“Oh my god,” I mutter, my mouth full of crab cake, my eyes almost rolling back into my head with how delicious it is. “This is…seriously, how do they get such good seafood up in the mountains? This tastes like it was caught this morning!”
“I think it was,” Ivan replies, equally intent on a lobster tail. “I think they’ve got a guy whose whole job is to drive up from the shore in the mornings with the freshest catch. Then he goes back at night.”
“A lot of lonely hours on the road,” I murmur, nodding seriously, “but he’s doing God’s work.”
I take a final bite and then, groaning, lean on the backrest of the queen-sized lounge positioned on my father’s third-floor deck, looking out over the scenery. We’re eating al fresco tonight and the view is…amazing. Just treetops and mountain peaks
