Page 41 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
I try to shift my hands to push away, and in doing so, my left palm slips, tossing my ponytail over my shoulder and smacking Van in the face.
My eyes fly wide, and air becomes gelatinous in my lungs as time seems to freeze. We stare at each other for three thudding heartbeats before his lips twitch with a puff of breath. The slow grin spreading over his face is more beautiful than ten thousand sunrises, and a single thought hits me like a sucker punch.
I love when this man smiles.
When I mirror his grin, his gaze softens. But when Van’s fingers brush my hip, I vault myself out of the water like analligator going for the kill. Water sloshes everywhere—on the floor, on the new bathroom rug, even on the countertop.
“Sorry. So sorry,” I stammer, hand to my chest to check if my heart is still working, because surely Van just electrocuted me with that slight touch.
What happens to your heart after being electrocuted? It stops? Or does it start up again? Van would know—he’s an ER doctor and everything—but there’sno wayI’m asking him.
“We should get dry,” I say instead. “Because you’re wet, and I’m wet, and the bathroom is wet…”
Stop saying wet!my brain screams.
Van chuckling does not help matters. In fact, the sound sends effervescence bubbles coursing through my veins.
I rush to my closet to grab some more clothes, talking over my shoulder. “I’ll get changed in the guest bathroom and meet you downstairs. I brought your bag up earlier. It’s in the corner.”
After what’s probably ten minutes but feels like three years, Van lumbers down the stairs in a fresh t-shirt and shorts. My brain is so muddled afterWetgatethat I didn’t even think to offer help—which is borderline dangerous since I’d been concerned about his ability to get out of the tub mere minutes ago.
Taking my thumbnail out of my mouth, I bolt up. “Let me—”
“Easy.” Van holds up a hand to stave me off. “I’m doing just fine. I’m actually feeling a lot better after cooling down in the water.”
“Oh.” I tuck my feet beneath me on the couch, clutching the throw blanket like it’s a life raft in a tempest. “That’s good.”
Van sits nearby, but not as close as he did before, and every single cell in my body pouts. I pick up the remote to dissipate the nonsensical sensation.
“Want to watchCelebrity Circuit?”
“Sure.” He stretches out, groaning a bit with each movement.
Once the recap is finished, I pause the show. “Once you’re feeling better…”
Van rolls his head on the back of the couch until our gazes meet.
“Maybe we can pick up a rug for in here? My feet get cold in the winter.”
“Yeah?”
The way Van’s face lights up, you’d think I just asked him to take a billion dollars off my hands or handed him a dozen puppies…or kittens…or parrots? I should really find out what makes Van happy, because I’d like to do it more often.
“Yeah,” I say before clearing my croaky throat.
Van watches me for a minute, probably using that x-ray doctor vision of his. “Why haven’t you decorated? Noah says you’ve had this place for years.”
Normally, this is where I’d clam up, shove my shoulders back, and shoot a snappy remark. That or say nothing. I’ve gotten really good at stony silence. My nail picks at a loose thread on my sweatpants like itabsolutelyneeds my full attention.
“I didn’t want to admit I liked being here. If I never settled in, it’d be easier to move if things didn’t work out.”
Saying the truth out loud feels like a literal gash on my side, but I resist the urge to check for blood.
“But you have a business here. You’re part of the community.” Van’s voice is achingly soft, but I don’t look up.
“That’d be easy to sell,” I say, shaking my head. “Carol would be all too happy to have the property back.”
“Carol?”
