Page 43 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

“The big bad SEALs, who surely watch things with lots of bang-bang, shoot-’em-up? Didn’t they make fun of you for your less violent tastes?”

“Hell, no! I made them watch every episode with me. My house, my TV, my remote. And, truth to tell, they probably enjoyed them. Of course, massive amounts of beer flowed at the same time. Everything is better with Sam Adams.”

She was impressed that Merrill could make fun of himself so easily, or be teased about some “shortcoming” and let it bounce off him like raindrops. That came from self-confidence, she decided, something she lacked big-time.

They shared a fresh garden salad with a homemade creamy Italian dressing that was to die for, and then the waiter brought their entrées. Crab cakes and a side of penne pasta with vodka sauce for her, lemon-crusted halibut with a lobster-stuffed baked potato for Merrill.

At first, they just ate in silence, enjoying the delicious food. Delilah hadn’t realized how hungry she was. With all the chores she’d done this afternoon—laundry, in particular—she hadn’t stopped to eat.

“So, the motel rooms look good?” Merrill asked.

“Wonderful. Well, Stu and Barb from the quilt store are coming tomorrow to hang some curtains and deliver some bedspreads. That should make a big difference. I was surprised that the contractor went ahead and painted the walls and ceilings and woodwork with the paint I had ordered from the hardware store and must have been delivered while I was gone. I intended to do that myself.” She patted her mouth with a napkin and narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

He put up his hands in surrender. “Not me. I don’t do interference anymore.”

“Hah!” she said.

“You do know that I intend to take one of those units for myself.”

She was about to resist, but then shrugged. As a motel owner, she couldn’t choose all her customers, and she needed the income. “To get away from Crazyville?”

He didn’t answer, the implication being that was only one reason. When he did speak, it was about the other two rooms that had been finished thus far. “I figure Famosa can take one, and Charlie the other, if she ever gets off that boat. Or maybe K-4 when he gets here.”

“You know, you’ve made me rethink my plan for renovations. All along, I’ve been working to get the diner operational first, figuring it was the best way to start a cash flow. But maybe I should do the motel first.”

“I think you’re right.”

She took a first bite of her crème caramel and sighed at the decadent sweetness.

He stared at her lips for a long moment before trying his cannoli.

“What? Do I have something on my mouth? I am such a sloppy eater.”

“No. I just enjoy watching you enjoy your meal.”

“Like a glutton, you mean.”

He shook his head. “Lots of women pick at food, think it’s unattractive to actually be hungry and feed the need. Which is ridiculous. There’s something sensual about eating . . . and sharing a meal. Good food should be savored. As a cook, you should know what I mean.”

She nodded and not just because she wanted people to appreciate her cooking. She liked to watch Merrill eat, too. He held his fork in his left hand and cut his food with his right hand, and even though he was right-handed, he brought the bites on the fork to his mouth with the left hand. Very European, or sophisticated, or something. He’d probably been taught to eat that way from a young age while dining with his parents in fine restaurants, where there were three forks and two spoons, and a special knife, just for butter, all solid silver. Nothing like Jake’s Luncheonette in Atlantic City where you were lucky to get one fork, and that made of cheap stainless steel.

They exchanged tastes of each other’s desserts.

“I bet you’d prefer your cannoli filled with lemon cream,” she teased. And isn’t that unusual? Me, teasing?

“Oh, yeah. Don’t forget, you promised me lemon cinnamon rolls someday.”

“How can I forget? You remind me at every turn.” She made a face at him. “What’s the deal with Charlie?” she asked then, picking up their conversation on whether Charlie would stay in one of her motel rooms or continue to live on the boat.

“I don’t know much, other than what she’s told us all. She comes from the well-known LeDeux family in Louisiana. I’ve met some of them over the years. One of my SEAL friends is Cajun, Justin LeBlanc, whose SEAL nickname was Cage, from that neck of the bayou. The most outrageous of that clan is an old lady called Tante Lulu, a folk healer, who is crazier than any of my fellow boarders here in Bell Cove. Anyhow, it was Tante Lulu who recommended Charlie to me.”

The owner of the Cracked Crab, Tony Bonfatto, came over to talk to them then. He was a thirty-something guy of obvious Italian heritage, friendly, and appreciative of their compliments on the food. He promised to get Delilah the recipe for the salad dressing.

Once he left, Merrill said, out of the blue, “Tell me about your daughter.”

And Delilah’s heart sank.

Could she discuss Maggie without revealing too much about her own past? On the other hand, Maggie would be here soon, and she couldn’t avoid talking about her forever.