Chapters (38)
- Copyright
- Author's Note
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- A Gansett Island Short Story
- Acknowledgements
- I Want to Hold Your Hand
- Other Books By Marie Force
- About The Author
- Marie's Upcoming Events
She folded her arms and looked down at the wooden dock. “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t plan for anything beyond introducing myself.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
“No, I was going to take the ferry back tonight.”
“You should stay. Spend a little time here. See what you think of the place.” He was about to offer up one of the empty bedrooms at his house when he stopped himself, knowing he couldn’t do that until he talked to Linda. “We own that place up there on the hill.” He pointed to the hotel that sat just outside the entrance to the marina. “Go on up there, tell them I sent you and to bill me for your stay.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I wouldn’t feel right.”
“I’m inviting you to be my guest, but if you’d rather not stay, I understand. I would like your phone number, though.”
She seemed to be engaged in an argument with herself as she weighed what he’d said. “I’ll stay for tonight.”
“Good,” he said with a smile. “See that house up there on the hill? The white one?”
“Yes.”
“That’s my place. Come for dinner tonight.”
“You can’t just invite me without talking to your wife first.”
“Funny, you’ve never met my wife and yet you seem to already have her figured out.”
“I’m a woman, Mr. McCarthy. It doesn’t take a degree in rocket science to predict that this news might take her by surprise.” She withdrew a card from her purse and handed it to him. “My cell number is on there. Call me later after you talk to her, and you won’t hurt my feelings if you tell me I’m not welcome there.”
“Don’t call me Mr. McCarthy. At the very least, call me Big Mac. That’s what everyone calls me.”
“Big Mac,” she said, trying it on for size. “I will. Thank you. You’ve been really nice about all of this, when I wouldn’t have blamed you if you told me to take a hike.”
“I’m not going to do that. I wonder, though, if I could borrow that letter from your mom. I’d like to show it to my wife.”
She pulled the letter from her pocket and handed it to him. “You’ll understand that it’s precious to me—”
“I’ll make sure you get it back.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll call you.”