Page 48 of Enemies to Lobsters
“It’s my mom.”
“You should get it. Hasn’t she been away for months?” She nudges me. “Be a good son.”
“I’m being a good son by being a good date. She’d be appalled if I answered my phone.” I loop my hands around Diana’s back. “I’ll call her back, but right now—” I duck down, pressing a kiss under her ear. “I’m being a good date.”
She sucks in a breath. “Y-you are.”
I work my way across the silky skin of her jaw to her mouth. “Don’t think about the lighthouse or Boone. Don’t worry about the rules with us. We’ll figure it out. We can take things slowly—”
“We’re already married.”
I press my lips onto hers. “Don’t think. Just let yourself be happy. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Chapter 23
Diana
I’m trying to live Ike’s way: I’m not overthinking. I’m letting myself be happy. It’s only been twelve hours since our talk on the beach, but so far the results are mixed.
I’m sitting on a rocking chair Ike put in our breezeway, eating half a grapefruit. Ike said he had some things to take care of today so I came down early in my pajamas so he didn’t have to wait to use our shared bathroom. I’m having a slow breakfast al fresco, and I’ll shower later. I’m a new Diana. Not overthinking. Enjoying life. I dig out a section of grapefruit with my spoon, and a spurt of acidic juice squirts me in the eye.
Like I said, mixed results.
After rubbing away the juice with my napkin, I rock back in my chair to give my grapefruit a minute to think about what it did. I love this spot because I can watch the sun rise over the Atlantic while I have breakfast. That’s why Ike moved this chair out here—the view is stunning, but the breezeway keeps the wind away. It’s idyllic, honestly.
The chill in the morning air is a crisp reminder that fall is close. I still want to plant some late season flowers in the yard—maybe some yellow coneflowers and purple aster. I also need tohave the storm door and window seals checked. And the grass needs a trim. I grab my phone to make a note before I forget.
Stop thinking, Diana, Ike reminds me in my head.Just be happy. Be in the moment.
He’s right, Tom Selleck chimes in, his voice gruff.Let yourself enjoy the little things.
Great. The voices in my head are ganging up on me now. They’re right, though. So instead of focusing on the additions to my spreadsheet, I focus on the horizon. I close my eyes, listening to the waves and the seagulls swooping and diving just off the island. The door creaks open behind me, and my heart thumps.Ike.
He’s across the breezeway in less than three steps, his hand already on the exterior doorknob. “See you tonight.” He waves over his shoulder without looking back.
He’s leaving so fast? It’s Sunday. What’s his hurry?
“Hey.” I drop my grapefruit bowl on the floor by my chair, scrambling to my feet. “Hold up.”
He hangs his head, not taking his hand off the doorknob.
Then I see it.
His cheek is bare. Clean-shaven. And turning a nice, bright shade of red.
“Ike?”
He turns slowly, and there it is.
I gasp. “What did you do?”
He tilts his head up, his eyes closed in either embarrassment or shame. What he reveals is even more tragic than I expected. I thought he was clean-shaven. Instead, a freshly-trimmed Tom Selleck-esque mustache is perched atop my husband’s upper lip. He doesn’t answer, just gestures to his face with a look that says, “Let’s get this over with.”
I bite my lip. My voice is a few octaves higher than usual when I squeak, “I like it.” Heaven help me, I just lied to my husband.
His eyes brighten. “Really?”
