I take one last glance around the living room, my eyes purposely avoiding Jane’s painting, and I’m satisfied. I’ve always been a bit of a slob when it comes to my living quarters, and I guess that comes from the last three years pretty much living in the shit hole of the Mayhem’s Mission clubhouse.
But in this little house that attaches to the lighthouse by a covered walkway, I have a duty to keep it neat and clean, not only because it doesn’t belong to me, but also because the stupid fucking historical society wants to give tours during the summer. I’m not sure why a tour includes my cottage, because it’s just that… a cottage. I’m guessing for the five dollars they charge for admittance, they have to include something other than the thirty-three steps of spiral staircase that leads up to the rotating light. Probably want to show the charm of coastal seaside living or some shit like that.
Today is the first tour and I’ve got to get lost, which is fine by me. When Joe arranged for this “job” for me, I was asked to be the one to give the tours. I think my answer was something like “no fucking way.” However he got this job nailed down… however he got it all worked out… all I have to do is ensure the cottage is clean and tidy every Saturday for the rest of the summer. I figure that’s the least I could do since this job is a cakewalk anyway. Outside of the repairs and maintenance, which are all pretty much done, all I have to do is ensure the light stays on. With a backup generator, that pretty much ensures I have squat to do while watching the lighthouse.
Patting my back pocket, I note my wallet is in place and I snag my car keys off the small table by the front door. No clue how to keep myself busy all day away from the cottage, but figure it will include multiple beers at The Lobster Cage. Pulling the front door open, I start to push at the screen door and come to a dead halt when I see Jane standing on the other side, her hand raised and poised to knock.
“Hey,” she says in surprise, and I’m struck for a moment just staring at her beauty. Hair in a ponytail, a pair of cutoff jean shorts, and a vintage orange Crush t-shirt. She’s got a satchel-like purse hanging on the diagonal across her chest, the canvas strap cutting through her cleavage, and I have to force my eyes upward.
She smirks at me when they land on her face.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I push through the screen door. She takes a step back to give me room.
As I turn to lock the door, she says, “Thought I’d come see what you were doing today. Figured maybe you’d like to take a ferry ride across the bay to Bar Harbor.”
I secure the lock and turn back to her, stepping to the side to let the screen door swing shut. “I was on my way to The Lobster Cage to have a few beers.”
She holds her wrist out and glances down at her watch. “It’s 9:30 in the morning.”
“They open at eight,” I point out. I found since moving here that fisherman like to drink and that means Gus keeps the bar open most of the time.
“Seriously, Kyle,” Jane says in exasperation, and I’ll admit… it’s cute. Even that eye roll she just gave me. “You totally don’t want to waste your day in a bar when you could be spending it with me.”
I raise a dubious eyebrow.
“Because,” she finishes with an impish grin. “As I’m your only friend here, it’s my duty to show you the surrounding sights. Bar Harbor is amazing, and there’s a great bookstore there I thought I’d show you, and then, if you wanted, we could hike a bit over in Acadia National Park.”
And fuck if that doesn’t sound a hell of a lot better than sitting in a drab bar all day.
But still… I have to consider this carefully. First, I don’t want Jane to get the wrong impression if I agree to spend the day with her. It will have to be just as friends. And second, I have to weigh the risk. While there’s no proof that anyone is really looking for me, there is safety in being in a small town. If someone had located me and were watching, they’d be a lot easier to recognize here than in Bar Harbor.
“Come on, Kyle,” Jane says with an exaggerated whine. “I don’t want to go over there by myself. Miranda’s working and my parents are doing yardwork, so if you don’t go, I won’t, and I’ll be stuck planting petunias all day at their house.”
Hmm… well, it does sound like she’s only viewing me as a friend. And apparently a friend who’s low on the list, as she’d considered spending the day first with Miranda and secondly with her parents.
Now I’m not sure how that makes me feel. I should be relieved, but part of me is a little put out by that. I mean, it was just four days ago she’d her hand pressed up against my dick and it felt so good I was afraid I’d make a fool of myself.