Page 42 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

Which could be interpreted as “getting lucky.” Merrill was all right with that.

Chapter 10

A little food, a little wine, a little dancing, a little . . .

“I kid you not!” Merrill said. “When I walked into the house today, there were eight geezers doing the most crazy-ass version of a belly dance I’ve ever seen. In costumes! Even the men. Bonita’s father, Raul, was the ringleader of the dingbat circus.”

“Belly dancing? By the over seventy crowd?” Delilah had to laugh, then revealed, “Actually, my grandmother, Salome . . . yes, Salome, like in the Bible . . . was a showgirl in Las Vegas at one time, and she’s never forgotten it. ‘Why walk when you can dance?’ is her motto. She dances when she’s cooking. She dances when she’s vacuuming. She dances when she pushes a cart in the grocery store. She still does a mean kick over her head.”

Merrill’s eyes widened in surprise, probably wondering if she could do the same. Which she could, but would never show, or tell.

They sat at a back corner table in the Cracked Crab. A band had just set up out on the deck, but the sounds were muted by the partially open, sliding glass wall, which made conversation possible. They were sipping white wine from stemmed glasses and picking at an antipasto platter that sat on a tray between them as they waited for their meal.

Delilah wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to this date with Merrill. Maybe she was just tired of being lonely, of living in her self-imposed bubble. Maybe it was time for her to relax and enjoy life, instead of always looking over her shoulder or walking on eggshells. Maybe she just wanted to be a normal, single, twenty-eight-year-old woman who could enjoy the company of an attractive man without second-guessing all the reasons why it was a bad idea.

And, yes, Merrill Good was an attractive man, especially tonight in dark jeans, a white dress shirt open at the collar, and a navy blue sport coat. He’d shaved off his week-old beard, but hadn’t cut his hair, which was still short, but not military short. He was tall and well built, though thankfully not steroid muscled, and he did have a youthful face, but it was his eyes that were so compelling. Intense when he was serious, dancing when he was mischievous. Despite his apparent intelligence and advanced education, he didn’t talk down to her, or anyone else.

The bottom line was that she was enjoying herself, and that surprised her. Blame it on the wine. That was her excuse, anyhow.

“The most amazing thing is the old folks were good. Really good,” Merrill continued. “I should have known something was up when I heard Middle Eastern music twanging all the way out to the driveway.”

“At least they weren’t stripping. I think some belly dancers do both.”

“Please! Don’t say that out loud. It would give them ideas.”

“The only one I’ve met so far is Mildred Patterson. She seemed very nice.”

“They’re all nice. In fact, they’re the kindest people in the world, but they drive their own crazy train, and they’re driving me crazy along with them. Seriously, I need to get out of that place.”

“Or what? You’ll be belly dancing, too?” Delilah asked.

“Not a chance!”

“Or stripping.”

He shrugged. “That, I might be able to handle, with the right appreciative audience.” He grinned at her.

Delilah wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes with a napkin, as Merrill continued to regale her with stories of his fellow boarders at the Patterson house. She agreed with him about the people here being borderline crazy but kind to the max. When they’d come into the restaurant, they’d been greeted here and there as they were led to their table by almost all the diners, including Ethan Rutledge and Wendy Patterson, who were back from their honeymoon and wanted to know all about Merrill’s salvaging venture so far and the work being done on Delilah’s diner and motel. It was only when they promised to get together soon after seeing their waiting hostess looking anxious that they were able to move on.

Only to be stopped by Laura Atler, the newspaper lady, who wanted the scoop, too, and her dining partner, Gabe Conti, who discussed an AC problem at Bell Forge with Merrill; Frank Baxter, who thanked Delilah for her paint order; Gus’s mother, Ina Gustafson, who made Merrill promise to stop tomorrow for some Norse herring potato salad to take out to the site for her son; and so on, until the hostess pointed out their table and said they could seat themselves when they were ready. In all, it took them twenty minutes to get there.

“But I didn’t finish my story about today’s event,” Merrill went on, after pouring more white wine into both their glasses from a carafe on the table. “When I made the mistake of mentioning that belly dancing might not be the best dance for senior citizens, one of the ladies, in a huff, told me that belly dancers have better orgasms than other ladies. Jeesh! I stepped into that one. Because they’re old, these folks think they can say anything. No filters whatsoever!”

“I heard that Mildred Patterson holds dance club parties at her house, and that she has a bunch of elderly boarders living with her, but how did you end up there?”

“The house belongs to Wendy, Mildred’s niece. Wendy was in WEALS, the female version of SEALs, when I served in the teams. A bunch of us, SEALs and WEALS, came here with her last Christmas.”

“That’s when you fell in love with Bell Cove?”

“Yep. Which was understandable, really. I’d just come off a mission in which we lost a teammate. A FUBAR op from the get-go, as in Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. All of us were burned out. I’d been in the military for fifteen years by then. Bell Cove, with its remoteness and quirky inhabitants, seemed . . . still seems . . . far removed from the terrorism that pervades the rest of the world. A rose-colored view, I’m sure, but . . .” He shrugged.

“I know what you mean. It feels safe here.” For how long, though? she wondered. Everything could go south if my past becomes known. “So, you were looking for Mayberry and settled for Bell Cove.”

“You could say that.”

“Do all your friends know about your Mayberry addiction?”

“Sure.”