Page 30 of Enemies to Lobsters
I snort. “Nice, Ike.” It’s a fun idea for a spreadsheet, though—tracking Ike’s kind gestures. Maybe I’ll work on that tonight. A flutter of excitement curls my toes when I think about fine-tuning a spreadsheet in my starfish bed, running my bare feet across the cool sheets while Netflix plays in the background. Maybe I’ll track down a bedtime whoopie pie. That would be the guilty pleasure trifecta—secret spreadsheets, junk TV, and a whoopie pie. I need to make this happen.
“I’ve never seen you smile so big—you have a great smile, by the way.” Ike’s fingers pause against my hand. “You have to tell me what you’re thinking about.”
He’s not really complimenting me. He’s stating a fact like a scientist—like the shape of my mouth meets all of the qualifications for a technically good smile. Still, I blush from the praise and the direction of my thoughts, all while Ike hands me another item for his kindness spreadsheet.
I duck my head to hide my discomfort. “I was thinking about running to shore” — I might as well be honest; the guy couldn’t think less of me — “for awhoopie pie.” I whisper the words like I’m admitting I was going to track down some fresh crack.
“Done.” He tugs my hand, pulling me to my feet. “Let’s go.”
“The tide is coming up,” I argue. I haven’t braved the tiny rowboatyet. I remember the temperature of that water with excruciatingclarity. “I don’t think… I wasn't serious.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll row. You just sit there and look pretty.”
He curls his big arm around my shoulders, tucking me into him and leading me toward the stairs before I realize what he’s doing. I had almost forgotten we were perched at the top of a staircase that tried to kill me a few weeks ago. When I hesitate at the first step, Ike’s arm tightens.
“I can’t believe you think you’re r-responsible for the Red Sox winning the World Series,” I tease, a tiny tremble in my voice as I take the first step down.
“You’ve got this,” he murmurs under his breath. Then his voice brightens. “It’s true. I’m responsible for the Curse ending. And if you play your cards right you can be my accomplice when we borrow Muffie’s car for the opener in April.”
I scoff. “You mean when you steal her car.”
“Borrow.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I don’t mean it. I learned a little about Ike tonight. He’s surprisingly sensitive. He’s good. I’m sure the man has no problem sleeping at night.
Chapter 15
Diana
Ten minutes later I’m sitting in the rowboat with my arms folded around my knees. I’m still shaking from Ike dragging me up the lighthouse like a caveman. Then he held my hand as he helped me onto the boat a few minutes ago. No big deal, right? Except the contact sent a zap of electricity through my fingers and up my arm that made me snort. Generations of well-mannered Yorks collectively turned over in their graves at the sound. Ike just gave me a crooked grin and settled into his side of the boat without a word. I tried the Mr. Darcy hand flex to get my head on straight, and it didn’t help at all.
Now Ike is rowing, and I’m a nervous wreck. This ramshackle boat isn’t at all stable, and the water is choppy, slapping into the sides of the boat as Ike rows. Any minute now it’s going to dip sideways, and we’ll both be under water. I shift to the right in an effort to balance us. It makes the situation worse.
“You need to stop doing that.” Ike grunts lightly, pulling the oars to his chest and pushing them back out.
The rhythm of his rowing has my attention divided between him and the waves. I’ve never seen arms like his in real life. He’sgot this infuriating Hercules thing going on, and it’s growing less infuriating and more confusing by the day.
His voice cuts into my secret thoughts. “Little tip for balancing in a small boat: Don’t overthink it. Relax and focus on the horizon.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. How am I supposed to focus on the horizon when the waves are pushing the boat around? I need to be ready for them. And his big arms are in my face, not helping the situation. I’m going to sink in the ocean wearing a dopey, twitterpated grin.
“Focus on where we’re going.” I feel his eyes on me, and my face turns hot. “Quit staring at my muscles.”
“Pshht.” He’s so full of himself. And so right. “Okay.” I can try it his way—focused on where we’re going, not on the waves or his arms. I search the horizon for a distraction.
Maine is stunning in the summer with its rocky, tree-lined shore. The sun sets behind the trees, and the sky glows pink over the dark ocean. A few golden clouds are blowing across the bubble gum sky.
Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply, and the summer breeze smells like salt water and Ike. With my eyes closed, I’m surprised to find the ocean sounds soothing instead of intimidating. The rolling waves and screech of a faraway seagull calm my shakiness.
This moment is… perfection. More electricity buzzes through me, but not from Ike’s hand in mine. Joy. This moment is pure joy.
There it is, Tom Selleck points out in my mind.Isn’t that what you’ve been missing?
Undiluted happiness flashes through me like a meteor. Possibilities and dreams spark like fireworks, lighting me up from the inside out. Thoughts of what the lighthouse will be in afew months, of who I can be and where I can go, fill my head. I’m excited about my life, maybe for the first time in a decade.
“What are you smiling about?” There’s amusement in Ike’s low voice.
