Page 70 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
I don’t notice when Van takes my crutch and leans it against the display, because I’m distracted by the featherlight brush of his lips over my skin. So when he grips my waist to lift me in a Disney princess twirl, I burst into laughter—that is, until my swinging feet nearly clip a toddler running down the aisle.
“Sorry,” I tell the mom as she chases after him.
“Next, you’ll be telling me that you want to go to puzzle night at the library,” Van says, vibrating with excitement as he gently returns me to the ground.
Last night, Finn informed us that the community survey results were in and that the library would be hosting a community puzzling night and puzzle swap on Wednesday evenings.
“Actually…” Ihadbeen thinking that we should make a few more town appearances as a couple. For Joanna’s sake. Not because I want to see how fast it takes Van’s genius brain to decipher a thousand-piece puzzle.
His mouth breaks into that unabashed, wholesome smile. “You keep surprising me. Okay, we’ll do puzzles tonight, and in the meantime, we can paint the house.”
I assumed Van would be excited that I decided to choose something other than gray for my exterior paint, but more ina he-won-a-challenge kind of way. His genuine wholehearted support makes my chest ache.
“It’s too wet after last night’s storm. Plus, there’s another tropical storm forecasted in a few days. We’ll have to wait until it’s reliably dry. Probably next week or the week after.”
It shouldn’t be attractive to see a grown man pout, but when that man’s callused hands simultaneously squeeze the sliver of skin left open from your cropped tank, all the wires get jumbled. Almost as quickly as disappointment slipped over his defined cheekbones, Van brightens.
“Hotties, then?”
My sweet golden retriever, always finding the bright side.
“I’m down for wings, but it’s a little early.” I hesitate, biting my lip. “I had another errand I thought we could run first.”
Van waits, patient as ever as I garner the courage to say the next part. I’ve never needed a second opinion on anything, but the more I thought about this, the more IwantedVan to give me his. And just like the paint color, I have a hunch that it’ll make that dimpled smile light his face. It’s addicting—that smile. Since my ability for self-preservation vanished the second his eyes twinkled, I’m running headfirst into this idea, even though I should probably be keeping these parts of myself under lock and key.
“I thought I’d add a few new items to my wardrobe, and since you love color so much, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you weighed in,” I tell him, infusing my words with extra sass.
Van’s fingers tense on my waist as a muscle ticks in his jaw. I’d expected a reaction similar to when I told him about the house color—pure, vibrant joy—so the heat slipping into his gaze catches me off guard.
“You’re getting kissed now.” The rough texture of his voice makes goosebumps erupt on my bare arms.
“You can’t—” My flustered sentence cuts off when he leans in. Breathing becomes impossible when his lips hover at the corner of my mouth, close but not touching.
“I can’t what? Kiss you in public? Do you have any idea how hard it is not to kiss you every second I’m conscious? Resisting you is a full-time job.”
Since keeping my eyelashes open is taking all my focus, my chiding response gets caught in my throat. “Evand—”
“Say it.” Van shifts even closer, every slight point of contact between us suddenly incendiary. “Say your husband’s name.”
A shaky breath escapes me as my fingers curl helplessly around his sleeve. I should be able to focus on something other than Van’s undeniable presence. I should be able to center myself on the overbright lights of the warehouse, the errant noises of other shoppers, and the oppressive scent of sawdust. But none of that exists anymore. It’s just me and Van and the absence of time, since the seconds feel like they’ve been stretched into days.
“Excuse me,” a voice interrupts. “Could you hand me the Maine Cottage paint swatch. I’m not as tall as I used to be.”
Behind us, an older gentleman with wispy white hair outstretches his arm toward the top of the display. His red plaid patterned button-up is tucked into neatly pressed jeans, and a wry smile creases his mouth.
“Of course, sir.” Van extends the crutch to me before moving a step away to grab the paint swatch. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No. That’s it.” He shifts his gaze between us, his hands drumming on the handlebar of his cart. “Bet you’re newlyweds. You’ve got that spark between you.”
When Van’s ears pink, a thick pulse of adoration beats in my chest.
“We are,” I say when Van doesn’t respond.
The man hums, his grin growing wider. “Nothing better. I’ve been with my Mary fifty-six years—most of them good. Every marriage has its rough spots, but nothing beats that new love zip.”
Again, I expect Van to jump in, to use one of the made-up stories he tells the locals of Wilks Beach when they ask about our marriage. How we’re perfect for each other because of our differences, or that the moment our eyes first met, he’d known things would be different with me.
“I’m enjoying it,” I tell the man, warm honesty infusing my words.
