Page 43 of Enemies to Lobsters
I reach over and drag my fingers across her upper back through the heavy, oversized t-shirt she always seems to sleep in. My hand makes slow arcs across her shoulder blades until I spot goosebumps on her arms. She unfolds her arms, letting themdangle at her sides. Her forehead drops onto her knees. This time her sigh sounds totally content.
It gives me the courage to dig. “Why are you being dramatic halfway up the stairs, sweetheart?”
Chapter 21
Diana
Ike is scratching my back. I’m about to turn into a puddle and melt down to the floor, partially because he wants to know what I’m doing up here, and also because he just called me his sweetheart. He knows what he’s doing.
And he knows what I was doing. I was belting “O mio babbino caro” like it was my last day on earth. The lovesick aria seemed fitting given the events of the prior evening.
Ike almost kissed me. I know he was going for it. His puppy dog eyes turned serious. He looked at my mouth with a question in his eyes. I wanted that kiss so much, but then I had the stupid, idiotic, hare-brained thought that Ike was doing it out of some warped feeling of marital obligation.
A subconscious part of me—the terrified part—sabotaged the kiss with a yawn. He said “good night,” and it was over before it started. Just thinking about it makes me want to bust out some more Puccini. My heart is aching, and being dramatic in the lighthouse usually helps. Today my drama summoned the man himself. Maybe Iama witch.
Ike’s fingers are like magic, too. No one has ever scratched my back like this. It’s heaven.
“What are you doing halfway up the lighthouse?” He repeats his question casually.
How do I tell my former nemesis—the man I am now married to—that even though I’ve developed a major crush on him, I don’t want to stay married. He knows where I stand on that, and for all I know, he wants this contract to end, too. But I also loved the way he snapped at that guy last night, calling me his wife. I loved the way he held my hand in that dark auditorium. There’s so much to say, I don’t know where to start.
Tell him about me, Tom Selleck’s gravelly voice is in my head.Start with why you came back to town in the first place.
You think?I’m desperate to believe he’s right.
Trust me. I have an Emmy.
Emmy-winner Tom Selleck makes a good point, but I have one caveat.I’m not telling him about you, Tom.
I almost groan. I’m doing this, though. “Sometimes I come into the lighthouse… when I miss my mom.”
His fingers move slowly over my back while he waits for more.
“We used to come up here all the time. I don’t know, I guess it’s my happy place?” It’s an inadequate, pat description, and I want to give him more. I shake my head, summoning courage. I know I can trust Ike. I’ve learned that much these past few weeks. “She was happy with me… here.”
“Here?” Ike asks, the friction from his fingers making my skin warm.
“Yeah. She’d bring me up here and we’d have a picnic. Usually something my grandparents wouldn’t keep around the house. Fast food tacos and stuff. Then she’d stare out the window and tell me stories about the life she dreamed of…” Traveling to places no one goes, learning to connect to a higher power—basically,Eat, Pray, Love, but with an abandoned daughter in the mix.
A heavy knot in my throat stops me from telling him that I’m discovering at this exact moment that none of her stories seemed to involve me. I mean, the facts were all right in my face. I just never put it together. My mother didn’t want me. And she left me in a town where no one wanted me except my grandparents. And they wanted to marry me off. I snort.
“And your dad?”
Who? I snort again. “No one talks about him, especially my mom. He was just some guy she met. I don’t think she even told him about me. She had my grandparents. They’ve always been the rock.” That knot in my throat grows at the truth of those words. Man, I’m grateful for those stodgy old C-SPAN watchers, even if they did weasel me into marrying this handsome man.
“Hmm.” Ike’s hand pauses in the middle of my back.
I have to know what he’s thinking. I turn my head to look at him, resting my temple on my knee. He’s wearing that ball cap again. His beard is still nicely trimmed from our date last night. His other arm is slung over his knee, and my eyes follow the lines of his muscles down, past his watch, to his hand. I wouldn’t change a single detail. The weight of his hand on my back feels like an anchor. Safety. “What are you thinking?”
He straightens, jutting his chin under my obvious appraisal. “Just wondering if you like what you see.”
The corners of my mouth curl. He’s so arrogant, but now that I know it’s a front I feel safer being honest. “Yes.”
His eyes widen, then they turn serious. His fingers press into my back. He keeps almost opening his mouth, almost saying something, then pursing his lips with a frown. He wants to ask me something. I can tell. And he’s adorably shy about whatever it is.
“Spit it out, Ike.” I smile. I want him to reciprocate. Does he really like what he sees? I still find it hard to believe. I mean, Iknow I’m not ugly, but years of antagonism must’ve tainted my face for him. What if whatever he’s holding back isn’t flattering?
Before too many worst-case scenarios crowd my mind, Ike spits it out. “What are your thoughts on… Tom Selleck?” His mouth hitches into a crooked grin now that the words are out.
