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“What?”
“The kitchen door was open this morning,” she says.
My foot eases down on the brakes, and I pull over, bumping my tires onto the curb.
“What?”
“The kitchen door was unlocked and open a little,” she says. “But I’ve been double-checking it each night. Grant has the keys, so it might be him, but I don’t see why he would come by on a Sunday when we’re closed for?—”
I start the engine again and take off down the street.
“Taylor,” she says. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you home.” I speed past her diner.
“That—” Marci turns in her seat. “That was my home.”
“Not there. Your home. My home. The cottage. You’re staying with me from now on.”
“What the fuck? You’ve lost it, Taylor. I amnotstaying with you.”
Heat spreads down the back of my neck, and I clutch the wheel so hard, my hands shake with red hot rage I am not accustomed to. I’m supposed to be the calm guy, the funny guy, but I want to find the motherfucker who threatened her and tear him limb from limb.
“We’re already staying under the same roof,” I say, through gritted teeth. “Doesn’t make a difference if we stay at your place or mine.”
“It does! The diner?—”
“I’ll drive you to work each morning, or we can get your car, and you can drive yourself,” I say. “Marci, it is not safe there. I wouldn’t suggest this unless I seriously thought you were indanger. The kitchen door being unlocked isfucked. You’re not going to call the cops, and we have a deal that I would protect you, which makes this my responsibility.”
“Taylor.”
“No.”
I pull up outside my cottage on Boiler. It’s ensconced between shrubs with a view of the ocean, and it’s a place that usually brings me peace, particularly since it’s at the end of the street with my closest neighbor twenty feet away.
“Taylor.”
“No,” I repeat. “You are my wife, and I have a responsibility to uphold my side of the deal. I can’t protect you properly when there are people who have the keys to your diner coming and going as they please, and when you refuse to install an alarm.”
“I can’t afford an alarm!”
“Then let me install one for you.”
“No!”
“Fine.”
I get out of the car and march over to her side. I open the door, reach in, and unclip her seatbelt.
“What are you?—?”
I grab her around the waist and lift her out of the car.
Marci lets out a shriek as I put her over my shoulder and carry her toward the front door. The distant sound of waves crashing on the beach doesn’t mute her complaints, unfortunately.
“What do you think you’re doing,” she says and smacks me on the back. “You put me down right away, or I’ll—I’ll scream!”
“You’re already screaming.”
