I set my plate down in front of his and went back to get the wine and glasses.
Morgan pushed one of the shrimp in circles with his fork.
“You won’t know how it tastes if you don’t eat it.” I poured him a glass of wine.
He moved it to the other side of his plate, then back.
I sat across from him, but the table was so small our knees touched.
I cut a slice out of the salmon steak I’d put on my plate.
Morgan dug the fingers of his free hand into the edge of the table, his jawline tense.
I bit into one of the butterfly shrimp. Garlic, butter, it slid over my pallet, yet I still didn’t taste it. Not with the bundle of tension in front of me.
Morgan stabbed the shrimp he’d been herding, and he brought it to his lips.
I ate another one.
Morgan’s bangs parted enough to reveal his eyes. They tracked the room behind me before landing on the crustacean impaled on his fork and flicking away again.
“After we’re done eating, I’ll call Bill tonight to see if he located a dock.” I dipped a piece of lobster in butter.
“Don’t distract me.” Morgan exhaled hard enough to pop his cheeks. “Does it taste like fish? And is it tilapia kinda fish or catfish, because I prefer catfish. The lightly breaded kind with some salt in the batter, not a lot of pepper, and not plain.”
“It tastes like shrimp.”
“That’s not very helpful.” Morgan clenched his eyes shut and took a bite.
He chewed.
And I sat there frozen with a piece of lobster about a half-inch from my mouth, waiting for his reaction.
Morgan slowed in his chewing and opened his eyes. His brows came together, and he wrinkled his nose.
“Is it bad or good?”
He swallowed. “I’m not sure.” He took another bite, this time he picked at the remnants on his fork, plucking off bits of white meat. “Tastes…”
“Like shrimp?”
He ate the rest on his fork and stabbed another. He ate it too. “This isn’t bad.”
“Then you like it.”
“Like is an awfully strong word. Right now, it’s not bad. I might like it tomorrow.”
“Speaking of tomorrow, we need to go grocery shopping.” The Starry Night had the basics: canned foods, dry foods, but no fresh meats.
At home, we kept beer in the cooler built into the boat . The insulation was good enough it generally took at least a week before I had to add more ice to it.
The boat also had a small fridge. It ran off of a battery charged by a solar panel. I’d just put a fresh loaf of bread in there, and other fixings for sandwiches.
No, I never thought we’d take the Starry Night out, but it didn’t mean Morgan and I hadn’t made use of the king-sized bed, where we’d lay there tangled up in the sheets and watching the stars.
I’d even wired up a tablet to watch movies on.
When we’d first finished the boat, we stayed there almost every night, but as Morgan grounded himself, we made our way back to the house.
Even then, there were quiet days we’d sit making a list of things to order just because it was something to do with the Starry Night and it gave us a reason to spend the night outside.
“We should have gotten a small grill.” Morgan cut up his steak.
“They’ll probably have one at the grocery store.”
“The Frugal Mart doesn’t have them.” He ate.
“No, but the one at home doesn’t cater to a bunch of unprepared tourists.”
Morgan paused with another shrimp on his fork. “I’ve never been a tourist.” He at the shrimp. “Funny, it doesn’t feel any different than being a local. But maybe it takes a while to set in. Like sunburn. You don’t realize just how barbequed you are till you step into the shower.”
I laughed a little. “Yeah, I’d say that’s about how it is.”
Morgan picked up a scallop. “I wonder what made someone decide to cut out the muscle in a scallop and cook it?”
“No idea, but it tastes great.” I ate one and so did Morgan.
“Doesn’t taste like chicken, fish, or shrimp. But yeah, it’s good. Better than the shrimp.”
“Grocery shopping tomorrow, then?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to go or stay here?”
“I’ll think about it. But I don’t want to get up early.”
“We’ll sleep as long as you want.” I picked up an oyster on the half-shell.
“Is that an oyster?”
“Yup.”
“Is it raw?”
“Absolutely.” I smacked my lips.
“Grant.”
“Yeah?”
“You eat that and you’re not kissing me for a week.”
Needless to say, I didn’t eat the raw oyster.
Chapter Nine
The drive must have taken more of a toll on me than I thought because I’m pretty sure I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
When I’d been in the shipping business, I’d go days without sleeping except for short naps. And when I eventually did sleep, it was always with one eye open.
I’d lost that habit while living in Durstrand. Not that I minded.
But for some reason, all my senses stood on end. That heavy feeling of being watched shoved me free of my dreams into a world where the sun barely crested the horizon bleeding in pinks and purples through the floor-to-ceiling windows by the bed.
I rubbed my face and yawned.
Two large brown eyes regarded me with stern concentration over a long blond muzzle, tipped in a shiny black nose perched on the edge of the mattress.
Dog huffed and wagged his tail.
“Let me guess, you gotta go out?”
He rumbled and tap-danced on his front feet.
I pushed up on an elbow. Morgan lay buried in fat pillows and a down comforter. The golden locks of his hair a tangle at his crown.
“I guess that means I’m nominated for the honor.”
Dog huffed again, turning in circles while he backed up. I climbed from the depths of warmth and comfort. Somehow my jeans had wound up half under the bed. I pulled them on. The first shirt I grabbed was Morgan’s. I found a button-up and was still fighting with the button part when I opened the hotel door.
Dog darted into the hall.
“Hey, you have to behave. No running off. No chasing cars.”
Dog spun in a circle. We made it to the elevator, and he jumped in like he’d done it a million times before.
We made it to the ground floor and Dog barreled out.
“Wait.”
He stopped at the lobby doors where I caught up.
“I’m serious, you have to listen to me. I know I’m not Morgan, but you still have to listen.”
I swear he glared.
I opened the door and Dog bolted across the valet drop-off and pick-up. He trotted around like he was lost.
It hit me, there wasn’t any grass.
But there were large raised concrete planted areas, filled with fancy bushes, bright flowers and creeping vines.
I whistled and he trotted over. I patted the wall surrounding the flower bed.
Dog raised his ears.
“Look, I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Dog made the jump and crawled into the bush. He didn’t even do his usual sniff routine before he lifted his leg on a patch of tall red flowering plants.