“Ah!” The tomato is stuffed between my teeth as I go to object.
Rough hands find my waist, tugging me closer. “I like you with your mouth full.”
My chest caves. I swallow the bites down, making small hums as he tugs down my shirt. His lips close over my hard peak.
“Cal,” I rasp, thumbing the overspill of juice from my bottom lip back into my mouth.
His head snaps back up. “Sorry, baby, we have plans this afternoon. You done writing?”
“Uh huh. Did you like the tomato?”
“It was delicious. Good girl.”
“It was my first season crop!” I shift on his lap as a thought crashes in. “My last, too.”
My first and my last. That sinks in as my gaze burns into his blues.
Something dark invades his eyes, and he shifts his focus to somewhere behind me. We sit in silence, our breathing too heavy as the words bury and take root. The sentiment stings.
“Maybe I could pot some in the living room of my apartment?” I say feebly.
His throat works, and I wish he would look at me.
But his focus clears, and he slaps my ass with a hand. “Up. We’re going to Iris’s.”
“We are?”
“Yep, she wants to talk about the house, repairs, costs, options, etc. Just in case the restoration society can’t be convinced. Which they probably won’t be.”
“Oh, sure. It’s been forever since I’ve seen Em.”
Cal rolls his eyes at me, and I pull a face. I like seeing him this way.
“Wear something nice. The festival is tonight. We’re going after dinner.”
Excitement burst in my veins. “Are you serious? Yes! I could use a night out.”
“Don’t get too excited. Bay Shore isn’t known for extravagance. Only low-key celebrations. Sometimes, if the budget allows, fireworks.”
“Don’t care. It’s going to be great. Are Iris and Em coming?”
“Of course, whose idea did you think it was?”
Iris, I love you!
I rush the stairs and am up in the bedroom tossing clothes on the bed before Callum can object. Not that he would. The only thing he loves more than this falling-down old lighthouse is his little sister. I toss jeans, too many tops, some flats, and a pair of boots onto the bed. No, too warm for jeans and boots. Maybe a dress and boots? Maybe a dress and flats? Ugh, I hate trying to pick clothes.
“I have nothing . . .” I whine to nobody.
After an hour and a half of trying on every possible combination of clothing I brought with me, I settle on a robin’s-egg blue summer dress with ruffle sleeves and a V-neck, its hemending just above my knees. I decide to go with short boots and pick out a yellow cardigan to layer up just in case. It’s pretty, cool enough, and the extra layer will work well if I need it.
Using the few hours I have before late afternoon, I add to my word count. I hit the ninety percent mark following my new outline. Happy with the new direction, the words flow effortlessly. It feels right. When the knock on the bedroom door finally comes, I save my work and close the laptop.
“I’m going to have a quick shower and check the boat while you get ready, okay?” Cal says.
His expression is soft as his gaze studies my face.
“Yeah, sure.”
