaw.
“I don’t tire of you, Celia Gray.”
She smiles, stretching up for another kiss—and sneaking one more, too, her fingers resting on his face.
“Come on,” Shane says then. “Let’s get you home. We’ll take a night walk to your place.” He stands and hitches his head out toward the street. “I know you like that, seeing the cottages illuminated at night.”
* * *
The hour is late; the walk, slow. They hold hands and pass no one on the dark roads. Lanterns glimmer on front porches; lampposts cast hazy light on potted plants and garden flags. Katydids sing a rhythmic, creaking song.
“Good luck tomorrow, Celia.” Shane touches her hair while standing on her front porch. “I really can’t wait to see it all. The inn, the party, everyone.”
“I’ll be up early,” Celia says, taking his hands in hers. “Elsa and I have a last-minute checklist. Review the menus. Test the smoke alarms. Cut some hydrangeas. That sort of thing.”
“When you see Elsa, let her know I’m here?”
“I will.” Celia turns toward Elsa’s inn across the yard. Solar garden lights glimmer around sweeping dune grasses and hydrangea bushes. That illumination frames the grand cottage against the night sky. “It’s going to be a real local celebration,” Celia says to Shane then. “Ribbon-cutting with town dignitaries. A catered dinner and party before our first guests arrive on Saturday, when the Ocean Star Inn officially opens.” After a pause, her voice sounds faraway. “Oh, a dream finally realized.”
“Sounds like it’s been a helluva journey.”
“In so many ways. It really has.”
