Page 80 of Summer People
The Fourth of July parade was as ridiculous as I expected. Libby and Sutton decorated the damn golf cart so that it was red, white, blue…and pink. They put poor Bing in an American flag top hat, and blue star sunglasses. The two of them, decked out in matching blue Boston Revs baseball caps and sunglasses like Bings, led the charge down from the dock to the beach, honking that high-pitched horn and tossing candy to the vacationers along the path.
We might only have four carts, eight bikes, two dogs, and a goat, but the parade is always a spectacle. And this yeardidn’t disappoint. Halfway through the route, Betty chased Lulu, Star and Ivy’s Cavalier King Charles Spaniel—the most anxiety-ridden dog in existence—past the pack of bikes and through the crowd. The damn goat wouldn’t stop, and the dog, who apparently has more fear than sense, jumped onto the roof of the Monhegan Brewery’s golf cart, causing it to tip sideways into a mud puddle.
Poor Rip. Although Maggie, who was in the cart with her father, laughed so hard she was in tears, Rip looked more like his head might explode as muddy water dripped slowly off his gray beard.
Libby and Sutton turned back to help, and the little pink cart that could saved the day by pulling the brewery’s cart back onto its wheels so the parade could go on.
At least the fish fry and the fireworks went off without a hitch. As long as we’re not counting the errant firework that put a hole in Wilder’s kayak. Since he was the one setting them off and he seemed happy enough about not having to take it out with Nicole the next day, I can’t be sure that it really was an accident.
Yes, the woman is still here. Wilder is losing his mind.
I chuckle.
Libby lifts her head, her eyes narrowed. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No, Princess. I was just thinking about Wilder’s beard.”
Her nose scrunches up. “I don’t know what he’s thinking. It’s the patchiest, most awful-looking facial hair I’ve ever seen.”
My chuckle turns into a full-on laugh. My best friend has never been able to do facial hair. He knows this. But in a desperate attempt to get rid of the cling-on from the mainland, he’s chosen to engage in a no-shave summer.
“That one chunk on the left side looks like a dead mouse.” Libby shudders. “And what’s up with that perfect circle ofsmooth skin next to his lip?” She runs a hand along my jaw. “You need to give him a lesson. You have the sexiest beard.”
Stupid male pride causes my chest to puff. Fuck, I love it when my girl calls me sexy.
She pops up onto her toes and brings her mouth to my ear. “I especially love it when it’s tickling my thighs.”
With a grunt, I tighten my hold on her hips, my fingers biting into her flesh. “Is that a request?” If so, then fuck the camera. I’ll finish it later. After I make Libby come on my tongue. And then cock.
With Sutton helping Maggie paint sets for the play, we have the afternoon to ourselves.
Giggling, she steps out of my grasp and wags a finger at me. “Nuh-uh. You said we had to finish this.”
“Tease.” I chuckle as I climb back up the ladder. A warm breeze blows off the water, rustling the branches around me as I pick up the drill I left at the top.
“It’s such a pretty day.” Libby sighs dreamily. “We should take the boat out. It looks so sad over there, stuck in the grass. Boats need water to be happy.”
I shake my head at her nonsense. Only Libby Sweet would attribute thoughts and emotions and opinions to boats, golf carts, and houses.
“Plus I want to see a puffin,” she chirps. “So can we?”
Once the last screw is in place, I clip the solar panel onto the camera and switch it on. Done. Now I have every angle of the house on lockdown. No one is getting near my girl or her house without me knowing.
“Can we?”
“See a puffin?” I glance down at her.
“Yeah, go out on your boat and see a puffin.”
Lips pressed together, I shake my head. “That boat is winterized.”
Blue eyes bright, she blinks at me. “It’s summer.”
I rest my forearms on the top rung of the ladder next to the drill. “According to the lobster laws on Monhegan, we can only set traps October through April, so I don’t need the boat in the summer.”
Frowning, she looks from me to the boat and back again. “I can’t see you being a fisherman.”
I almost correct her. Lobstering and fishing aren’t the same thing, but that’s not the point. “That’s probably because I hate it.”
