The Seaside Café

by Rochelle Alers

  “You’re wealthy.”

  He smiled. “I’m comfortable.”

  “Comfortably rich,” she countered.

  “Just say I don’t have to rely on my teacher’s salary to make ends meet.”

  “Not only are you wealthy, but you grew up privileged.”

  “I’ll admit we had a live-in chef, housekeepers, and a caretaker, but that didn’t make me any different from the other kids I grew up with.”

  Her smile matched his. “Don’t be so modest, Graeme. Either you are or you aren’t.”

  “I am.”

  “Now, was that so difficult to admit?”

  “No. But it’s not something I advertise.”

  “Is it because you don’t want women coming on to you for your money?”

  Graeme pressed his palms together, bringing them to his mouth. The seconds ticked as he gave her a direct, lingering stare. “Lately, I haven’t had much time for romance.”

  Kayana did not know what to make of his admission as to his involvement with women. “Oh, I see.”

  “Do you really, Kay?”

  “What are you talking about?

  “I don’t have time for any woman except for the one sitting across from me. What’s the matter?” he taunted. “Cat’s got your tongue.”

  She recovered quickly from his jibe. “What if I tell you that I’m not interested. I don’t want or need your money because I managed to do quite well when I divorced my wealthy trauma-surgeon husband.”

  Graeme blinked slowly. “Why did you divorce him?”

  Kayana’s eyes hardened, as did her expression. “He cheated on me with one of his colleagues.”

  “That’s tacky. I don’t believe in shitting where I have to eat.”

  “I’m of the same belief, but that didn’t stop my ex, who would invite her to our home whenever we hosted a gathering. The two-faced heifer smiled in my face, while at the same time she was sneaking around and sleeping with my husband.”

  “Well, damn!”

  “I’m over it, Graeme. They can have each other.”

  “Are you really, Kay?”

  A shiver of annoyance eddied through her when she realized Graeme didn’t believe her. “Yes. I’m a forty-six-year-old divorcée with a postgraduate degree in social work and two decades of experience, which makes me a marketable prospect. I don’t want to get married again after conceding twenty years of my life to a man who did not value my love or respect me as his wife and partner. Which leaves me with the option of sleeping with whatever man I want without the fear of becoming pregnant even if we happen to engage in unprotected sex. And even if I was able to have a child, I’m too old to even consider becoming a mother. I say all that to let you know that what happened in the past stays in the past.”

  Lowering his hands, Graeme inclined his head. “Good for you.”

  “How about you?” Kayana questioned. “Have you let go of your past?”

  A beat passed. “It has taken a while—but yes.”

  “Good for you.” Pushing back her chair, she stood, Graeme rising with her. “It’s getting late, so I’m going to help you clean up before I leave.”

  “Don’t bother, Kay. You’ve done enough. I’ll clean up.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. I do know how to keep house. My father insisted I learn to make a bed and clean up after myself regardless of how much I had. Although he’d married a wealthy woman and was highly educated, he still couldn’t rid himself of his blue-collar mentality.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being working-class, Graeme.”

  “If I thought there was, I never would’ve become a public high school math teacher.”

  Rounding the table, Kayana went on tiptoe and kissed Graeme’s jaw. Startled by the gesture, he turned his head, and his mouth brushed hers. The joining was mere seconds, but it was long enough for her to acknowledge she’d missed being kissed by a man.

  He pulled back as if stabbed by a sharp object. “I’m sorry about that.”

  A mysterious smile softened Kayana’s mouth as she winked at him. “I’m not. Good night, Graeme.” Turning on her heel, she walked to the door, Barley trotting after her. She stopped, leaned down, and scratched him behind the ears. “You be a good boy for your daddy.”

  “Wait, Kay!” Graeme called out. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She waved a hand over her head without turning around. “It’s okay. I don’t believe I’ll get lost between here and the driveway.”

  “Text me when you get home to let me know you’re safe.”

