Cole's house was big, modern, and boring, and I fucked him on just about every surface I could find. That seemed like the right way for him to say goodbye to that era of his life. Since he only visited California a few times each year now, he ditched the gigantic mansion and downsized into a penthouse apartment. If anyone could call a penthousedownsizing.
Palo Alto was different from Talbott's Cove for sure, but it was amazing. It was fast-paced and overflowing with people, and I loved it. I loved the vibe, the places, the weather, even the people who wore sneakers with businesssuits.
I'd worried I'd be intimidated by the people from his company, or they'd resent me for keeping him on the East Coast. None of that happened. They were fun and fascinating, and interested in hearing about our life in the Cove. One weird dude asked me about bringing a group out on the water for some lobster boat team building, and Cole damn near pissed himself laughing about that. Later, he told me I could indulge the offer, yell at some executives all morning, and charge six figures for mytime.
I wasn't ashamed to say I gave it seriousconsideration.
If Talbott's Cove hadn't been inundated with wealthy businesspeople—and their tourism money—I would've gone along with that ridiculousness. But ever since Cole announced he'd be staying in Maine, the tech types had been flocking here. My sleepy seaside town was becoming the next SunValley.
The local inn was always booked, and some of the locals had taken to fixing up their homes and listing them on short-term rental websites for obscene rates. The O'Keefes were able to pay their daughter's college tuition after renting out their house for the summerandpay off their mortgage. JJ sprung for a new can of paint and added some kale salads to The Galley's menu. No one ordered them but it was an amusing gesture. The town council was slammed with proposals for restaurants, shops, hotels. It wasmadness.
The Cole McClish Effect. That's what I called it. Everyone wanted to catch some of the magic he foundhere.
"Yes, I hit a wall with my work but I also wanted to surprise you with a new tradition," Cole started, pinning me with a sharp glance, "but it seems you chose this as the one and only day you'll deviate from yourschedule."
"The fish weren't biting," I said, laughing. "That's often the case when winter storms movein."
He looked up, his lips parting, and stared out at the sleet and dark clouds. The visibility was low and the waves high. Based on the surprise washing over his face, he hadn't noticed until now. Absentmindedness was one of Cole's most adorable—but also infuriating—traits. I was certain the earth could open up and swallow everything around him, and he wouldn't notice until his ass caught onfire.
"You went out in that weather?" he asked,incredulous.
"Yes, sweetheart, I did." I pointed to my dripping hair. "That's why I'm soaked. Unlike some people, I don't make a habit of fallingoverboard."
"I haven't fallen over in"—Cole turned his gaze to the ceiling while he murmured to himself—"three or fourmonths."
"It's almost a record," Ireplied.
Rolling his eyes, Cole scraped the sides of his mixing bowl with a spatula. "You didn't have to go out," he said. "You know I don't like it when you're on the water in badweather."
It was my turn to roll my eyes. "You didn't notice the weather untilnow."
"That has no bearing on whether you should've been out there," Cole replied. "You could've looked outside, seen the storm, and gone back to bed. I would've joined you forthat."
Lightening my fishing and lobstering load was one of Cole's side projects. To his mind, money wasn't an issue, and I didn't need to work the water every day. I agreed with him—to a point. Unlike years past, I wasn't compelled to go after other catches during lobster's slow season from January to June. I didn't sweat over expenses when the market prices dropped. But I wasn't interested in lightening the load any more than that. My objection was less about not wanting to be a kept man and more about enjoying my work. It was grueling but I still loved it, and I didn't want to abandonit.
Change wasn't easy and I didn't take to Cole's money overnight, but it wasn't a major point of contention for us. There were moments when I found his wealth staggering. Paralyzing, even. But I didn't want that to become a rock in the middle of our relationship. That took work. I had to practice dealing with the shock associated with spending loads of money as easily as he did. I rolled with it when Cole wanted to spend a month on a private island in Belize after the launch of one of his newest developments, and when he bought out an entire hotel in Palm Springs when we traveled there for the holidays last winter. Instead of getting caught up in the disparity between our income levels, I admired my husband's ass in shortshorts.
"I had traps to pull in." I reached over, turned off the mixer, and held up a hand to silence Cole's protest. "Just be quiet for a minute.Please."
I glanced down at his apron, covered in floury handprints, and then back up at his face. There was a dark smudge on his cheek—probably molasses—and a bit of sugar sparkling on his brow. He was a beautiful mess, and I was the luckiest guy in the entirestate.
"Don't look at me like that while I have gingerbread in the oven," Cole warned. "Save those bedroom eyes for later,babe."
I pressed my lips to his and sighed when his tongue darted out. He tugged me closer, until only our clothes separated us. "What about kitchen eyes?" I whispered against his jaw. "Can I havethose?"
"What?" he asked, breathless as I dragged my denim-covered erection over his. "What are you talkingabout?"
I laughed, the tight sound bursting from my mouth in quick, strangled puffs. "I need to warm up, and you have one helluva hot ass. Do I have time to bend you over the countertop before the next cake comes out of the oven?" The words had barely passed my lips when the oven timer wailed. "Fuck."
Cole shook with silent laughter. "To answer your question, babe,no."
Before I could pry myself off him, I heard paws skittering down the hall. "Here comes trouble," Imurmured.
Last winter, we rescued a three-year-old mixed breed dog from the local no-kill shelter. We waited until after the new year, when things settled down from Cole's big launch and we returned from our extended holiday in Palm Springs. I wasn't sure I was ready for another pup, but when we walked past Sasha's kennel, everything changed. Her sweet face and happy spirit stole ourhearts.
"She snoozes until the timer goes off," Cole said. "Then she's my shadow. She's on crumbpatrol."
"I don't doubt it." An eager, fidgeting mass of dog wedged between our legs, paws stamping and tail wagging. I reached down to scratch her head. "What's this? You'll wake up for gingerbread but notme?"
