Page 51 of Summer People
The smile that splits Fisher’s face is so big, a dimple I never knew he had pops. Damn. I’m tempted to take a picture. “You sure about that?”
With a roll of my eyes, I step on the gas, and the golf cart whizzes—absolutely nowhere. It doesn’t even jolt forward. I push down harder, but it doesn’t budge. “What the?—”
“Want me to show you how it’s done?” he rumbles in a quiet tone as he steps up beside me and hovers close.
I appreciate the low volume, since we have an audience, but with his chest pressed to my upper arm, the low notes vibrate through my sternum and send sparks of electricity to my core, making it hard to see straight.
“Sure, fine,” I say, my voice reedy and my throat tight.
He talks me through how to go forward and how to reverse, pointing out the lever by my legs that has to be engaged to move.
“Do you want to drive home?” he asks me.
Once again I find myself dizzy from not only his proximity but his words.
Home.
He asked me if I want to drive home. As if this place is my home.
I shake my head. “Maybe you can show me again.”
“Hop on, Sutton,” Fisher calls, completely oblivious to the way he affects me.
We’re stopped a total of ten times as we make our way through town. Everyone has a comment about my pink golf cart—which they assume is Fisher’s. Over and over, they tease him, and each time he grunts rather than deny it, I feel a little more like myself.
When we pass the docks, Cank waves us down. “I see you been getting all your packages okay.” He gives the top of the cart a slap.
“Yes. I’m impressed that Amazon delivers right to my door all the way out here. You must appreciate not having to deal with all my packages now that summer is here.”
Cank tilts his head, his brows dipping low, but he doesn’t respond.
Fisher doesn’t join in on the conversation either, and after an awkward moment of silence, I clear my throat.
“Will I see you tonight at the lobster bake?”
He laughs. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Fisher hits the lever to reverse and pulls away from the dock, then makes the final turn toward our shared road. “You’re going to the lobster bake tonight?”
“Yeah, the guys at the dock told me I should come. Apparently there’ll be dancing again and you know how I love to dance.”
He pulls into my driveway, and the second he comes to a stop, Sutton jumps off and shouts that she’s got to pee as she darts across the yard. Thirty seconds later, the screen door slams.
I laugh. “She’s a handful.”
Without a word, Fisher steps off the cart then turns, like he’s waiting for me to follow. I slide into the driver’s seat and glance up at him.
“Be ready at six thirty.”
I blink. “For what?”
He bows his head and sighs like I’ve exhausted him. “The lobster bake.”
“You’re going?”
“Yes. I’ll drive you.”
I grin as I shift into reverse. “No need. I’ve got the golf cart. I can drive myself.”
