Page 81 of Fire Island
With writing to get done, I down the last of his ice water and head for the shack, leaving Cal to shower after his run. Or should I say, my new writing-room-slash-library. Oh, the plans I have for this tiny rustic space...
I open my laptop and continue the scene I’m working on. The heroine is settling into her new routine at the isolated cottage on the east coastline. A slight variation to our story, but effective nonetheless. Fingers flying over the keyboard, I tap out a good chunk of words before the sun starts to sink over the horizon.
After the first unwanted letter arrives at its new location, I save and shut the laptop, ready to head inside and help fix dinner. Pushing out of the chair, I stretch. It’s been a good day. I’m content.
I find Cal inside, stirring something that smells like chicken in the frying pan.
“Hmmm. Smells good,” I offer, sitting down at the kitchen counter stool.
“Chicken pasta, with your gourmet tomatoes.” He winks at me.
“Can I help?”
He chuckles. “I got it. You want to set the table or find some drinks?”
I slip from the stool and pluck out two glasses from the upper cabinet before spinning back to find the red in the base of the island counter cupboard. Padding to the table, I set the winedown. Cutlery goes down next, and then two plates. My stomach grumbles. This is my favorite dish.
Our dish. Cal’s cooking, my tomatoes.
Perfection.
Twenty-Two
CALLUM
Well, this is fucking cozy . . .
Iris is squished between Em and me on the new sofa. Evie is at my right, legs crossed as she leans into my side. The opening credits roll, and the girls settle in. Em throws me a helpless look asTitanicstarts up.
You have to be kidding me.
Nobody moves.
Evie is shaking beside me. Em slides a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking.
“Very fucking funny,” I grunt out.
Iris cracks up. “Too soon?”
She points the remote at the television and the screen flips back to the Netflix menu.
“Pick something good, Irry, or I’m pulling out the board games.”
“Good lord, Cal, not that slow, mundane torture, please.”
My little sister has always done everything at a hundred miles an hour. No wonder what most people think of as fun or relaxing only serves to drive her insane.
“Well, choose wisely.” I raise my eyebrows at her.
“Fine.”
She scrolls through the options until we find something we all like. And like the old man I am, I groan as I lie on the sofa and hug Evie closer.
“Oh, the popcorn!” Iris jumps up, jostling Em and I. “Be right back.”
“Whose idea was the sofa?” I ask Em when she’s out of earshot.
He chuckles. “All Iris. She’s wanting to spend more time enjoying life instead of slaving away at the café every waking hour. Something positive to come out of your accident, Cal.”
