The Seaside Café

by Rochelle Alers

  Shifting Kayana’s slight weight, Graeme placed her on the bed and removed her shoes. She was snoring lightly when he unbuttoned her tunic and untied the drawstring to the cropped slacks, leaving her clad in a bra under a white T-shirt and a pair of black, lacy bikini panties.

  He stood there, motionless, staring at the perfection of her shapely legs and slender ankles. The only other time he’d seen her legs was when she’d worn a dress when they’d gone to the movies. Day after day, she sought to hide her incredibly toned body under loose-fitting, shapeless clothes.

  Suddenly, he felt like a voyeur gawking at her in a state of half-undress and covered her with a sheet and lightweight blanket. Graeme drew the drapes and flicked on the bedside table lamp, turning it to the lowest setting. He walked out of the bedroom, smiling. Kayana giving him cooking lessons created an atmosphere of domesticity that lingered with Graeme long after she left; it was one of the reasons he’d asked her to move in with him. The other and more important reason was companionship.

  Graeme thought about the direction his life had taken as he cleared the dining area table. He wasn’t certain when he’d begun to become reclusive. When he looked back, he realized he had always been solitary, but that tendency was growing more and more evident since he’d become a widower.

  As the only child of a couple who were unable to have children of their own and who were in their mid-forties when they adopted him, Graeme knew he would never have siblings. The summers they spent abroad or at his mother’s family’s estate in Newburyport further exacerbated his isolation from other children his age.

  The year he entered college, his retired parents moved to Newburyport, while he took possession of the townhouse. But, unlike a lot of eighteen-year-olds who’d had a three-bedroom, two-bath house to themselves, Graeme refused to become a frat boy and allow other students to use his home as a hangout. Although not a virgin, he was very discriminating when he slept with a woman; there was never a time when he hadn’t used a condom, because he didn’t want a repeat of what had happened to his birth mother, who’d gotten pregnant as a college student.

  He did well in college, quickly earning an undergraduate and a graduate degree, and when he applied and was accepted for a teaching position at the Newburyport high school, he convinced his parents to sell the Boston townhouse. His parents continued to travel, leaving him alone months at a time in the six-bedroom, eight-bath house that sat on an acre of land, along with a housekeeper suite and a renovated carriage house for the property’s caretaker.

  Graeme had a yearlong relationship with a woman he’d met at Harvard, but it ended after she accepted a position working for an insurance company with an overseas division. Three years later, he had another long-term relationship, this one lasting nearly two years, until his then girlfriend decided she didn’t want marriage and children but a military career. He met Jillian and found himself in love for the first time. Six months later, he buried his mother, and he married Jillian a week after he celebrated his thirty-second birthday. Although he was married and shared a bed with Jillian, he felt as alone as someone marooned on a deserted island.

  He kept hoping and praying his marriage would get better, but it didn’t as his wife’s behavior became more bizarre. Jillian had moved out of their bedroom when she was most fertile and returned during the safe period of her menstrual cycle. He’d become so enraged with her yo-yoing that he’d issued an ultimatum that the next time she slept in another bedroom she could stay there. She’d taken his threat seriously and never returned to their marriage bed.

  Graeme had been married to a woman, lived with her under the same roof for twelve years, and existed as he had as a bachelor. His wife would leave the house without telling him where she was going and return days, and sometimes weeks, later, smiling and laughing as if she’d been there all the time.

  He’d argue with Jillian about the responsibilities of being a wife, but it had fallen on deaf ears. He’d suggested she see a therapist to work through her fears and insecurities, but again she refused because she’d believed there was nothing wrong with her.

  Once he buried Jillian and knew she was not coming back, Graeme continued to live in the big house with only the live-in housekeeper and the caretaker keeping him from being alone on the property. Not only was he living a more or less solitary existence; he’d also become more reclusive once he began writing. Cloistered in the room that was the mansion’s library, he immersed himself in his fictional characters, breathing life into them as his protagonist became his alter ego.

