Kissing Cousins

by Diana Tobin

  “You can pull in here once I back out. Or, you can park next door.” Web pointed to tracks in the grass next to the driveway.

  “The neighbors won’t mind?”

  “It’s part of our property.”

  Gus moved her car to the grassy drive, leaving it shaded by a huge maple. When she got to the passenger side of Web’s Jeep, he helped her climb into the high seat.

  “Buckle up,” he instructed as he got into the driver’s seat.

  Soon, they were headed south out of town.

  “Is it too much wind for you?” Web asked.

  “No, I like it. A great view, too.” Gus pointed out the windshield. “My car is so low to the ground. I always hate being next to big trucks for fear they won’t see me and squash me like a bug.”

  Web glanced at her. “We can’t have that. We’d better see about getting you another car.”

  “Maybe someday.” Gus was more concerned with the scenery as they drove along.

  Web had no trouble with the traffic in and around Augusta, passing through the state capitol and stopping at a café in Hallowell.

  “I considered taking you to a donut shop, but figured you stopped at enough of those on the way to Webster.” Web held the café door for her to enter.

  “Despite all the ones I saw, I never did stop at one.”

  He stood close to her inside the café’s entrance. “Would you rather go to one?”

  “That’s up to you.” She had trouble meeting his gaze. “Until I start work and get a paycheck, I can’t afford much.” She felt her face flush.

  Web placed a finger under her chin, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “My idea. My treat.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “No argument.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly as a waitress came to show them to a booth by the window.

  Once they each had a cup of coffee and had placed their order, Gus looked at Web. “Why did Emma include me in her will?”

  He sipped his coffee. “Why shouldn’t she?”

  Gus ran her finger around the rim of her coffee mug. “After the way Mom left and never got in touch…” She waved a hand as if searching for the right words. “It must’ve hurt Emma to have her only daughter turn her back on her, never contact her, never tell her she had a granddaughter, or great-granddaughter.”

  “It did,” Web said. “After a few years, Gran treated her loss as if Julia had died. What I mean is, she said she went through all the steps of grief. Gran could be stubborn, too. She felt since Julia was the one who left it was up to her to make amends and return home. Pop wanted to hire a PI to find Julia, see if they couldn’t find a way back to each other, but Gran refused. After Pop died, she decided she should’ve followed his advice.”

  “And found out Mom had died,” Gus finished.

  “Right. But, at the same time, she learned about you and Hope.” He was silent while the waitress brought their meals and refilled their coffee cups. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet her.”

  “Me, too,” Gus said on a sigh, and looked down at her plate. “I won’t need to eat for a week after all this.”

  Web scooped up a bite of hash browns. “We’ll work it off before we have our lobster.”

  Gus was able to eat three-quarters of her meal before pleading mercy so she wouldn’t explode. Web cleaned his plate, then polished off the last few bites of hers.

  “You may have to roll me out of here,” she protested.

  “Won’t work,” he said, as he ushered her out the door. “Jeep’s parked uphill. You’d go the wrong way.”

  Web was about to help Gus into the Jeep when she turned to face him. “Thank you. This was really nice.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Can I ask you something?” At his nod, she said, “Aren’t you angry, upset, hurt,” Gus waved a hand to encompass all emotions, “that Emma left the house to both of us? Your grandfather is the one who built it. Your mother grew up there. It should belong to you.”

  “Remember how I told you before Pop got a divorce from Barbie he sold the house to Gran?” He waited for Gus to nod her acknowledgement. “When Gran and Pop married, Emma tried to deed the house back to him. But, he refused, saying it was his wedding gift to her. Legally, for over thirty years, the house has belonged to Emma. We are the only grandchildren of Emma and Henry, so it’s only right we share the inheritance.”

  “What are you going to do when the year is up?”

  He kissed her forehead and boosted her up into her seat. “We’ll figure it out. Just not today.”

  Web drove south, following the Kennebec River to Woolwich, where he headed for Reid State Park and Sheepscot Bay.

