Page 60 of Room for Us
“It’s not rocket science,” I gasp between gales of laughter.
His response is a glower.
Eventually I take pity on him, setting him up with a line and lure on the river’s edge. He doesn’t catch anything, but in less than twenty minutes I snag two gorgeous rainbow trout. Proud, I hold them up so he can see.
“Aren’t they great?” I yell, the rush of the river loud against my voice.
“Yes, great! But are we going to eat them?” he yells, his horror evident. Several fisherman close enough to hear throw him disdainful glances.
I laugh so hard I almost pee my pants, then throw the fish back into the water and head for shore. When I’m on dry land, I peel off my waders. Ethan doesn’t bother hiding his relief.
I’m still laughing.
“That was… educational,” he grouses as we pack our things. “And please don’t lecture me about the nobility or natural grandeur of eating what you hunt. I can’t take it.”
I shake my head, grinning. “Such a city boy.”
“Damn straight. I like my fish headless, boneless, skinless, and on ice.”
“But wild-caught, I’m sure,” I tease.
He winks. “Of course.”
With a swell of happiness, I realize he’s been exaggerating his squeamishness to amuse me. To distract me from the heaviness of the morning.
“You ass, you were teasing me.” I glance longingly back at the river. “I should have kept the fish.”
He hooks an arm around my neck and plants a kiss on my temple. “Yes, you should have. They would have been delicious. But you’re not cooking tonight.”
“Ha! Don’t tell me you are?”
“Heck no. We’re ordering pizza.”
33
The remains of our pizza sit in a box on the coffee table as we watch the ending of Arsenic and Old Lace on the inn’s ancient DVD player. Zoey’s bare feet are in my lap, my fingers absentmindedly massaging the soles. I’ve never thought much about women’s feet before, but Zoey’s are perfect. Even her toes are cute.
“At least Mortimer’s family makes ours look tame by comparison,” she says as the credits role.
“I’m not sure a fake family full of serial killers qualifies as a comparison.”
She rolls her eyes. “So literal.”
I chuckle. “She says to the fiction writer.”
Grabbing the remote, I turn off the TV. The room darkens, lit only by the flicker of two candles on the mantle. Lifting her left foot, I kiss her bare ankle. She melts back into the couch, eyes glistening as they watch me kiss a path up her calf.
“Mr. Hart, are you seducing me?”
“Nope. This is entirely for my benefit. I couldn’t care less how you’re feeling about it.”
Shifting forward, I reach her inner thigh. When I requested earlier that she wear the blue dress tonight, I didn’t tell her why. But I tell her now.
“The night we had dinner at your mom’s—”
“Two days ago?” she asks sweetly.
“Hmm, was it that recent? Seems like weeks. Anyway, you came out wearing this dress, and all I could think about was getting under it.”
