Page 18 of A Shore Fling
“Where are you from?”
“New York City. I don’t get to see wide open views of the horizon like this.” I pull out my phone and snap a few pictures.
“All set?” she asks.
“Yep. Thanks for stopping.”
“I’m spoiled. I get to see these beautiful views every day, but that doesn’t mean I take them for granted.”
We start down the hill. The houses in this neighborhood are modest with small yards.
“I’m supposed to look for lobster trap chairs on a front porch.”
“The Rock Lobster?” she asks.
“That’s the one. I have a hunch I’ll be singing that B-52’s song while I’m here.”
She laughs. “Oh, you will, for sure.” We turn into the driveway of a cedar-shingled cottage with a red front door.
“Aww, this is so quaint. I love it,” I say.
Willow shuts down the engine and gets out. She opens the back door. “Let me help you with your things.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I insist.” She grabs my suitcase and leather bag, leaving me carrying the small tote.
“This hardly seems fair,” I point out as we step onto the porch. I notice the two lobster trap chairs, and there’s an outdoor rug underneath them with a giant lobster printed on it.
“You need your hands free to open the door.”
“Oh crap. I don’t remember the code.” I check my phone. “Dammit. I can’t seem to get any internet here.”
“Yeah, it’s a crap shoot. Try 1-2-3-4 for the lock code.”
I shrug, pushing the numbers one at a time on the keypad above the doorknob, and it works. I’d high-five Willow if her hands weren’t full. Instead, I send her a grateful look. “How did you know?”
“It’s the standard code here.”
“Don’t people worry about break-ins?” I have three locks on my apartment door, and my building has a doorman.
She shakes her head. “Not at all. Most year-round residents leave their doors unlocked all the time.” I visibly shudder at the thought, and she notices. “This is a different way of life.”
That sounds like exactly what I need.
I step inside the cottage and then immediately stop in my tracks. Willow barely avoids bumping into me. “Holy fudging lobsters.” I hear snickering behind me as I tentatively move forward. Everywhere I look, there are lobsters. Lobsters on the rug, lobster-patterned curtains, lobster pillows, lobster tchotchkes on the coffee table, lobster-themed artwork on the walls. But my favorite thing of all would be the giant lobster-shaped LIVE, LAUGH, LOBSTER sign hanging above the fireplace.
“Did you know about this place?” I ask.
She sets my bags down. “Yep. It’s kind of famous locally.”
So that’s why Travis laughed when I mentioned the name.
I walk through the rest of the rooms and…surprise, they’re all lobster themed. I guess I should be happy there isn’t a tank of live ones anywhere.
“So what do you think?” Willow asks.
“I’m a little overwhelmed. This was unexpected.”
