by Brisa Starr
“Will you forgive me?” I ask.
Her penetrating eyes lighten, and she stands there, unmoving, except for her blond, superhero hair tendrils whipping in the wind. Then she shrugs and nods. “Apology accepted.”
“Really?” I ask. She nods again, and there’s both a delicacy and strength to her face.
I want to reach out and touch her. I wonder if her hair is as silky as it looks.
“Yeah, why not?” she says. “I have a soft spot for homeless people… and people who apologize.”
I chuckle, and her eyes bore even deeper into mine, and my body heats. I suddenly wonder a lot more about her. I wonder what kinds of things she likes, hates, what she reads, what music she listens to. I wonder what her red lips taste like.
After a moment, she adds, “I’m sorry I said that about your mom. I was just a kid. Like you were, I guess.” A tiny smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, and she says, “So, yeah, I’m sorry, too.”
Fuck. What the hell just happened? My world is spinning backwards, with both clarity and confusion twisting in my brain. That girl from school—now, this gorgeous woman—whom I spent my senior year of high school hating, and erroneously blaming for my parents’ divorce… is making my heart race as though I’d never seen a woman before.
Faint drops of warm summer rain fall from the charcoal sky, and she glances up at it again, like she’s looking for more answers, but not to questions between us. Her face darkens. I swallow hard, and I feel like I need more air. I suddenly realize that I want to kiss her. No, I need to. And I realize I’m enjoying her presence, just having her standing near me. A surprise to me—not because it’s Aspen—but because it’s been a long time since I’ve been attracted to anyone like this. If ever.
But I admit, given our rocky history, it’s even more fascinating.
I step closer, and rapturous thoughts suffuse me. She looks back at me, ignoring the rain as it falls harder. It splashes wet on her face, and it seems to refresh her mind, because her eyes clear and half of her sexy mouth quirks up. I want to capture this moment—her beauty, and faraway expression, and the rain—and save it forever. I exhale.
“Well, glad we cleared that up,” she says. “Mystery solved.” And turning around, she runs across the wet asphalt, her long flaxen braid swinging behind her.
The rain pelts my face as I watch Aspen retreat into the bar. Even through the dark drops, I can see her curvy hips flow from her narrow waist. My mouth is dry, and I’m tempted to tip my head back to the sky and drink the rain.
Wow.
Holy fucking hell.
Fresh chills roll over my skin as my heart stirs. I want to pull on that braid and do wicked things with her. To her. My head is buzzing.
I want that woman.
But why? Why Aspen? Why now?
Is it lust? Her stunning beauty?
My lonely life?
No. There’s more. There’s something about her. The fiery determination in her voice, her attitude. It resonated. It woke something up deep inside me. And there’s that crazy pull toward her. A thirst in me.
Juice.
I just found my fucking juice.
The rain marks my $400 shirt, and I get into my car, wet, with one thing on my mind. Aspen. Clarity and confusion keep tangoing in my head, and I snort. I might be confused about why I’m going after her, but I’m crystal clear about one thing: that I will go after her.
I speed along the winding streets that skirt around the lake toward home, feeling electrified. Feeling calm. Feeling focused. I glance to the left, and between the houses and trees, I catch glimpses of the full moon reflecting down on the still lake, shining bright like Aspen’s angelic hair. I squeeze the steering wheel. I have to see her again.
Ten minutes later, I arrive home and head to the kitchen to grab a beer, before stepping out onto the covered portion of the deck with my black journal. I open to the page with her phone number, the one I scored from the chef at the country club. I see the scratched-out cherries I drew the other night, too. I chuckle. My subconscious must have been giving me a nudge when I drew them.
I turn to a new page in the journal and start sketching the cherries again, and my mind fills with pictures of her. I need a plan. I decide to see what I can find out about her online. I open up the internet on my phone and search for Gabby’s Rooster.
There she is. Pictures of Aspen and her mom on their website, with customers, and there’s also a link about kids’ baking classes that she teaches. I tap the link, and it takes me to a page with a registration button for the next class, and a bunch of pictures of her teaching the kids. I smile, seeing her so happy in the pictures with kids, and I’m reminded of her laugh.
There’s another link on the page for updates, and I read about her plans for The Rose Hotel. There was an update a couple of days ago about having secured an investor, and things were moving forward. I overheard differently when she spoke to the bartender. No wonder she was slamming those gin and tonics. Guess I caught her at a bad time.
I’m about to exit the website, when I see a link about donations. Everyone and their sister has a Patreon account. I tap it, but it’s not for donations for them. It’s a page showing more pictures of Aspen, and the volunteering she does for the local homeless shelter. Apparently, she bakes and donates a bunch of pies each month. She was telling the truth; it is a soft-spot for her.
This woman is a fucking superhero… goddess, baker, loves kids, homeless people. I look out to the trees in the darkness. Thinking.
But then my mind’s thoughts darken my heart’s desires. What if she turns out like the rest? She’s looking for an investor. If she knew how much money I have, it might be all she sees in me. I rub my hand down my face. I don’t want to think these things, but it’s the reality of my situation.
