Dom walks over to the nightstand and picks up a small wooden ship. A smile touches his lips. I wrap my arms around him from behind, resting my head against his back.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hello.”

“What’s up, the World’s Most Perfect Guy?”

“Please stop calling me that. You make me sound like Chris Evans, and he looks like a douche.” He puts the small woodwork down, turning around to gather me in his arms. “See that little ship I was holding?”

“Yeah.” I peek behind his shoulder to take a better look at it. It’s handcrafted, made from rosewood, with a long mast and yellow linen.

“When Seph and I were small and we used to come here, we would play with that ship all the time. In this specific room, actually. That’s why I asked for it. We had this thing where we always tried to steal the ship when it was time to leave, and my mom always caught us and made us put it back. It was exasperating.” He lets out a little laugh.

“And adorable,” I add.

“Sure. The first decade. We did it until I was a junior in college.”

Laughing, I kiss his chin. “And you couldn’t find a replica?”

He shakes his head. “Apparently, hundreds of hours are required to complete one model, and the design belongs to this woodturner who died decades ago. I found models that came close, but never an identical. And anyway, it’s about the nostalgia. This ship symbolizes cartwheels on the beach, lobster rolls, and Mom and Dad making out when they thought we weren’t looking.” He shudders comically.

Jealousy sinks its claws into me when I picture his family. They sound like a normal happy family. I remind myself that they’ve had their fair share of disasters. That I, too, have precious memories with my family. Even if they’re now tainted by what I’ve done.

“So what do you wanna do tonight?” I ask, giving Dom my back so I can unpack, but also because I don’t want him to see whatever’s on my face.

“You,” he deadpans. “Kidding. There’s a place down the road. You’re going to love it. They have the best stuffed quahog. And then we’ll have lobster ice cream.”

I can’t unhear Dom’s joke. It’s not like it hasn’t occurred to me. That he brought us here so he could seal the deal. A Sean Dunham move, only with more finesse. This is not the Ritz-Carlton after a couple of weeks of fooling around but a charming, nostalgic inn after four weeks. Still . . . I don’t know if I like that the decision for us to have sex was one sided.

“Lobster ice cream?” I gag. “Is that a thing?”