  The tide was out when they got to Reid State Park, so they climbed out over rocks as far as they could. Web told Gus some people believed there were days they could see clear to England. He didn’t happen to be one of them, and felt if land could be seen, it had to be one of the many islands dotting the coastline of Maine.

  After a while they got back in the Jeep, headed back to Woolwich where they turned northeast toward Wiscasset before going south again, this time to explore Boothbay Harbor. After Boothbay, they wound around to Damariscotta, a lovely little town with white church spires and brick buildings, then headed out to Pemaquid Point Lighthouse.

  Gus loved the quaint little fishing villages and pines along the fingers of land that jutted into the Atlantic Ocean.

  Low clouds, or fog—she wasn’t sure which—swirled around the jut of land, playing peek-a-boo with the lighthouse. The light itself sat atop a white tower, while a picket fence enclosed the light keeper’s house, now a museum. A small rowboat sat in the grass in front of the tower.

  Web led Gus around the structure to the rocks below, where they climbed out to watch the water pound and roar against the boulders. Gus turned back to see the lighthouse disappear as fog swirled between them and the beacon, only to reappear moments later as the wind whisked away the fog.

  Web stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her body. “You should have put on your jacket.” His mouth was next to her ear.

  She shook her head, despite the goose bumps on her arms. “No, it feels wonderful.” Gus looked up and over her shoulder at him. Web was on a boulder above her so her head met the middle of his chest. “Thank you for bringing me.”

  “My pleasure.” He continued to hold her, warming her, rubbing his chin on the top of her head in a gentle caress. “You let me know when you’ve had enough and we’ll go inside so you can sign the guest book.”

  She patted the arm around her waist and turned so he could hear her over the roar of the waves. “You’ll have to tell me—” Her lips were against his.

  “Tell you what?” he said against her mouth.

  “What?” Gus could all but taste the cinnamon on his breath from the candy he’d chewed as they drove.

  She should break the contact. She should take a step back.

  She should grab on to Web with both hands and dive in.

  He lifted his head as her eyes widened. “Ready to go inside?”

  She didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to push him to the ground, or climb onto a higher rock, and explore his spice-scented mouth with her own. She wanted to dip her tongue between his lips and taste that spice for herself. She wanted–

  It didn’t matter what she wanted. She’d been told often enough she couldn’t kiss worth a damn, so there was no way Web would want her to kiss him. He didn’t see her that way. They were cousins.

  She took a step back and slid on the rocks.

  Web’s hold on her tightened, bringing her firmly against the front of his body.

  Gus felt a hard length against her tummy, but dismissed it. Web was all man, so he couldn’t help his reaction to having a female body pressed to his. It didn’t mean anything. Hadn’t Steve told her often enough how difficult it was to get truly aroused when he was with her?

  Web couldn’t be aroused because of her. Could he?

&nb
sp; She held on to Web’s arms until she had her feet firmly on the rocks. “Sure. Let’s go in.”

  Carefully, she stepped around him and climbed back up to the yard of the lighthouse.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When they left Pemaquid Point Lighthouse, they made their way back to Route 1 and headed for Port Clyde, the location of Marshall Point Lighthouse. A wooden dock led from the light keeper’s yard to the lighthouse. Gusta claimed she enjoyed the museum in the former light keeper’s home. Web thought she enjoyed keeping her distance from him; which wasn’t easy, considering the small space.

  They had practically kissed at Pemaquid, and he had no problem with that. Truth be told, he wanted a lot more from Gusta than a few kisses, but only when she was ready. Maybe that had been the problem. Was he rushing her? Sure, he’d gladly take her home and head straight to bed. Hers or his, didn’t matter. He was pretty sure she needed more time, and he was willing to give it to her, but he wasn’t going to do it from far away.

  After Port Clyde, they headed toward Rockland, stopping to see Owl’s Head Lighthouse.

