Page 74 of A Very Happy Easter

“There should be basic groceries in the kitchen—I paid extra for that. We could get dinner together?”

“Sure. You’re the boss.”

Even though Heath said that in a jokey way, I hated it. I hated the transactional nature of our relationship, even though there were times when it felt like so much more. Most of the time, actually.

And I wanted the “more,” but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I could reciprocate.

I backed away.

“The pool is calling me. I’m going to sit outside and unwind with a book.”

“Think I’ll go for a swim and then scout out the area.” Heath flashed me a smile. “Old habits die hard.”

Salma was a dead woman. I didn’t care how many Easter eggs she managed to rehome; her next stop would be the morgue.

Me

Are you freaking kidding?

I snapped a photo of the pile of flimsy bikinis that had somehow replaced my carefully selected one-piece bathing suits and attached it to the message, then added an angry emoji.

Salma

You’ll look hot.

Me

I don’t want to look hot. I want to look frigid.

Salma

You’re on a private beach with Heath. Live a little.

Me

Sometimes I don’t like you at all.

Salma

Hell, how was I supposed to wear these? I had the choice of padded and push-up, tiny triangles, or a complicated arrangement of straps. I glanced out the window and saw Heath bandage-free and walking down to the beach. Shirtless. Damn, those back muscles…

Only after he’d disappeared into the waves did I pick out the highest-waisted pair of bikini bottoms and a matching top. It gave me cleavage. Way, way too much cleavage. My kaftans had vanished too, replaced by sarongs and the beachwear equivalent of negligees.

Me

You are so fired.

Salma

Guess I’ll just leave all these Easter eggs here then.

Arrrgh. I slathered on sunscreen where I could reach, picked out one of the sixteen paperbacks I’d brought with me, and headed for the pool. The story held little appeal. After I’d tried reading the first page six times, I gave in and watched Heath stroking back and forth in the bay. Smooth and steady, relaxed but strong. He swam for an hour, and I hurriedly pretended to read when he emerged from the water in dripping board shorts.

“Good swim?”

“I could get used to this.”

“How are your hands?”