  Kayana stopped. “No, Graeme. I stopped checking in the day I left this island to go to college. Good night.”

  * * *

  Graeme cursed under his breath when Kayana closed the door, leaving him staring at where she’d been. He’d made a serious faux pas. How could he have forgotten that she was a mature, independent woman who only had to answer to herself, and not Jillian, who despite her age, had never matured. He had loved her so much that he’d overlooked how needy she’d been. He hadn’t become her husband but her father. At first, the need to protect her fed his ego, but after a while, her childlike behavior had begun to emotionally wear him down.

  Barley came over and sat at his feet. “Do you know what, buddy? I’ve been dealing with the wrong women for so long that I don’t know how to relate to one who’s not looking for or needs a man to take care of her.” Barley barked loudly. “Yeah, I know. Sometimes we dudes can do and say some dumb things, but the solution is not to repeat it.”

  His confidence returned when he recalled his apologizing for inadvertently kissing her; however, she didn’t seem remotely bothered by it. And he hoped beyond hope that she enjoyed it as much as he did.

  “I’ll take you out after I clean up,” he told the puppy.

  Graeme made quick work of clearing the table. His first cooking lesson was a rousing success because everything was scrumptious. And he had enough leftovers to last for several days, which meant he could stay in and write. He knew he wouldn’t be able to exhale and relax until he’d completed and submitted the book. Then he planned to take a month off, doing absolutely nothing, before beginning the next one. What he had to decide was whether to remain on the island or return to Massachusetts for the winter. He wasn’t a snowbird because he liked cold weather and the change of seasons, but he had time to finalize his plans before the end of the year.

  Chapter 11

  Kayana hadn’t realized how tense she’d been since leaving Graeme’s house until she walked into Leah’s rental. Images of what they had discussed lingered with her during her waking moments. And his kissing her and her reaction to the pressure of his mouth on hers seeped into her erotic dreams, where her body betrayed her, and she woke gasping from the aftermath of multiple orgasms. She could not and did not want to sleep with Graeme and use him to assuage the dearth of sexual fulfillment she’d experienced since she’d decided to end her marriage.

  She asked herself over and over why she had agreed to accompany him to the movies and what had possessed her to give him cooking lessons, and the same answer came up every time—empathy and gratitude.

  Then, his sending her a plant to thank her for going out with him was something she hadn’t experienced with any other man. The men she’d dated thought she should’ve been grateful that they’d asked her out, and some of them would send her flowers for her birthday or take her to dinner for a special occasion, but nothing beyond that. James had thought of her as a challenge, and once he married her, she had become his trophy. It wasn’t the cost of the jade plant, but the thought behind it when Graeme thanked her for agreeing to go out with him.

  And when he’d talked about his parents, she was able to put on the professional face she’d used when counseling patients. Her gaze never wavered when they disclosed events in their lives that made her want to weep with and for them. There was no doubt that Graeme’s adopted mother was not only used to getting what she wa
nted; she was also quite manipulative, and Kayana wondered if it had been a trait her son had unconsciously adopted.

  She could not fathom how a woman who knew she couldn’t have children would fake a pregnancy and then concoct a story to get out of it. It was apparent that Graeme’s father was either totally unaware of the flaw in his wife’s devious personality or chose to ignore it. Graeme wasn’t her patient, so she did not want to question him about his feelings once he read his mother’s diaries. Had he thought ill of her, or did he forgive her because she’d afforded him a life he would not have had if other parents with more modest means had adopted him?

  It had been a week since she last saw Leah, and she had to admit that the woman looked well. Her face was fuller, and it was obvious she had gotten some sun because her fair complexion had taken on a rosy hue. A profusion of freckles covered her bare arms under an orange tank top she’d paired with white slim jeans. Today she’d brushed her hair off her face and secured it in a ponytail.

  Leah opened the door wider. “Please come in. Cherie is in the kitchen blending margaritas.”

