Page 74 of Summer People
Even more than this stupidly delicious iced coffee.
“Will Putt-Putt be fixed in time for the parade?” Sutton asks.
Fisher grunts. “Maybe.”
Frowning, I look from him back to her, knowing she’ll give me a more thorough answer. “What parade?”
“For the fourth. People decorate their golf carts and some walk their animals in it too.” Her eyes snap over to Fisher. “Oh, we can totally put pink lipstick on Bing. And maybe sunglasses. He can sit between us in the front of the cart, and I’ll make him wave to everyone.”
I giggle at the image I’ve conjured in my head of poor Bing being done up. Also, everyone? There are barely enough people on this island to make a parade. Who are the spectators?
Unsurprisingly, Fisher answers with a single word. “No.”
With a wink at Sutton, I pick up my phone. “I can order Fourth of July stuff from Amazon. We can dress him in that.”
“Oh, yes!” She bounces in her seat, her messy blond hair swaying. “Can we do that?”
“No,” Fisher growls. “My dog, my decision.”
Phone unlocked, I pull up the Amazon app, tilt closer to Sutton, and scroll.
“Is anyone listening to me?”
I look up and catch Fisher’s lips twitching. He can pretend to be annoyed—it’s our thing—but so long as I keep catching those little smiles, I’ll push right back. Holding my phone out to Sutton, I give her permission to go crazy with her selection. Then, with a hand on Fisher’s thigh, I lean into him. “What’s on the agenda for you today?”
“Work,” he says gruffly as he peers down at my hand.
“But you don’t have a job,” I tease.
With a sigh, he tips his head back. “And yet I do all the jobs.”
“Can we come with you?”
“Yes! I want to come,” Sutton says without looking up from the phone. I can’t wait to see all the things she’s added to my cart. “But only if you promise to take us to the puffins.”
I sit a little straighter. “Puffins?”
“Yeah, they kind of look like penguins,” she explains, nose still buried in the device.
“Oh, I know what a puffin is.”Sort of. “I read a book where the characters had a pet puffin, but I thought the author came up with a fictional kind of bird.”
Fisher frowns. “A fictional kind of bird? What kind of book was it?”
“A romance.” I shift in my seat, smiling at the memory of the story. It was one of my favorite reads last year. “The male main character was a major league pitcher. During a game, he threw the ball and it hit the puffin.” I hum, head tilted, thinking of how best to explain the next part. “I have to start at the beginning in order for it to make sense. First the pitcher met this woman at a bar and then there was this great se—” I bite my lip. “He scored that night. In that bar. It was a total home run and?—”
Groaning, he drops his head into his hands. “Stop. Please. I get it.”
Sutton quirks a brow, apparently done with the Amazon cart. “Why would he score a home run in a bar?”
“Because he was a bad boy,” Fisher grits out.
I giggle. “Yup. Anyway, I thought the bird was fake.”
“Nope. Puffins are adorable, and Fisher knows all the best spots to find them.”
“They’re birds,” he says like he’s told her this before. “We don’t live in a zoo. I can’t promise we’ll see one.”
Sutton shakes her head resolutely. “You’ll see.”
