As we draw closer, I can see it’s rectangular with a circular addition on top—presumably either where the light comes from or where a person is supposed to man the machinery. It’s rustic. Beautiful, in a strange way. Like a reminder of another time.
Tony squeezes my knee. “Want a photo?”
“Yes, please.” I pass him my phone and sit still while he positions himself so he can fit both me and the lighthouse into the picture. “Would you like one too?” I ask when he’s done.
“Only if you’re in it with me.”
“Okay.” My insides flutter in a way that has nothing to do with the boat or the scenery. He wants a photo with me?
He hands me my phone and holds his own out in front of us, lining up a shot. He snaps it and shows me. “What do you think?”
My heart gives a thump at how good we look together, but then something twists in my gut when I realize how obvious the adoration in my expression is. Even though I’m looking at the camera, my smile is soft, and I’m leaning toward him as though he’s the center of my world.
Uh-oh.
I hope Tony can’t see the same thing, because it’s scary. Nothing about my body language says casual.
“It’s nice,” I choke out, realizing he’s waiting for an answer.
He frowns like he can sense my discomfort, but he doesn’t push me to elaborate. Instead, he tucks the phone back into his pocket and slings his uninjured arm around my shoulders. My body melts into his automatically, and the nerves in my stomach multiply.
I’m in trouble.
Chapter Eight
Tony
When the boat returns to the jetty we departed from, we all climb off and get back into the van bound for the tour company’s office. Lucia is quiet, and when I ask, she says she’s tired. I am too, so I organize a ride from the office back to the cottage while we’re in transit. I’ve had a great day with her, and I’m hoping she feels the same. For the first time in my adult life, I’m feeling optimistic about a future with someone. I want to see more of her.
When she’s finished her book and my shoulder has healed, I don’t want us to go back to being polite acquaintances. I don’t know if she’s on the same page, though. I get the sense she’s holding back. Something happened on the boat, and she’s been on edge ever since. I thought I was imagining it at first, but when I offer her a hand to help her out of the van, and she jumps in surprise, I know I’m not.
Our ride is already parked nearby, so we hurry over to it and slide into the back seat. The driver, a man around our age, glances back to say hi. His eyes widen as they land on Lucia.
“Hey there.” He waits for her to look at him before continuing. “Where can I take you today?” He should already have the address from the app, but Lucia rattles it off anyway. I narrow my eyes as he turns and starts the car. “What have you guys been up to this afternoon?”
“We went out on a cruise around the coast,” I reply.
“Nice.” He steals a look at Lucia in the rearview mirror. “How’d you enjoy that, sweetheart?”
Her eyebrows knit together, and I hope she’s as put off by the endearment as I am. “It was lovely. My first time on a motorboat, but it definitely won’t be my last.”
“The ocean around here is pretty spectacular,” he says. “Have you been in town for long?”
“About a week and a half,” I say at the same time as Lucia chimes in with, “A little under a month.”
He looks over his shoulder, obviously curious at the discrepancy. A littletoocurious, in my opinion. “So you’re not staying together?”
“We are.” I correct him, because damned if I’m going to let this asshole try to put the moves on Lucia right under my nose. “We just arrived at different times.”
“Huh.”
The way he says it makes me wish I’d sat on the other side of the car, so I could wrap my arm around her. As it is, I have to settle for resting my palm on her thigh and stroking the silken skin at the hem of her shorts. She gives me a weird look, probably wondering what I’m up to.
“What brings you to Provincetown?” the driver asks.
Lucia starts to answer, and the edges of my mouth tense, knowing whatever she says will no doubt make it clear we aren’t together. She hesitates, watching me with interest, and then surprises me. “It’s a working holiday. I’m finishing up a projectwhile Tony takes time out to recover from an injury. He’s a professional MMA fighter.”
“Ah.” The guy is beginning to sound nervous. He glances back again and does a double take. “Wait. Are you Antonio Romano?”
