Tequila Rose

by Willow Winters

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No … if that’s okay with you?”

  Shrugging to keep it casual I tell her, “I’m happy to talk about whatever you want.”

  “You could find out easily, though. You really could find out everything.” Like something’s dawned on her.

  “Find out what?”

  “Anything really. The town likes to gossip and knows everything.” She gets her confidence back and grabs a drink from the cooler. It takes a moment, and all the while I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. “So what have you heard about me?”

  I can feel Griffin watching us, as if he’s a lifeguard on duty and he just knows I’m going to drown out at the helm with her. “I don’t want to hear what the town’s got to say, to be honest.”

  “So you haven’t heard anything?” she asks like she doesn’t believe me.

  “Nope.”

  “I feel like this isn’t second date talk.” Griffin interrupts us, taking up the space to my right, with Magnolia still to my left. I’m tempted to kick his ass overboard.

  He continues, “What is second date talk is asking about friends. Like if your friend Renee is single and if she’d like to come sailing … or what her thing is?”

  I’m so happy I brought a fifth wheel …

  Magnolia laughs and it’s the sweetest sound. “I invited her but she had to decline unfortunately.”

  “Ah well,” Griffin says, playing it off well, “maybe next time then.” It’s obvious as all hell that he’s giving us space when he heads to the bow of the ship, looking out over the water as if there’s something to see there. The shoreline does look gorgeous, I’ll give him that.

  “You want kids?” Magnolia asks me out of nowhere.

  I can’t help but to think about her daughter. I almost bring her up, but I bite my tongue instead and think of how to answer her. “I do. I want a big family.”

  “How big?” she asks and Griffin’s comment about appropriate second date talk comes to mind, but this isn’t really our second date.

  “That would depend on a lot of things, I think. I’m an only child and I know I want at least two, maybe three … maybe more.”

  She only nods, sipping her beer and staring out at the water.

  I would ask her how many she wants, but she scoots closer to me, close enough that her forearm touches mine and I’m too busy enjoying the moment to break it up with questions that won’t change a damn thing about what I want from her.

  There’s something here and I just need to kiss her. She’ll feel it all too, as soon as she lets me kiss her.

  Magnolia

  “I’ve got a little burn, but it’ll tan over.”

  Back at the pier, our legs dangle over the ledge. The trees behind us offer a bit of much-needed shade after half a day on the boat.

  I need a nap after spending all day soaking in the sun. More than that, I need Brody to kiss me. All the little touches have added up. A girl can only take so much.

  “Not as bad as Griffin’s,” Brody says with a smirk. His friend is going to be hurting, that’s for certain.

  “Where’d he go?” I say, already turning around to see if I can spot him. The piña colada water ice drips out just slightly from the bottom of the paper cone in my hand, so I tilt it back as I search him out, gathering the last of the frozen treat.

  “He’s heading out to get dinner with his family, I think.”

  I’ve learned a number of things in the last few hours. More than half were about Griffin. The man can talk and Brody was more quiet than anything. Observing, scooting closer to me and then I did the same.

  It’s probably a good thing Griffin was on that boat with us, to be honest.

  “Now we’re all alone,” Brody practically hums, bumping his shoulder against mine and I have to laugh. There are about a dozen people behind us at the Ice Shack. Alone, we are not.

  “You’re funny,” I say as I stand to chuck the paper cone in the nearby trash can.

  “And you’re cute,” Brody calls out. He’s got a sun-kissed tan now that completes his charming good boy, yet blue-collar look. If his hair was longer and his body leaner, he could be a surfer. But with his ruggedness and broad shoulders, and his hair cropped back … he’s all man candy to me.

  He’s handsome. My kind of handsome. The little flip my heart does tells me it agrees with me.

  I keep the comment to myself but the smile on my face won’t quit, so I bite down on my bottom lip as I join him again, legs hanging over the water, even as I lean back to lie on the wooden posts of the pier.

