Page 29 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
“For what?” I say through a laugh. “Saving me from polite conversation? I was two seconds from learning what a riptide looks like. Apparently, having that knowledge will keep me from a watery grave, but you’d probably prefer I remain clueless. It’d save you the trouble of divorce.”
Geneva rolls her eyes at me. “Please. I wouldn’t have let you near the shore if there was a riptide present. And that wasn’t polite conversation. Nicole was flirting with you because you’re new meat.”
My brain wants to take a few seconds to process the protective first part of Geneva’s statement, but the latter isfar moreinteresting. There’s no way that my reluctant wife is jealous, is there?
“New meat?”
She levels me with a flat look. “It’s a small town. News travels fast, and then all the singles come out of the woodwork to shoot their shot. It’s embarrassing to watch.” Her gaze shifts over my shoulder, shooting daggers at Nicole even though she’s innocently playing with her kids. “You should have seen the way Amanda threw herself at Finn before—”
My cheeks hurt. My grin has got to be obnoxious. Megawatt. Of seismic proportions. Put me on a red carpet and let me smile for the flashbulbs because Genevaactually isjealous.
“What?” Her arms cross over the gray long-sleeve rash guard covering everything but her black bikini bottoms. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“We’re married.” I lift my left hand, wiggling my silicone ring.
A matching one rests on Geneva’s finger. I’m not going to lie. I feel some kind of way, having a ring on this particular finger, butI’ll sort those feelings out later. Right now, I want to get to the bottom of Geneva’s unexpected jealousy and then take my first swim in the ocean. Though I’ve never been in the sea before, I’m familiar with the lakes and rivers surrounding Nashville.
“Nicole was just chatting to be nice. In fact, she told me she was sorry she missed ourweddingparty last night.”
Geneva says nothing, just stares at the cotton ball clouds dotting the horizon, a muscle in her jaw flexing.
“You know what,” I say, stepping close. “If you’re worried about someone stealing your man—”
“You’re not my man,” she snaps, her fiery gaze returning to me.
I continue, undeterred. “Then we should act like thisreally isour honeymoon.”
My fingers slide over her ribs as I inch even closer. Geneva’s defiant chin juts up, never breaking eye contact.
“People are watching.” A ghost of a smile lifts my lips. “Maybe drop your crossed arms?”
She huffs but releases her grip until her hands are at her sides.
“You could touch me, you know. Maybe set an affectionate palm over my heart like you did yesterday?” It’s a struggle to keep the flirty grin off my mouth.
Her head tilts slightly, the end of her long ponytail slipping in front of her shoulder. “I could knee you in the groin.”
I laugh, shaking my head. There’s nothing I enjoy more than sparring with this woman. Actually, I don’t remember the last time I had this much fun just talking. Even running errands earlier had been near blissful, and we’d simply picked up kitty litter and pineapple.
“I don’t think you’ll do that.”
“Oh, no?” It’s Geneva’s turn to smile.
I take my time drifting forward, moving until my lips are a hair’s breadth from the shell of her ear. It allows me to see herpulse thrumming on the side of her neck, how her lashes flutter with my close proximity, how her hands flex at her sides.
“No, darlin’. You won’t.”
“You—” She clears her throat. “You have to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” My lips hover beside her temple but don’t make contact.
Geneva sucks in a sharp breath. “You know.”
I lean back to catch her gaze and memorize everything about this moment—the high-pitched chirps of the sandpipers shuffling nearby, the comforting warmth of the sun on my back, the way the ocean breeze plays with the dark brunette strands of her hair. But it’s the softness in Geneva’s expression that I’ll see when I close my eyes tonight. It’s so hopeful while simultaneously wary, making my chest contort.
One hand releases her side, and I slide my fingers down her forearm until my index finger hooks with hers. “I’m not doing half of what I’d like to.”
My focus drifts to her lips—just for a second.