  “We have to walk in a bit to see this one,” Web said as he parked.

  “I don’t mind.” Gusta slipped out of the Jeep before he could assist her.

  They followed a trail through the pines.

  “Look here.” Web placed his hand at her waist to guide her to a small clearing along the path overlooking the ocean. He stayed close, his hand still on her, as they watched two sailboats glide over the water. “Ready to go on?”

  “Yes.” Gusta turned back the way they’d come. When they were back on the main path she glanced back at him. “Just making sure you’re still there.”

  He grinned at her. “You can’t lose me.”

  A long set of wooden steps led up to Owl’s Head Light. The lighthouse wasn’t open to the public, but they could climb the steps to peek in the window or for a view of the bay. A small cottage stood at the bottom of the lighthouse, proclaiming it to be the property of Coast Guard personnel.

  “Family man, here,” Web said.

  Gusta grinned at him. “You don’t think Barbie jeeps are standard issue for the Coast Guard?” She pointed to the small pink vehicle parked in front of the cottage. “And, it could be family woman.”

  “Huh?”

  “A member of the Coast Guard is not necessarily male.”

  “I stand corrected. It was a slip of the tongue.” He bobbed his eyebrows, thinking of a few places he’d like to slip his tongue. He ushered her up the steps ahead of him.

  Gusta peered in the window when they reached the top. “Not much to see in there.”

  Web was happy with his view. The hem of Gusta’s pants flirted with the calves of her smooth, shapely legs. The denim clung to her rounded bottom, making his palms itch to be pressed against her. Better yet, to have his hands pressed to her bottom as she was pressed against him.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping to hide what was happening inside his cargo shorts.

  “Oh, look at the view,” she said.

  Web was looking. The breeze molded Gusta’s tee shirt to her breasts, outlining the perfect roundness and peaks in the centers. “Beautiful,” he said hoarsely.

  “It is,” she agreed, her gaze on the horizon. At long last, she turned to face him with a slight smile. “I can’t believe this, but I’m actually getting hungry. What about you?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m hungry, too.”

  Web clambered down the steps, waiting for her at the bottom. Gusta descended slowly, looking out over the water rather than at her feet. “We can come back again.”

  She stopped on the step above him. “I know. I’m just enjoying it so much.” She reached over to give him a quick hug. “Thank you for bringing me today.”

  Web nodded, secretly thrilled at her spontaneous touch.

  Gusta had taken a few steps down the path to the parking lot when Web caught up with her, slipping his hand around hers. “Let’s go find some lahbstahs,” he drawled.

  “Am I going to have to start talking like that now that I live in Maine?” She was smiling.

  Web squeezed her hand. “Ayuh!”

  Back at the Jeep, Web all but lifted Gusta into her seat, his hands lingering at her waist.

  “Thanks.” The sound she made was close to a giggle. “I’m getting the hang of this.” He started to fasten her seatbelt. “Web, I’m a big girl. I can do this.”

  “Uh, right.” He watched her slide the buckle into place, then sprinted around the back of his Jeep.

  They headed back up Route 1 and stopped at a lobster pound on the outskirts of Rockland.

  “Nothing fancy here,” Web warned her. “Just good fresh lobster. You can pick out which one you want.”

  The building wasn’t much more than a shack with a huge tank of live lobsters just inside the door. Black lobsters crawled and climbed over each other in the water, looking like giant bugs.

  “I thought they’d be red.”

  Web rubbed a hand on her shoulder. “Not until they’re cooked.” He pointed to a large vat of boiling water sitting next to the tank of lobsters.

  Gusta moved closer to him as if afraid she’d end up in the cooking water.

  “You want me to pick them out?”

  “Please. Uh…” She looked around at the few tables in the building. “Why don’t I get us a table?”

  He turned her back to the door and walked them around the corner. “There’s a table over there on the deck. Grab that one, and I’ll bring out drinks once I place our order.”

