Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

“Uh-huh. Get the basket. We don’t want all that food going to waste.”
     
    “Of course I care about you,” he offered stiffly.
     
    Regina looked at him like he was the restaurant cat and he’d just deposited a dead mouse at her feet. “Don’t throw me a bone,” she said. “I
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    told you I love you. You don’t love me back, that’s my loss and your problem.”
     
    “My father claimed to love my mother.”
     
    She set her hands on her hips just above the line of red elastic. “So?
    I’m not your father. If you leave me, I’m not going off on a drunken twenty-year bender. I had a life before you came. I’ll have a life when you’re gone. But I’m not going to hide or lie about how I feel because you might be threatened by it.”
     
    She was blazing. Furious.
     
    “Are you done?” he asked.
     
    “I guess.”
     
    “Good.” He picked her up in his arms and jumped with her over the side.
     
    Water rushed over their heads, cutting off her shriek.
     
    She surfaced sputtering and clutching at him. “You son of a bitch!
    Are you out of your mind?”
     
    He buoyed her up, felt her shiver with shock and cold.“Scared?” he demanded.
     
    She glared, her hair dripping in her eyes. “I’m wet.”
     
    “Out of your element.”
     
    “Yes!”
     
    “Over your head?”
     
    She squinted, adjusting her grip on his neck. “I . . . so?”
     
    “Me, too,” he confessed.
     
    She gaped at him. He kissed her open mouth until her lips warmed and her body was soft and fluid, until her fingers tangled in his hair and they almost bobbed back under the water.
     
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    If he was going down, he was damn well taking her with him.
     
    *
     
    The grill hissed; the fryer belched steam. The smell of the hot grease turned Regina’s stomach.
     
    She pressed her lips together and drizzled olive oil over a piece of swordfish. Baked potato, butter, broccoli, done.
     
    “Order up,” she called.
     
    Heat rolled from the pizza oven as Antonia slid out one medium pepperoni-mushroom and slid in a large with clams.
     
    Regina reached for another ticket. Two chowders, two pastas. She ladled the soup into cups and added crackers.
     
    Lucy grabbed the swordfish from the line, looking hot and harried.
    “The dining room’s packed. Is dinner always like this?”
     
    “Nope. Guess closing for a day was good for business.”
     
    Antonia snorted and zipped the cutter over the pizza. “You getting kidnapped was good for business. Every fool in town’s been in to have a look at you.”
     
    Regina shrugged. “They’re going to talk. They’ve got to eat. We might as well make money.”
     
    “They’re talking all right,” Antonia said a bit grimly. She set the pizza on the pass and began shaping another crust.
     
    Another cramp hit. Regina pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, praying she wouldn’t be sick.
     
    “Sit down before you fall down,” her mother snapped.
     
    Regina swallowed and stirred the pasta bubbling on the cook top.
    “I’m fine. Tired, that’s all.”
     
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    “Tired, or pregnant?” Antonia asked.
     
    Regina’s gaze jerked to hers.
     
    Antonia nodded. “When were you going to tell me?”
     
    Regina felt a pressure in the center of her chest like heartburn. Or shame. She added shrimp to the chili peppers and tomatoes simmering on the stove, stirring to coat them in the sauce. “I . . . Soon. I didn’t want you to think . . . I feel so stupid.”
     
    “Hm. When are you going to tell him?” Antonia pursed her lips toward the dining room, where Dylan watched the door.
     
    At least her mother didn’t have to ask who the father was.
     
    “He already knows,” Regina said, covering the pan.
     
    Antonia crossed her arms over her tomato-stained apron. “And?”
     
    “And . . .” Regina sighed. “He’s still around.”
     
    For now. She watched as Hercules wound through the dining room, moving with unusual purpose for a feline, and butted his flat, broad head against Dylan’s knee. Hungry for some sign of affection.
     
    You and me both, cat.
     
    “That’s something,” Antonia said.
     
    Regina smiled weakly. It was, indeed, something. Dylan might be out of his element and over his head, but he had not abandoned them. He reached down absently and scratched Hercules under the jaw.
     
    “He wanted us to go with him, you know,” Antonia said abruptly.
     
    Regina stopped watching Dylan with the cat. “Excuse me?”
     
    “Your father. He