“Indeed.” Without even asking, Dave pulls my mess of hair into his hands and deftly fixes my scrunchie before he snuggles me back against him. “And there’s a cat here?”
“There is. Sorry. Litter smell?”
“No, actually.” He smiles. “There’s a stack of cat food cans on the front step.”
“He’s a bitchy feral kitten who hates me. His name is Whiska.”
“Let me guess.” Dave’s voice is gentle as he pulls away ever so slightly to give me a soft smile. “Whiska Hargitay?”
“Of course. Full name? Top Cat Whiska Hargitay.”
“And we pronounce it properly.Whishka, right?”
God, I didn’t want to miss him so much, but being here with Dave, here in his own environment, it feels so right.
Neither of us says a thing for ages, for which I’m grateful, but Dave finally unwraps me and leads me to the kitchen. After he sets me on a barstool, he cooks.
“You said at the resort that you’d never had buttered lobster rolls? I think it’s time.” While the water boils, he unpacks the rest of what he brought. “I figured you might need some food to get you by.” And he both laughs and frowns after he opens the fridge and freezer. “Why is there nothing but gross frozen creamed spinach and au gratin potatoes here?”
I feel myself shrink a bit. “They’re not gross. They’re yummy sides.”
“That’s what you were going to live on?” he asks.
“Maybe. No. Yes. You said something about lobster?” I prompt as I cover my face. “Ready to teach everyone how to make the best of the best?”
“This is stupid, but fine.”
He’s not surprised that I have my phone out at the ready.
“Please?” I shrug. “I just love to record perfection.”
I film it all. How he boils lobsters to ideal tenderness. How he shells, chops, and seasons the meat. Even the care he takes when he gently melts the butter and spreads it across a bun from a local bakery.
I groan as I take a bite. And another. It’s impossible to properly capture his masterpiece. Posting about this takes no time, nearly no edits. But I do think Dave might kill me because he’s going to be swamped.
I’m still truly licking my fingers after Dave has closed down, and I ask about the kids’ books and toys that I found. This guy is too damn cute.
He laughs and tries to wave it off as nothing. “So many families pass through here. Not just during peak season, but really year-round. Winter getaways and whatever. And it kindof got disheartening to see how everyone was on their phone so much.”
He smiles and takes a second. “But a few years back, there was a family that rented a place here every summer. And their son, Billy, was always buried in a book. Like, his parents would order trays of seafood from me, and he would be torn between devouring lobster and readingAll Creatures Great and Small. So, I had a friend build a weatherproof cabinet to make a Little Free Library.”
“Because why?” I prompt.
“Because I picked up a copy and got sucked in. It’s a great series.”
Sometimes, staying silent is the best way to get someone to keep talking.
“Apparently, my mom started reading to me from the day she found out she was pregnant. Then forever after. Books are in my blood.
“It’s always so fun, watching how my shelf pulls in families. Encourages them to sit down together and take some time. Vacations are supposed to be relaxing, but they’re often stressful. God, I see parents trying to manage, like, four or five kids. So, I had to start stockpiling.
“Seeing family moments like that? It’s when I tell my assistant to take over, and I snag a really cool book and run out to the tables. Maybe it’s a picture book for the littles, maybe a chapter book for the older ones, maybe a book that’s timeless, one the parents will also dig.”
He’s charming and cute, and he’s for sure stopped short of the full story. Of his story. Something is telling me that there’s more behind all of this.
But that’s okay.
I’m going to marry him,I decide again in my fatigue and my numbness.
