Page 100 of New Day at the Beach House

“We’re talking about gray, right?”

She smiled. “This is why you need a woman’s help. Come on, let’s look at that one more closely and if you like it, we’ll find a smaller tile blend to go with it.”

After much searching, Conrad found two mosaic panels that he liked. Instead of deciding on them, one of the salesmen signed out all three samples for him to take home and look at in the space.

Conrad carried them out to his car. “That was nice of them, huh?”

Margo went ahead to open the trunk for him. “Very. I like the idea of being able to live with the samples and see them in the actual room they’re going in. That’s very helpful.”

He put the samples in the trunk. “I’ll say. I have a feeling I’m still going to need you to help me decide.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

He shut the trunk. “I’d say you’re here for a lot more than that.” He kissed her, a quick peck on the mouth. “What would I do without you?”

“The truth is, I feel the same way about you. Thanks for that,” she said softly. She meant it, too. He’d really given her a safe way to experience the world again. His fearlessness made everything seem possible.

“Can I buy you some lunch?”

She shook her head. “You buy me lunch too often. We should go Dutch. Or you should let me pay.”

He took her hand. “I like treating you. Maybe that makes me old-fashioned, but I think the man should pay, so long as he’s able. And I am able. Besides, you’re not working.”

“I don’t need to work. I’m very comfortable.” She had quite a nest egg built up from her late husbands’ insurance. He went around and opened her door for her. She shot him a look as she got in.

He seemed to ignore it. “Yes, but I don’t need to work either, which means I not only get a paycheck from the Gazette, but I also have my military retirement. I’ve made a few decent investments, too.” He went around to his side and got in.

“Fine.” She put her sunglasses on. “We’ll go Dutch.”

He sighed like he was exasperated, but she could tell from the gleam in his eyes that he was just pretending.

She laughed. “Drive, Marine. I’m hungry.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The Olive Grill was just a short ways back, so it wasn’t long before they were sliding into a booth. The restaurant was charming, with blue and white checked tabletops and a cheery green olive leaf border around the walls.

A server quickly greeted them with glasses of water and menus and left them to have a look.

“You know,” Conrad said. “We still need to decide on a pen name. And figure out what our author photo is going to be.”

Margo looked at him over the edge of her menu. “Yes, I suppose we do. But isn’t that putting the cart before the horse a bit?”

“Maybe. But it’s still a detail that needs to be addressed.”

“Can’t we write under our real names? The Widow by M. Bloom and C. Ballard? Something like that? Then we could do a photo of the two of us.” She grinned. “In black leather jackets, leaning against a brick wall. Very noir. You know the kind.”

He laughed, nodding. “I do. I don’t own a black leather jacket, though.”

“Neither do I. What do you think about us writing under both names?”

“It would be the most equitable. If you’re good with it, so am I. It would make finding the book easier for the small following I have through the paper.”

“Good point. Then that’s settled.”

“As for the photo, I think I could get Bo Lindquist to take it. He works for the Gazette as a staff photographer. Probably wouldn’t even charge us and if he did, it wouldn’t be much.”

“I’m fine with that, too.” She put her menu down. She already knew what she wanted. “We don’t need to take the photo for a while, though.”

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