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“Kids are passed out cold.”
That would be Matthew, who’s just been to check on the little ones.
Gretchen crosses her legs as her barefoot husband approaches the group. “You worked hard on the fish fry today, babe. I’m proud of you,” she says with a certain shyness in her voice I never noticed before.
“We raised eight hundred dollars for the lighthouse fund,” he says.
“That’s wonderful, babe! You must be exhausted.”
“I’m feeling pretty keyed up, actually. Might go for a run before bed.”
“A run?”
“Yep.”
Something is coded in their language that I don’t understand.
Gretchen uncrosses and crosses her legs again.
“Can I come with you?” Gretchen asks.
“You better,” Matthew grunts.
“At night?” I ask.
Caroline laughs. “You guys don’t have to use metaphors. Matthew, just tell your wife it’s time to come to bed. Gretchen, just tell your husband you want to suck his dick.”
Gretchen cackles, and Matthew throws back his head and laughs. I think we’re all slightly drunk.
Oh my god. Oh my GOD. I’m glad it’s dark so no one can see me blushing. I groan and scrub my face with my palms.
“We’re all adults here,” Caroline laughs.
Gretchen stands and stumbles a little. All three of us lunge for her, but Matthew is the fastest at Gretchen’s side. “Careful, baby,” he says with a chuckle.
Sometimes, my moments of loneliness hit me out of nowhere. Just a second ago, I was enjoying the camaraderie, and now, watching Gretchen and Matthew disappear together through the side door of their little lake house, his hand on her back to steady her as she enters ahead of him, I feel something change inside me. It’s as if someone has switched a gear, and I’m running on a different setting now.
Everything around me feels magnified by a hundred. The fireflies on the lawn, the gentle lapping of the water against the beach, the waves hitting the rocks at the base of the old lighthouse up the shore, and a distant freighter horn, shipping who knows what to who knows where.
But mainly, I sense what’s closest to me. What’s right in front of me.
Caroline.
ChapterSix
Caroline
“They are too adorable,”I say as I stand next to Cash, feeling a little wobbly on my feet myself.
“They’re good people,” Cash says. His low voice is punctuated by the final swallow from the can he’s holding, and then he chucks it into the deposit bin that Gretchen set out earlier for everyone to help clean up. I can feel his presence even if I can’t see him that well in the dying firelight. His flannel shirt must be warm from his body heat. Warm and toasty and smelling like Cash. Boy, I didn’t think it through when I put on this dress earlier tonight.
“I know,” I say lightly but unable to mask the shiver in my voice.
“Here,” he says. A rustle of material precedes the touch of warmth around my shoulders. Cash stands in front of me in a white tee shirt, adjusting the soft, weathered flannel, gently pulling my hair out from inside the collar. I shiver at this intimate gesture. The fixing of hair is beyond the bounds of neighborly—it involves the brush of fingers against neck and nape, and it involves two faces getting very close.
Gosh, how much have I had to drink?
“You don’t have to give me your shirt. Now you’ll be cold.”
