Truly, Madly, Whiskey(50)
“And all I want to do is make sure it stays there.”
They visited a few more stores and stopped at a café for lunch. After Bear ordered fries, Crystal added a milk shake to her order.
Bear dunked a fry in her milk shake and fed it to her, watching her intently as her mouth closed around it. “You are totally into dipping my fry in your milk shake.”
“If you’re still figuring that out, you’re miles behind,” she teased.
They kissed for the millionth time, and she hoped they’d kiss a million more.
The waitress told them about the island’s weekly Sunday market down by the water and an observation deck located off of Ocean Drive, where they could see the wild ponies in their natural habitat. When they were done eating, they walked down to the market, passing rows of small, weather-beaten cottages.
“It’s nice getting out of town for something other than seeing my mother.”
“We’ll go on lots of rides together.” He smiled and added, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to take off on my bike with you?”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to come around. But you’re a little intimidating—in a good way, not a scary way. Just being around you made my pulse go bonkers. There is no easing into Bear territory.” She gazed up at the bright sun, enjoying the warmth on her cheeks.
“Don’t be sorry, babe. I’d have waited longer. I might have gotten frustrated, but I wouldn’t have given up until you told me I had no chance.”
“What a load of bull that is.” She laughed. “I told you dozens of times that nothing would happen between us.”
“Verbally, yes. But your eyes told a different story.”
She knew that was true. Gemma had told her as much. “I’m glad you were so perceptive.”
When they reached the market, the road was blocked off with orange and white construction barriers. Helium balloons danced in the breeze, and a bright blue banner stretched across the road that read SUNDAY MARKET. Beyond the barriers, crowds of people milled about beneath a sea of white canopies. They joined the crowd passing booths selling fruits and vegetables, homemade jams and jellies, arts and crafts, and beaded jewelry. The scent of popcorn hung in the air from a vendor at the end of the street.
“Baby cakes, check this out.” He nodded toward a T-shirt vendor, where a short, stocky man was talking with customers while a tall, thin woman worked an iron press. “I want to get Kennedy and Lincoln a little something.”
They looked through the children’s shirts.
“How about these?” she suggested, holding up T-shirts that said I love Mommy and I love Daddy.
“Those are always good choices,” the man behind the table said, flashing a kind smile.
“Can I get something custom-made?” Bear asked.
“Sure.” The man grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. “What would you like?”
“I’d like a girl’s size-three pink T-shirt that says ‘I love Uncle Bear,’ but spell ‘Bear’ with an ‘H’ instead of an ‘R.’” Bear lowered his voice and said to Crystal, “She needs something unique, like you.” To the man, he said, “And I’ll take a black T-shirt for a one-year-old boy that says, ‘Future Dark Knight,’ with a ‘K.’”
“No one can say you aren’t the best uncle ever,” Crystal said as the man and woman began working on his order. “While you’re waiting, I’m going to use the restroom.” She pointed at a sign for the restrooms.
“I’ll go with you as soon as he’s done.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m a big girl.” He kissed her like she was going off to war, and then he kissed her again until she laughed into the kiss. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Seems like a long time to me.” He held her hand as she stepped away, his fingers slipping down to her fingertips and then finally breaking away.
She followed the signs to the public bathrooms and waited in line to use the facilities. Afterward, as she washed her hands, she took a long look at herself in the mirror. She felt different inside, but she was amazed at how different she looked, too. Her eyes seemed clearer, and even her skin seemed to glow. She wished her father could see her now. He’d be happy for her, and proud of her for doing so well. It was a good feeling, thinking of him, and she smiled all the way back to the market.
Bear was talking with a thickly bearded guy at another booth. The backpack was fuller than before, and she assumed he’d already gotten the kids’ shirts. She asked the vendor to make her a shirt, and after she paid for it, she waited for Bear to finish his conversation. She held the shirt behind her back, bouncing on her toes, trying—and failing—to contain her excitement.
Bear turned, his eyes locking on her as he closed the distance between them. When he was a few steps away, she whipped the shirt from behind her back and held it up, watching as he read the gold letters. Dip me in honey and feed me to Bear.
He crushed her to him, kissing her hard, like a tsunami about to unleash its wrath.
“Careful, sugar,” he said gruffly. “You’re poking a starving bear.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be careful. Maybe I like poking my starving bear.”
Chapter Eleven