Page 22 of Enemies to Lobsters
“You know exactly what I mean, Ike.” I shove his legs off the coffee table. “Let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”
“Oh, the way you just did?” He props his feet back in place with dramatic emphasis.
“Last one,” I say, imitating his deep voice.
He chuckles and his eyes feel heavy on me, like he sees something. Or like he’s seeing through me. I shift in my seat.
“I’ll try my hardest not to touch you,” he says soberly, his dark eyes finding mine. “I promise.”
The uncharacteristic gravity of his words does something to me. My heart rate slows and peace floods through me. I think about my history with him. Ike Wentworth may be many things, but I’ve never known him to be someone I couldn’t trust in this way. Sure, he feeds into the stupid gossip about my secret life as a paper straw-peddling sorceress, but physically? He’s only ever been perfectly respectful. Even climbing down the ladder the other day I sensed his discomfort and noticed his averted gaze. I’m physically safe with Ike, at least.
“Thank you.”
His eyes twinkle when he adds, “You’reso sureI won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”
I frown. “We’re going to be in tight quarters for a year, and this is a business deal. I don’t want anything to get confusing.”
One side of his mouth ticks up, then he nods. “Okay. What else?”
I look at the wood paneling while I think. Those are the main things. “That’s all I've got for now. Professional behavior and some physical distance.”
“I only agreed to the physical boundary. I never agreed to behave professionally.”
My eyes flash to him. “Ike.”
“Diana,” his voice rumbles. I wish he wouldn’t say my name like that.
“Please be serious.” My heart is thumping again. “This is a legal arrangement, Ike. We can be professional and respectful.” Professional is my safe, predictable space.
“Says the woman who is sitting on my bed way past her bedtime,” he mutters.
I jump to my feet and pace across the gold-patterned linoleum in front of the coffee table. “I’ll feel a lot better about this if you promise to keep things businesslike.”
He kneads at the muscles in his right shoulder like I’m stressing him out. “And I’ll feel a lot better if I don’t have to wear a suit and tie in my sleep. I have to live here too, Di.”
I arch an eyebrow at the condensed version of my name that only Stevie uses, but Ike is preoccupied by rubbing his shoulder. I don’t think he realizes he said it.
I let out a long, annoyed breath. “Fine. Just please…” I don’t know how to say that I don’t want him messing with my head or my heart. I need him to be kind, but not overly friendly. “Don’t be…” There isn’t a word for what I don’t want him to be.
“Relaxed? Charming? Hilarious? Irresistible?” He throws the words out like taunts.
“You don’t run the risk of being any of those things.” Except relaxed. The guy isn’t taking any of this seriously. I stomp toward the stairs. I need space from him. “Goodnight, Ike.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Wentworth,” he calls after me.
I groan and it echoes through the narrow, wooden staircase. Ike’s answering chuckle follows me.
Three hundred and sixty-four days to go.
Chapter 11
Ike
Ididn’t think we’d see you today,” Marlow croons as she passes my usual—an unglazed apple fritter—over the top of the glass bakery case. She always puts one aside for me before she glazes them, because Marlow is an angel. The scent of freshly fried bacon that follows her is evidence of that. But she doesn't look very celestial when she asks, “Isn’t this your honeymoon?” loudly and with a devious grin.
Silverware stops clinking. Conversations go quiet except for a few whispers behind hands. The eyes of the people of Cape Georgeana are on my back, waiting for my response. Hal is sitting at the counter. He stops scarfing down his Denver omelet, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. This town is so overdue for a shopping mall. These people need someplace to congregate and act like gossipy teenagers so I can get my fritter on in peace. I’m not doing this for a whole year.
“Okay, listen up,” I announce to the room. Hal grins over his eggs. When I walked across the rocky beach to my truck this morning I didn’t know I’d be holding a press conference today, but this is happening. “I know you want the dirty details. Before you all turn this into something it’s not, here are the boring facts: I married Diana York yesterday. It’s purely a businessarrangement so that the Yorks will fund the renovation of the lighthouse. That’s all.”