  I could stay here forever, staring up at his blue eyes as he peers down at me like he has something on his mind. He’s practically done it all day. Testing his words before he says them. He’s careful with me.

  “Maybe you’re cute too,” I whisper, feeling the warmth over my body spread deeper and flow through every inch of me.

  It’s a scary feeling, like playing with fire.

  With his head thrown back, all I can do is watch the ripple of the muscles in his arms as he covers his face with both hands and groans.

  “What?” I ask. His simple white T-shirt stretches over his shoulders as he faces me to confess, “You have no idea what I want to do to you right now.”

  My breath leaves me in a single quick exhale. “Oh yeah?” I whisper and I don’t know how I can even talk right now. “What’s that?”

  “I want to lean down and kiss you. Put my hand right on those curves of yours. And kiss you in front of all these people in a town that likes to talk.”

  His gaze lingers on my waist before drifting back up to mine. All I can feel is the thump of my racing heart, begging him to do just that.

  “You should do it,” I murmur and shock widens my eyes at my own admission.

  His lips hit me first. Soft but strong, taking a kiss much bolder and sweeter than the peck the other night. His tongue sweeps along the seam of my lips, begging for entry. All the while my blood heats and my pulse races. What was I thinking?

  What am I thinking now, as I do what I want and not what I should, parting my lips and deepening the kiss. The act grants me a soft groan of approval from the man hovering above me, his fingers gripping my hips harder and pinning me down.

  Stop. Stop! You haven’t told him.

  The small voice in the back of my head is meager but desperate. I pull back with an image of Bridget in my mind. It holds me back from drifting above in a hot air balloon and instead the reality anchors me back down to reality.

  Breathe.

  I focus on breathing as I sit up and Brody pulls away. I don’t think he can tell how freaked out I am. No, no, I don’t know if he can tell or not.

  I’m only in my midtwenties and this seems exactly like something I should do … but not with a daughter at home and secrets that are bound to ruin it all.

  As I sit up, I can feel those blue eyes on me, once again observing and wondering, but holding back. If he can tell what I’m feeling, he must think I’m hot and cold. It’s not fair to him.

  Tell him. Just tell him.

  “Brody,” I start to say and he must hear the sudden panic in my tone, because he cuts me off.

  “Today went perfectly, I think.” It’s all he says, but his gaze is soft as he leans closer, pecking my cheek and then he stares off into the water.

  It’s so obvious to me in this moment how much I’m falling for him. He’s sweeter than I remember. He’s gentler than what I used to hold on to.

  I have to tell him. He’s careful with me, and I’m nothing but reckless.

  My lips part and I swear I’m going to tell him. Just blurt it out and rip the bandage off but his phone rings.

  Saved by the ringtone.

  “One sec,” he tells me and answers it. It seems like a business call with how often he says yeah and that’s fine.

  Every second that passes gets me more nervous but I hold on to what I have to do. I need to tell him before this goes
any further. He deserves to know.

  Picking at some nonexistent fuzz on my cover-up, I wait for him to say goodbye.

  The second he does, he speaks first. “I have to get going. You want me to drive you back?”

  Tell him, tell him, I will myself but instead all I say is, “I drove.”

  “Right,” he says then shakes his head in a boyish way but the smile that slips onto his lips is all charming man. “I knew that.”

  The little voice is quiet and so are both of us. He leans in again, his hand cupping the back of my head to give me a sweet goodbye kiss, but when he pulls away, he nips my bottom lip. A shy laugh slips out from me.

  I’m still looking down at the worn wood of the pier, disappointed with myself but unable to stop myself from falling.

  His thumb on my chin is what forces me to meet his ever-questioning gaze. “I’ll text you tonight?” He says the statement like it’s a question and all I can do is nod.

  With his hand outstretched, he attempts to help me up but I tell him I’m going to stay here another minute. All I’m left with is a salty breeze and an achy heart. And guilt. So much guilt.