  “’Kay.” She hurried over to the picnic table at the corner of the deck and sat with her back to the building. She watched the boats come into Penobscot Bay, and the others, farther out in the water. Stacks of wire cages were lined up along the dock and to the side of the building.

  Web set down two bottles of water on the table before sitting on the opposite side. “Would you rather have something else to drink?”

  “No, this is good. Thanks.” She opened one bottle, taking a few sips. “What are the cages for?” She pointed over the deck railing.

  “Those are lobster traps. They used to be made of wood. Each fisherman, or lobsterman, has his own color buoy to identify his traps. And, yes, there are lobster-women, but they don’t ask for the distinction.” Web took a drink of his own water and gazed out over the harbor. “It’s a hard life.”

  “Did you ever want to be a lobsterman?”

  “No. Got a few friends who are. When I think about them and how hard they work, I know I’m not spending enough for my lobster.” His gaze left the water to focus on hers. “I got into sports, instead. I’ve enjoyed my years of skating and competing.”

  “What do you do now? Are you still competing?”

  He shook his head. “I’m done with it for myself. I want more of a life than continually training and going from one meet to the next. I want to coach.”

  “Can you do that here? I mean, in Webster?”

  “No, that’s what I’ve been working on. I want to get an ice rink built. A training center.” He met her eyes. “Webster is a good location; not too far from Farmington where the university is located, not too far from Augusta, or even Portland and Bangor. I’m hoping once we can get it built, it will provide jobs for those in the area, too.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Is that what you plan to do with the proceeds from the house?”

  Web frowned at her in puzzlement. “You mean our house?” At her nod, he continued. “The house has nothing to do with this. I have investors. We’re getting someone to draw up plans, then we need to work on getting permits, and start construction. The idea would be to have a place for figure skating, speed skating, hockey, maybe even curling.”

  A man called Web’s name and he looked up. “That’s our meals. Be right back.” He rose from the bench and crossed the deck to the shack.

  True to his word, Web returned immediately, a tray in each hand. He set one in fron
t of Gusta, the other in front of him and resumed his seat. “Be careful. They’re hot.”

  A plastic tray held a placemat with a bright red lobster sitting in the middle. Also on the tray were a nutcracker, a seafood fork, and a small dish of melted butter.

  “I don’t know where to start,” Gusta said.

  “I didn’t get us any sides. You could have fries, corn, or coleslaw, but I figured for your first time, we’d concentrate on just the lobster.” Web reached across the table for her lobster. He broke off each claw from the body, each skinny leg, then separated the tail from the body and head. “The claw meat will be the most tender. If we were home, I’d cut through the tail to get the meat out. Wait, I’ve got my…” He reached into a pocket and came up with a pocketknife.

  He bent the tail back, then sliced the underside membrane so she could pull out the meat. “That should get you started. Unless you’re adventurous with your food, leave the head and body alone.”

  Gusta pushed that part of her lobster to the side of her tray and watched as Web broke his own lobster apart. He pulled the tail meat out of the opened shell with his fingers, and Gusta followed suit. Web held the succulent white meat in his fingers, dipped it in the cup of butter, before taking a bite.

  He watched Gusta follow his example. “What do you think?”

  “Mmm. Like nothing I’ve ever had before.” She licked at the butter on her lips. “I feel like a kid, eating this way.”

  He grinned at her. “It is messy. Did you want a bib?”

  “Am I that bad?” Gusta looked down at herself.

  “No. Any place you get lobster usually offers a bib, mostly plastic, to protect your clothes.” He’d finished his chunk of tail meat and began cracking one of the claws. “If you get smutz on your shirt, I’ll get you a new one.”

  “Which part of the lobster is the smutz? Is that what’s in this part?” She tapped the head she’d set aside.

  Web chuckled. “That’s called the tamale. Smutz is a technical term to cover anything from seawater to butter drips.”

  “Good to know.” She devoured her tail meat and started working on a claw. “Where I come from, tamale is a Mexican dish.”