“They bring them from next door,” I say.
She frowns, and I explain. “My brother and I used to fight over where to eat lunch when I’m in town. Sometimes it got so bad, we didn’t get around to eating lunch. Other times, Bishop decided.
Then we bought most of the places around here, and that comes with perks. I still like the seafood restaurant better. For the record.”
My wife glances at Vanessa, and they exchange looks I’ve given up on understanding. Mom and her sister dothe silent talkingtoo, and I’ve tried to decipher it with no luck.
Half an hour later, the server from the seafood place, wearing a black uniform with a red stripe over the shoulder, delivers my lobster rolls first. I offer the plate to my wife. She hesitates before looking up at me, then glancing at Blake.
I put the plate down. “What?”
“I’m allergic to most seafood,” she says.
“I ordered mozzarella sticks for you,” Blake says.
“I love those.”
I narrow my eyes. “And you know she loves those why?”
Vanessa sips her wine, looking amused. I glare at her too.
“I told him,” Bishop says from behind me.
My wife leaps out of the chair. “Bishop!” She throws herself at him, and I lock on to where he places his hands. On her bare back.
I’m going to break his wrists.
Over her shoulder, Bishop smiles at me, then kisses my wife on the cheek. He spreads her arms and visually gorges on her body, whistling. “Looking like five million dollars.”
She laughs.
I’m not amused.
Bishop plops across from me and snatches my lobster roll, pops it in his mouth, and rolls his eyes to the back of his head. “I forgot how good these are.” He looks around the table. “I’m late and there’s still no food at the table. That’s a first.”
Blake smiles like a lion with a gazelle. “I ordered nothing for you.”
Bishop sighs. “You’re a PIMA. And you”—he points a finger at me—“I don’t like you in your new role.”
“And that is?” I ask.
“The jealous husband.”
“Better jealous than uncaring,” my wife says.
We both turn to look at her, and she smiles like an angel before she lifts her glass.
Blake responds immediately by filling it with red wine. “Bold and sweet. I think you might like it,” he says to me as he pours my glass after he filled hers. “Maybe an acquired taste for you, but well worth the try.”
I snort. He bought a hymen…like what, two days ago? And got married shortly after, and now he’s an expert advisor on marriage.
Rolling my eyes, I eat my appetizer before Bishop devours it all. The server takes our orders, and I make it a point to memorize my wife’s tastes. After that, Vanessa takes pictures for the social media account called Blakenessa.
It has half a million followers already. I’m trying to be impressed while watching people stroll by the restaurant on the wide sidewalk just in front of the river.
I love the water. I miss the navy, miss going out for months on end, and that reminds me… “We’re going on vacation,” I say, then turn to my wife. “Our honeymoon.”
She pauses just as she’s stabbing penne pasta with a fork. “You decided that right this moment?”