  When I tell him now, I already know he’s going to ask why I didn’t tell him sooner.

  And it’s because I’m selfish, because I want to feel this warmth of falling for him again. I want to feel wanted. It’s not until after he’s already gone that I let the tears slip out. This is something I know I can never have. And Bridget deserves better.

  The keys jingle in my hand and my flip-flops slap on the sidewalk as I make my way up to my front door. I’m so focused on the plan I laid out that I don’t notice anyone’s there waiting for me on the wicker chair out front.

  “The sun’s kissing you more than I am.” Robert’s voice startles me and when I jump back with a gasp, he throws his hands up. With a charming smile on his lips, he huffs a laugh and apologizes. “Shit, I’m sorry, Mags,” he says and the laugh lingers in his voice.

  With a hand placed over my racing heart, I smile back at him. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “I can tell,” he jokes and the air is easy between us.

  “I have to run but I just wanted to drop this off for Bridget,” he tells me and holds out a stuffed bear. There’s obviously something hard in the ears and when he squeezes it the ears spin.

  “Ooh, it’s … oh what’s it called?”

  “Buzzy the Bear.” He shrugs and hands it to me. It’s not wrapped and still has the tag on it. He never wraps them, never tells Bridget the toys are from him. They’re for me to give to her because he knows how much I struggle. It’s hard to do anything really on a single income in this town. If guilt could kill someone, I’d be struck dead here on my front porch. Instead my fingers just go numb and my throat tight.

  “Thanks,” I say and have to clear my throat, holding the bear with both hands. “They have one at daycare and she threw a fit the other day when she couldn’t take the darn thing home.”

  “I know … I heard. She’s coming along good with the transition; little social butterfly.”

  An unwarranted huff leaves me. “Of course you heard. Is there anything this town doesn’t talk about?” My ears burn at the rhetorical question, knowing that kiss on the pier is going to make its rounds.

  “I just asked Trent how she was doing is all,” Robert replies and a certain look flashes in his eyes. Maybe it’s doubt, but possibly regret.

  Pushing the hair out of my face, I clear my head and apologize. “Sorry, I just … long day.” The excuse is a pathetic one, but it works to ease the worry from his face.

  “You been crying?” he asks and a different look replaces the one that was just there.

  “No,” I lie and his head tilts in an instant.

  “It’s not a problem. Just … just life.”

  “You need me to do anything?” he asks and I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat.

  “You don’t need to be my hero,” I answer with something I’ve said a dozen times before. When he slips his hand into his pocket to grab his keys, he replies with what he’s said a dozen times too. “Maybe I want to be your hero.”

  I can only smile when he leaves a quick kiss on my cheek. The opposite one to where Brody kissed me. My words and every confession threaten to strangle me.

  What am I doing?

  “See you soon?” he asks and he sounds hopeful. It’s different from usual.

  “Yeah, of course,” I answer him and watch the man I once loved with everything in me leave. A man who’s protected me and helped me when he didn’t have to.

  If this were another life, today would have been a fairytale. Brody would be my fairytale prince. But this is real life and mine doesn’t fit with his. Instead, I cry myself to sleep, and promise myself that I’ll tell both of them tomorrow. I have to make the promise over and over again just so I can fall asleep, Brody’s text going unread on my phone.

  Three years ago

  “I hate teething,” I say and the groan that accompanies my statement comes complete with my eyes closed and a hand over my face as Robert comes in through the front door. Slowly opening them, I speak over Bridget’s wail. “I hate it more than I hate heartburn.”

  Seriously, I’d take that awful pregnancy heartburn and a bottle of Tums over my baby girl’s teeth coming in. My right leg constantly bounces with her settled on my thigh and clinging to my arm.

  At the sight of Robert, she cries louder, as if I’ve been unable to hear her all night and only he can save her.

  The prick at the back of my eyes comes back. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit to him.

