Page 16 of Killer Honeymoon
Royce stepped up behind Sawyer, snaked an arm around his waist, and propped his chin on Sawyer’s shoulder. “I felt like roadkill when we drove our car onto the ferry, but the blue skies, puffy clouds, and amazing breeze are reviving me quickly.”
Sawyer tilted his head to rest his temple against Royce’s and savored the moment and the man he shared it with. “How do you feel about dinner at The Boardwalk tonight?” Sawyer asked, knowing Royce was nuts for their lobster bisque. He could tell by the contented hum that Royce was reminiscing about their last meal at the restaurant.
“As good as that sounds, I think I’m too tired to tango with the tourists. Maybe after a night of good rest.”
“What if I place a takeout order and we pick it up so we can eat at home?” Sawyer asked.
Royce’s breath hitched. “Naked?”
“Well, I think the tourists would prefer I wear clothes when strolling down the street, but if you think—”
Royce cut him off with a sexy growl, stepped to the side, and turned Sawyer to face him. “You know damn well what I meant.”
Sawyer was momentarily struck by how beautiful his husband looked with his windblown hair and pirate’s smile. Royce’s sunglasses hid the expression in his eyes, but Sawyer still felt the heat radiating from his intense gaze. “Guess it depends on how risky you’re feeling. It would be mighty uncomfortable if you dribbled hot bisque on certain parts.” The ones Sawyer had plans for later.
“You make a good point,” Royce replied. “I’d settle for hot dogs on the grill at this point, but if you want to venture out for lobster bisque, I won’t put up a fight.”
The ferry ride to the island took less than twenty minutes, and the drive to the lake house would’ve taken less than two if not for having to navigate the hundreds of tourists on golf carts. A sense of peace washed over Sawyer when they pulled up to the sand and stone cottage and parked beneath the attached carport. It was located far enough from the party crowd in Put-in-Bay to offer sanctuary from the rowdiness but close enough to walk or ride bikes to every place they wanted to visit.
The lake cottage on South Bass Island had been in the Key family for decades. Barron had been born in nearby Sandusky, and most of his family still lived there. Sawyer and Royce had plans to meet up with them for dinner before returning to Savannah. As far back as Sawyer could remember, his parents had loaded them all into the car for a long road trip to Ohio, which culminated in two weeks on the island he loved so much. The cottage had recently undergone some renovations to modernize the home while maintaining its original charm.
“This house looks like it belongs on one of the shows you watch on Acorn TV,” Royce said. “The quirky thing about this little island is that none of the houses match. We passed a Gothic revival mansion that looked like it was plucked from Savannah and dropped here. This looks like a cottage from the Cotswolds, and your neighbors’ homes represent every era since the nineteen twenties.”
“Eclectic,” Sawyer said. “So far, the island has avoided the pitfalls of most vacation destinations. I think these are generational homes, and the families refuse to sell to developers who’ll turn the properties into a string of soulless condos. At least not so far on this part of the island. I’ve noticed more condos popping up on the other side each time we’ve visited.”
Royce headed to the back of the SUV to start unpacking while Sawyer headed to the front door to punch in the code Evangeline had given him. His parents were savvy investors and had quickly recouped the money spent on renovations. Evangeline had hired a property manager to maintain the home between guests, and she’d been thrilled with the partnership. Sawyer understood why when he opened the door and stepped inside the immaculate cottage. The cool air smelled like citrus and sunshine, and he breathed it in, grateful to be in one of his favorite places with his absolute favorite person.
The interior of the cottage was an open floor plan. From the front door, Sawyer could see the lake, dock, and beach through the wall of windows at the rear of the home. Evangeline had chosen a light and airy color palette of whites, blues, and grays, making the interior feel like an extension of the outdoors. Sawyer’s favorite features were the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplaces in the living room in the front of the house and the family room with the wall of windows at the back. Sawyer thought the décor gave just enough of a nod to the lake-cottage theme without being too kitschy.
He turned around and headed outside to help Royce unload their vehicle and was surprised to find him deep in conversation with Frank Benjamin, who lived across the street. Frank was a lifelong islander whose connection to the island dated back over a hundred years. Many found him abrasive, but Sawyer had bonded with Frank over lemonade, board games, and his wife, Betsy’s, homemade cookies. The man had lived an interesting life, first as a soldier and later as a commercial fisherman. He and Betsy had never had any children, and Frank enjoyed passing his wisdom on to a younger generation. Frank had to be nearing his midseventies but seemed just as physically spry as he’d been in his forties, though his personality had drastically changed after losing Betsy a decade ago. He’d grown weary and bitter over the years as he fought against developers who’d swooped in and turned part of the island into an endless party hub.
Frank turned his head as Sawyer approached. His hair and beard were as thick and white as ever. His skin was a little leathery after spending his life in the sun without protection. He smiled, and his pale blue eyes twinkled with delight, giving Sawyer a glimpse of the happier man who’d taught him how to play backgammon and Clue. Frank liked to joke that he had inspired Sawyer to become an investigator, and maybe on some level, he had. His fondness for Sawyer hadn’t waned over the years, and he’d extended it to Royce when they’d first met. Frank had been a little standoffish at first until Royce complimented his flower beds, and then the two of them had become tighter than a fist.
“I heard from your fella that congratulations are in order,” Frank said, extending his hand to Sawyer, who shook it.
“Thank you, Frank. It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”
The older man huffed out a frustrated sigh. “Things are getting terrible around here.”
Before Sawyer could ask what Frank meant, a golf cart loaded down with loud, obnoxious people careened down the street and made a sharp turn into the driveway next to Frank’s. The driver, a raven-haired guy, waited until the last minute to slam on the brakes, and the two young ladies sitting illegally on the back of the thing fell onto the pavement. Sawyer started to go over to see if they were okay, but the blonde and brunette ladies laughed hysterically as they drunkenly pulled themselves to their feet. The driver and his ginger-haired buddy climbed out of the golf cart and walked to the back. The two frat boys were as douchey as they came. The blonde lady had a bloody scrape on her thigh, which the two buffoons found hilarious. They pointed and doubled over laughing.
“Damn it,” Frank said. “None of them drowned today.”
The older man had always been prickly, but Sawyer was stunned by the vehement tone in his voice. Before he could react, the injured blonde screeched something at the raven-haired driver. Then she threw the rest of her drink in his face before limping toward the front door. Her brunette friend had frozen in shock but recovered quickly and ran after her.
“Hey!” the doused douchebag screamed. “You’re the dumb bitch who didn’t hold on.” He started to go after the girls, but the ginger guy grabbed his arm. They exchanged a few quiet words, then looked across the street and locked eyes with the trio observing them.
“Hey, Frank,” the ginger frat boy called out.
“Fuck off,” Frank replied.
Sawyer bit his lip to keep from laughing, but Royce didn’t show the same restraint. The young punks flipped Frank off and stomped toward the house.
“Drop dead, old man,” the black-haired frat boy said as he yanked open the storm door.
“I guarantee I’ll outlive both of your stupid asses,” Frank yelled back.
Once the three of them were alone again, Sawyer looked at Frank and said, “What the hell kind of trouble have we landed in? And who are those jerks in Mrs. Haggerty’s house?”