The rain has stopped. I stand up and walk off the deck, barefoot, onto the cool, damp grass and toward the water’s edge. I need to get to know her. Is there a chance she’s different from all the gold-diggers in my past?
And would she laugh her ass off knowing what I’m thinking right now… with how I behaved the other day in the bistro? As much as I can’t wait to hear her laugh again, I’d prefer her laughter not be ridiculing me for being an asshole.
Even though she hated me back in high school, she forgave me tonight! So, the slate is clean, right? And that thought triggers a fascinating one. A chuckle rumbles deep in my chest, and I smile. I should have been thanking Aspen instead of hating her this week. I laugh again. The truth is, she’s indirectly responsible for my wealth!
What a 180. It was because of the divorce that I made my money. I know the divorce wasn’t her fault, but her statement to me, years ago in the cafeteria, set the wheels in motion. It probably made the divorce happen sooner than later, during my senior year of high school instead of when I was in college. And so, it happened during a time when I was still living at home, which led to my hermetic, basement-dwelling lifestyle, which led to mining Bitcoin. I never would’ve done that had my parents not split up during my senior year of high school.
I stand next to the lake, and a fish jumps out of the water, causing a ripple to expand outward in rings. The calm of the lake a second ago is agitated for a moment. I take a deep breath, and an idea hits me. I turn around and jog back to the house.
7
Ryker
I step up onto the deck, and I grab my phone and journal from the table. I walk over to get comfortable on one of the many couches out here. I’m particular about deck furniture because I like spending time outside, near the trees and the water. The patio furniture I chose for this house is a comfy, a black wicker set with thick, dark gray cushions that match the stain of the deck’s wood. There are three couches, six chairs, two tables, and a bar area. Take your pick. I could easily entertain over fifty people back here. Of course, I never do.
I settle in to make my move with Aspen. But first… ambience. I grab the remote control, and with the press of a button, I light
the tiki torches that now flicker and glow around the perimeter of the deck. Then, I open my journal and find Aspen’s number. I enter her number into my phone’s contacts and add a cherry emoji next to her name.
I remember the conversation she had with the bartender tonight about the hotel she wants. Her investor dropped out. That’s my key.
I open the messaging app on my phone to send her a text message.
Ryker: Hey. This is Ryker.
I stare at my phone expecting to see the little bubbles that show she’s replying, but nope. Nothing. Crickets.
Did I get her number right? I open my notebook and check it. Yep, it’s correct. I wait another minute, and still no response. Huh. Shit, I wonder if she made it home all right. Nervousness hits my gut when another slow minute goes by, and still no response.
I crack my knuckles for something to do, and then I stand up, only to sit back down. I’m not used to being kept waiting.
Then, the three little bubbles appear, and I exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Finally.
Aspen: How did you get my number?
Ryker: I have my ways.
Yikes. Maybe my cocky answer was too much. Oh well, too late. It’s sent. I stare at my phone, waiting, willing her to answer.
Aspen: What do you want?
Shit. She doesn’t seem thrilled. I crack my stiff knuckles… again. Here we go.
Ryker: I overheard your conversation in the bar about your investor pulling out.
Aspen: So?
Ryker: What are ya gonna do about it?
Aspen: I hardly see how it’s of interest to you.
Ryker: That’s not an answer.
Aspen: I don’t know what I’ll do. Anyway, I’m busy right now. Is there anything else you need?
She’s busy? With another guy?
Wait. Chill, dude. Not likely, according to the chef at the country club.
Her tone is about as warm as my Sub-Zero stocked full of beer. Don’t care. I’m going in for more… ready to save the day.
Ryker: Actually, I’m interested. I want to be your investor.
She doesn’t respond.
Maybe she didn’t see my message? Maybe she put the phone down and is taking a piss. Maybe she’s on another call?
I run my hand through my hair and look at the outdoor clock on the wall of the house. Still no response. Annoyed, I tap my foot and watch a mosquito land on my calf. I slap it and flick its flattened corpse off me. Then I grab my journal and jot a note to buy citronella candles. And those bat houses.
Still no response.
Fuck.
Trying to distract myself, I stare at the orange glow of the tiki torches and decide I’ll count to ten before I write another message. Ten seconds go by, and I look at my phone, when I see those magical little bubbles appear. She’s finally fucking typing. This ride is worse than the Kingda Ka at Six Flags Great Adventure.
Aspen: Thank you. But… No. Fucking. Way. Good night, Ryker.
How could she turn me down? I just rode in like a knight in shining armor.
Ryker: Why not?
The three little bubbles appear, and she responds immediately. Good girl.
Aspen: I don’t need your help. You make zero sense. Given how angry you were at me just a few days ago and even tonight. And besides, there’s too much between us, too much personal history to get tangled up in something like this. I’ll find somebody else.
Ryker: Just think of me like the other investor. I’ve got the money. I can invest. I WANT to invest.