  “Give her here, maybe I can calm her down,” he offers and I give her up.

  “Orajel,” I start to rattle off, “strips of frozen waffles …”

  “You’ve got all the teething toys out,” Robert says and all of the primary- and pastel-colored rubbery toys on the seat next to me are evidence of that.

  “She doesn’t like them.”

  “What about … a cold rag?” he asks and I remember I threw one in the freezer last week. It’s just a little washcloth, dipped in water and frozen. Please, Lord, let that be my lifesaver because I can’t take much more of this.

  Hustling to the freezer, I snag it and toss it to him. He catches it with one hand and offers it to a screaming Bridget who arches her back with complete distaste.

  My heart plummets but Robert assures me, “Give me five.”

  Five minutes. He can have all the five minutes he needs.

  “Teething is a bitch,” I say as I rub my eyes and make my way back to the kitchen. With the perfectly good pan of untouched lasagna staring back at me from the stovetop, I realize I haven’t even eaten dinner. How is it already nine at night?

  “Ooh, shots fired.”

  “What?”

  “You must be really worked up,” he tells me, swinging little Bridget to and fro in large circles back and forth, “You’re cussing like a sailor.”

  The flame of a blush brightens my cheeks. “Oh, hush,” I say, waving him off although he’s right. I don’t like cussing. Doesn’t mean I don’t do it my head, though; I was just raised not to.

  I mutter under my breath as I open the top of the lasagna and touch it only to find it cold, “Teething is a bitch, though.”

  It’s at that thought I realize she’s not crying anymore. Holding my breath, I peek over the threshold and watch Robert still swinging Bridgey, but now she’s got both of her hands on the rag, gnawing away.

  “Yesssss.” My hiss of happiness makes Robert laugh and I still in my victory crouch, waiting to make sure his laugh didn’t disturb her.

  After a solid five seconds, I’m convinced it didn’t and more grateful than Robert will ever know.

  Sometimes a mom just needs a break.

  “You are my hero,” I whisper, my hands in a prayer position.

  “I’m glad you texted me,” he says, slowing down his swings to be more gentle.

  As I’m wondering
if she’ll let me give her a bottle this time since she refused her last feeding, Robert suggests I go to bed.

  “You look like you need some sleep,” he adds.

  The last thing I want to do after the day I’ve had is go to bed. I need a moment. I don’t know how to describe it to him. Because he’s right, I’ve barely slept the last two nights, but I just need to be … to be me for a moment. And to know everything is all right.

  Without answering him, I make a bottle and take a steadying breath.

  “You’re starting to resemble a raccoon,” he jokes.

  “They’re my new favorite animal,” I say, shaking the bottle with my finger on the nipple. When I get back to the living room, he’s preparing to sit down with her and it makes me nervous.

  “Pass it on over,” he offers with his hand out. Bridget’s still going to town on that little washcloth and that’s when I realize I should prepare another.

  Handing off the bottle, I practically run to the hall closet to find a clean washcloth and do with it just what I did with the other. Run it under the water, wring it out, and place it in my freezer.

  My stomach rumbles, so after wiping off my hands on my pajama pants, I place the lasagna back in the oven.

  “Did you eat?” I ask Robert, hopeful he didn’t so I can pay him back with a meal at least.

  “I could eat,” he answers from the sofa, one hand on the bottle, the other slyly reaching for the remote. “Seriously, I can hang out with little miss until she sleeps if you want to sleep.”

  “I don’t want to sleep, I just need a minute to decompress …”

  He shrugs. “Whatever you want to do. You still watch that one show?”

  “I’m so far behind it’s not even funny,” I tell him and flop down next to him. It feels like it’s well past midnight but it’s not even close to being that late.

  Silently, Robert finds the show and the next episode that hasn’t been marked watched. I’m six behind. I let out a small hum of satisfaction, one not too unlike the little sounds of glee from my baby girl next to me.