Whiskey Beach(124)
He drove carefully by the beach-front restaurant where Eli and Abra held hands across the table.
“I like dating,” Abra commented. “I’d almost forgotten.”
“Me, too.”
“I like first dates.” She picked up her wine, smiled over the glass. “Especially first dates where I don’t have to decide if I’m going to let myself be talked into bed.”
“I really like the last part of that.”
“You’re home. You’re home in Whiskey Beach. It shows, and I know how it feels. Tell me your plans for Bluff House. You have them,” she added, taking a finger off the stem of the glass to point at him. “You’re a plan-maker.”
“I used to be. For a while, for too long, just getting through the day was too much of a plan. But you’re right, I’ve been thinking about plans for the house.”
She edged forward, candlelight in her eyes, the roll of the sea through the wide glass beside them. “Tell me all.”
“Practicalities first. Gran needs to come back. She’ll stay in Boston and work on her therapy until she’s ready, then she’ll come home. I was thinking of an elevator. I know an architect who’d come out, take a look. There’s going to be a time when she can’t handle the stairs, so maybe an elevator’s an option. If not, eventually we could see about turning the smaller parlor into a bedroom suite for her.”
“I like the elevator. She loves her bedroom, and loves being able to go all over the house. It would help her have all that. I think it’s years off, but it’s good planning. What else?”
“Update that old generator, do something with the basement. I haven’t figured that out yet. Not a priority. The third floor’s more intriguing.”
“New office space for the novelist.”
He grinned, shook his head. “First on the list with the elevator—I want to have parties in Bluff House again.”
“Parties?”
“I used to like them. Friends, family, good food, music. I want to see if I still like them.”
The idea made her almost giddy. “Let’s plan one, a big one, for when you sell your book.”
“That’s an if.”
“I’m an optimist, so it’s when.”
He shifted when the waiter served their salads, waiting until they were alone again. Superstitious or not, he didn’t want to plan a party around the book he’d yet to finish much less sell.
Compromise, he thought.
“Why don’t we have a welcome-home party when Gran comes back.”
“That’s perfect.” She gave his hand a squeeze before she picked up her fork. “She’d love it. I know a great swing band.”
“Swing?”
“It’ll be fun. A little retro. Women in pretty dresses, men in summer suits because I know she’ll be back before the end of summer. Chinese lanterns on the terraces, champagne, martinis, flowers everywhere. Silver trays full of pretty food on white tables.”
“You’re hired.”
She laughed. “I do some party planning here and there.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
She tapped the air with her fork. “I know people who know people.”
“I bet. What about you and plans? Your yoga studio.”
“It’s on the slate.”
“I could back you.”
She inched away, just a little. “I like backing myself.”
“No investors allowed?”
“Not yet anyway. I’d like a good space, comfortable, serene. Good light. A mirrored wall, maybe a pretty little fountain. A good sound system the way the one at the church is absolutely not. Lighting I could dim. Color-coordinated yoga mats, blankets, blocks, that sort of thing. Eventually establish enough to take on a couple other instructors but nothing too big. And a little treatment room for massages. But for now I’m happy doing what I’m doing.”
“Which is everything.”
“Everything I like. Aren’t we lucky?”
“I’m feeling pretty lucky at the moment.”
“I meant that we’re both doing what we like. We’re sitting here on our first date, which I like, and talking about plans for doing other things we like. It makes having to do things you don’t like no big deal.”
“What don’t you like?”
She smiled at him. “Right now, right here? I can’t think of a thing.”
Later, curled up warm and loose against him, slipping dreamily toward sleep, she realized she liked everything about being with him. And when she thought of tomorrow, she thought of him.
She understood as she drifted with the sea sighing outside, if she let herself slip just a little more, she would love.