Aspen: Again, no thx.
She’s turning down my money. I can’t believe it. Not only is this not something I’m used to, it has literally never happened before. Not that I expected her to say yes via text, but she won’t even consider it. Why not?
Does she still hate me?
Does she think I can’t afford it?
Oh! Maybe she likes me, and she doesn’t want to mix business with pleasure!
I’ll try that approach.
Ryker: Look, Aspen, I know you’re attracted to me, but we can keep this professional. No mixing business and pleasure. For now. ;)
Hopefully, the wink emoji will lighten things up.
Aspen: You’re out of your mind. I am NOT attracted to you.
Ryker: Liar. You are totally attracted to me. As much as I am attracted to you.
Aspen: Then I definitely won’t take your money. That would definitely be mixing business with pleasure.
Ryker: Forget I said that. Actually, you’re really ugly. Totally toadsville. I’m not attracted to you at all. Negative, in fact. Ick. So, even though you’re attracted to me, consider me a handsome silent investor with VERY flexible terms. ;)
Dammit, I couldn’t help myself.
Aspen: LOL
Aspen: You’re weird.
Aspen: And no fucking way.
Well, at least I got a laugh.
Ryker: I’m serious. I’m gonna lay it out for you. There’s something about you. I know it seems crazy that until a couple of hours ago I thought I hated you. I WAS WRONG. I think I was a dick to you back in high school because I probably had the hots for you back then, too. I feel a strange pull toward you. And I know you feel it, too.
She doesn’t respond. I stand up to pace my jitters out of me by walking around the deck. Five whole minutes go by. Still no response. I crack my neck. She’s driving me crazy!
Time to go in for the kill. The big guns. Shock-n-awe. I’m ready.
I send her another message.
Ryker: Here’s the way I see it. I’m going to marry you someday. So will you just take my money now? I have a lot. Too much, even.
Aspen: Marry me? Ha!
That got a reaction out of her.
Aspen: Let me lay it out for YOU. It’s not happening. EVER. I’m not looking for a relationship. I don’t have time for one. I don’t want one. I am making my own way. I WILL NEVER DEPEND ON A MAN. Definitely not you.
Ryker: Well, you were going to depend on a man with your other investor. What was his name? Robert?
Aspen: That’s different.
Ryker: How?
Aspen: I’m not having this conversation. Invest your money elsewhere. Good night!
Shit. That didn’t end the way I wanted, but I smile nonetheless. I won’t give up. I’m officially excited to wake up tomorrow morning and go after something: Aspen. Exactly what Dad was talking about. Juice.
Ryker: Sweet dreams, my future wife.
And she thinks I’m joking.
8
Aspen
I look at my phone. Married? To Ryker? My throat constricts. Am I gagging? Or just choking? Who cares, they’re both bad. The balls on that man! Well, I guess I know the answer to that one. They’re big balls. Huge. I snicker and slap my palm to my forehead. He must be manic. That would explain everything. Should I pick the petals off a daisy to see which one I land on? He loves me, he loves me not. Only it’s… He hates me, he hates me not. A dark laugh escapes.
Well, sweet dreams, my ass. Like I can sleep now.
I get up from the couch and turn off the TV, and I put Dagny into her cage for the night. I latch the cage door and peer down at her. “Dagny, can you believe that guy? Marriage. Ha. Who does he think he is, some kind of savior? Well, I don’t need saving.”
But his first offer blares like a foghorn in my mind. The one he said before marriage.
Investing.
I admit, my heart skipped a beat when he offered to invest. But I know better. That road reeks worse than week-old raccoon roadkill. Besides, how does he have access to that kind of money so fast?
And when he texted “marry me”? My heart skipped a million beats as the insanity gave me a mini heart attack.
So, why am I pacing in a circle around my living room, flattening a trail in the carpet? I know exactly why! When I saw him tonight, I was distraught at losing my investor, and the minute I realized that angry Mystery Man was sitting next to me, a spark ignited in my darkness. And
I actually forget my hotel troubles for a minute.
My heart sinks again, and I blame my own insanity. I’m too stressed. Cracking under the pressure. I need a good night’s sleep, and I’ll dive back into planning tomorrow with a fresh mind. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the hotel, but I’ll think of something. I always do.
I turn back to look at Dagny. “I know I promised you the hotel, darlin’. I’ll have to find another way to make it happen. I promise, I will.”
Maybe Jerry at Crossbow Dixie is right. Maybe I’ll find another investor sooner than later. Maybe I’ll boldly approach people at the silent auction. Or maybe I can get a handful of people, as a group, to come up with the $300,000 for the down payment.
I look back over at Dagny, and she’s getting a drink of water. She isn’t listening. But I am. And that’s my plan.
I turn off the light and head upstairs, but my mind goes back to Ryker. Ugh! I take off my clothes and throw them into the hamper, annoyed at myself. I yank my leopard-print silk robe off a corner of my four-poster canopy bed, and I stomp to the bathroom to draw a much-deserved bath.