  Kayana pressed her cheek to Leah’s cool one. “It’s a good thing we only meet once a week or I would be too tipsy to get up the next morning.”

  “I’m glad we decided to end the meeting at nine, because if it went on any longer, we wouldn’t be able to get up the next day.”

  Kayana wanted to remind Leah that she could always sleep in late, while she had to get down to the kitchen at 5:00 a.m. to begin cooking in order to have everything ready for 7:00, when the restaurant opened for business. She sniffed the air. “I smell cilantro.”

  “You’ve got a good nose. We’re having Mexican food today.”

  “You cooked?”

  “Yes. And don’t look so shocked. I do know how to cook.”

  “Okay, Martha Stewart,” Kayana teased.

  Looping her arm through Kayana’s, Leah led her through the living/dining area to the rear of the house and a patio, where she’d set up a table with plates and bowls filled with spicy salsas, empanadas, hard and soft beef, chicken, and shrimp tacos, quesadillas, guacamole, and crispy tortilla chips.

  “Wow!”

  “That’s what I said when I saw this spread,” Cherie told Kayana as she emptied a blender of margaritas into a chilled pitcher. “It looks as if Red wants to give you a run for your money when it comes to burning pots.”

  Leah blushed. “That’s not going to happen. There’s no way I can begin to cook like Kayana.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Leah. If you’re good, then own it.”

  “Word!” drawled Cherie. “I’m not going to lie and say I can even come close to putting something like this together, so my contribution will have to be store-bought.”

  Kayana shook her head. “That’s where I draw the line. I’m not going to buy food from deli or gourmet shops when I can make it myself.”

  “I agree,” Leah said. “Come, let’s eat and drink before we talk about the Bennet sisters and their quest to find husbands.”

  Cherie filled margarita glasses with the icy, pale-green concoction. “I’d like to make a toast to celebrate the second meeting of the Seaside Café book club.” The women took turns touching glasses before taking a sip.

  “Damn!”

  “Shit!”

  Kayana and Leah had chorused in unison.

  “Don’t tell me y’all going to punk out on me,” Cherie said, laughing. “Y’all supposed to be grown folks, and so I decided to make a grown-folk drink. Now, if you want fruit punch, then I’ll bring it the next time we get together.”

  Leah blew out a breath. “I am grown, but if I keep drinking this, then I doubt whether I won’t be blind, crippled, or crazy tomorrow.”

  “Let it sit for a while so the ice can dilute it,” Kayana suggested. She made a sucking sound with her tongue and teeth. “And I can’t believe y’all were complaining about my sour apple martinis.”

  Leah pointed to the pitcher. “This stuff is as lethal as napalm.”

  “It’s a good thing your husband isn’t around, or you would jump his bones,” Cherie teased.

  “I’d rather cut his throat,” Leah said under her breath. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said when Kayana and Cherie stared at her. “I can’t wait for the son of a bitch to die so I can finally live my life.”

  Kayana took another sip of the cocktail, grimacing when the icy liquid slid down the back of her throat. “You do know that you have options other than murder.”

  Leah’s blue eyes narrowed as she stared down at the contents in the glass. “He would never give me a divorce.”

  Cherie set her glass down on a coaster on the table. “How do you know that?”

  “Alan would make certain to drag it out so long that I’d probably just give in and stay with him.”

  “Don’t you have a brother or some thug trailer-park cousins who would be willing to fuck him up if you gave them money,” Cherie said, deadpan. “That’s what some of the thugs in my family would do for me if I told them some dude was abusing me.”

  The natural color drained from Leah’s face, leaving it a sickly sallow shade. “I’ve never told anyone in my family what goes on between me and Alan.”

  A slight frown creased Kayana’s forehead. “Why keep it a secret?”

  “Because I don’t give a fuck what Alan does as long as he doesn’t bother me.”

  “What about your sons, Leah?” Cherie asked.

  “Aron and Caleb worship the ground their father walks on, and I don’t want to do anything to change their opinion of him.”

  Kayana went completely still. “You named your sons after John Steinbeck’s twin characters from East of Eden?”

  Leah nodded. “Yes. It’s my overall favorite of Steinbeck’s work, and when I discovered I was having twins, I knew what I wanted to name them.”

  “What did your husband say?” Cherie questioned.

  “He thought I’d gotten them from the Bible and not from a book of fiction.”

  Cherie shook her head. “The poor dumb fuck.”

  “That’s what I said,” Leah agreed, “when he told me they were good strong, masculine names for his sons. If I keep drinking this nitroglycerine and don’t eat something, I’ll wind up on my hind parts.”

  Kayana also reached for a plate and began filling it with tacos, an empanada, guacamole, and tortilla chips. After biting into the flaky dough of the empanada, she had to give Leah high marks on her cooking. The woman truly had skills in the culinary department. “If you come down here next year and want to help out in the restaurant, I’ll put in a good word with Derrick for you.”

  Leah’s eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Really!”

  “Yes, really.”

  Cherie emitted an unladylike snort. “Then she can ogle your brother all she wants until she goes blind.”

  Leah’s eyes appeared abnormally large when she glared at Cherie. “You had no right to say that.”

  Kayana felt Leah’s pain as if it was her own. “Cut the shit, Cherie. I’m not going to sit here and allow Leah to become your personal punching bag.”

  Cherie rounded on Kayana. “Why do you always feel you have to take up for her?”

  Kayana clenched her teeth so tightly that her jaw ached. She liked Cherie, but she couldn’t understand her resentment of Leah. “I’m sick and tired of your hostility because some white man did you wrong. You’re not some teenage girl who can’t get over the man who took her virginity and then married someone else.”

  “That’s exactly what the bastard did!” Cherie spat out.

  She fell back in the chair, slumping like a deflated balloon. If Cherie was in her early thirties, then she probably had had a long-term relationship with her lover. It was no wonder she was angry and resentful. “I’m sorry.” Her apology sounded trite, even to Kayana’s ears.

  Leah stood up, rounded the table, and eased Cherie up to stand. Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, she
pulled her close. “It’s okay, baby girl,” she whispered in Cherie’s ear. “You’re not going to feel better until you cry and let it all out.”

  Kayana watched the interchange between Leah and Cherie and knew instinctually Cherie wasn’t ready to let go of her rage. Pain and anger couldn’t be shrugged off like slipping out of a pair of too-tight shoes after standing in them for hours. It was a process—a very slow process—until one day you woke and decided you’ve had enough.

  Cherie struggled out of Leah’s embrace. “I’m okay.”

  Kayana wanted to tell her she wasn’t okay and wouldn’t be until she sought a professional to help her achieve closure.

  “I’m okay, and I promise this is the last time I’ll go off on you.”

  Leah smiled. “Not to worry. I’m not that thin-skinned.”

  Picking up her glass, Cherie took a long swallow. “I think I need to get laid.”

  “You’re not the only one,” Leah said in agreement. “I can’t remember the last time I had a cock inside me.”

  Kayana’s mouth gaped with Leah’s pronouncement. She didn’t expect her to be so explicit when talking about her sex life. She’d noticed the lowering of inhibitions once they’d begun drinking, in Cherie’s case in particular. Perhaps she mused, at the next meeting they should serve mocktails.

  Leah retook her seat. “What about you, Kayana? When was the last time you slept with a man?”

  “More than a couple of years ago.”

  Cherie sat down and massaged the back of her neck. “It’s been longer than that for me.”

  Kayana realized her friends were not interested in discussing Pride and Prejudice but wanted to air their personal gripes. She was willing to go along with them if it meant they would eventually focus on discussing books.

  “What if we scrap today’s book discussion and talk about whatever we want,” she suggested.

  “I’m game,” Cherie said.

  “So am I,” Leah agreed. “Is there anything we can’t talk about, Kayana?”

  “No. After all, we are grown.”