  He’d never invited his colleagues to his home and rarely visited theirs, and although approachable, he was considered somewhat eccentric. He’d earned the reputation of focusing solely on his students, coming in before and staying after classes to offer them extra help. When Graeme felt that loneliness was about to consume him whole, he decided to get a pet—not one from a breeder or pet shop, but from the pound. The first time he spied Barley staring through the bars of the cage, his large, liquid brown eyes pleading with him to take him home, he knew that he and the canine would save one another—him from loneliness, and Barley from being euthanized.

  Graeme was aware that he’d become even more reclusive since moving to Coates Island, and he found himself talking to Barley as if the puppy was human; anyone who overheard him would’ve thought he was losing touch with reality.

  When he’d reunited with his college buddies for their thirty-year reunion, he had attended alone. Many of them—also from well-to-do-families and some on their second or third marriages—teased him relentlessly. They called him a poor little rich boy who was unable to find a woman. A few had offered to hook him up with their sisters, their cousins, or their wives’ friends, but Graeme did not want a hook up. He wanted a woman with whom he could share his interests and passions and she, hers.

  Barley’s barking caught his attention, and he walked into the porch to see what had disturbed his pet. Three birds were splashing in the marble birdbath. He scratched the pooch behind his ears. “It’s all right, buddy. They’re just taking a bath.”

  At the mention of bath, Barley took off like a shot, heading for the staircase and his bed in the study. It was the same whenever he took out the towels he used when giving the dog his weekly bath. A few times, Graeme wondered if the dog was part feline because he hated water and could be found sleeping on the floor wherever there was a spot of sunlight. He returned to the kitchen, turned on the dishwasher, and then swept the floor.

  Going over to the family room, he flicked on the television and settled down to watch a cable channel featuring crime stories. It was never far from his mind that there was a woman upstairs, asleep in his bed. Graeme decided that if she didn’t wake up, then he would bed down on the love seat. And as much as he wanted to share a bed with Kayana, he’d decided to wait for her invitation.

  Chapter 16

  Kayana woke, totally disoriented, and it took a full minute before she realized she wasn’t in her apartment and her own bed. Then she recalled Graeme carrying her upstairs to his bed, but remembered nothing else once her head touched the pillow. There was no doubt she was more exhausted than she’d been in a long time.

  She finished reading Ethan Frome and immediately began The Buccaneers and was unable to put it down until she’d read nearly half the novel. It had been close to midnight, her eyes were burning, and she had only four hours left to sleep before she had to get up at five. Cherie and Leah had time to read two novels in a week because they were on vacation, while she was responsible for preparing the restaurant’s buffet breakfast.

  Before forming the book club, she read at her leisure and could take as long as she wished to finish a book. But that changed dramatically when she’d committed to reading a book in a week while beginning her workday at five in the morning and ending around two in the afternoon; most of those hours were spent on her feet. Rising on an elbow, she peered at the clock on the bedside table, groaned, and fell back on the pillows. She couldn’
t believe she’d been asleep for hours. It was nearly ten.

  Sweeping aside the sheet, Kayana went completely still once she realized Graeme had removed her slacks. Why, she mused, of all days had she decided to wear a pair of revealing lacy bikini panties? Then she remembered scrambling out of bed as soon her phone’s alarm went off and selecting the first bra and panties she’d found in the lingerie drawer. At least he’d left her a modicum of modesty when he hadn’t removed her T-shirt. Turning up the light on the lamp, she found her slacks and tunic neatly folded on the bench at the foot of the bed and her shoes near a chair.

  After dressing, she entered the en suite bath to splash water on her face, patting it dry with a guest towel from a stack in a delicate dish on a side table. Kayana managed to tame her mussed hair with her fingers before she left the bathroom and headed for the staircase with Barley trotting after her. Bending over, she picked up the poodle and carried him down the stairs. She found Graeme in the family room sprawled across the love seat, watching an encore baseball game on the flat screen.

  He sat up straight with her approach. “How was your nap?”

  Kayana set Barley on the floor. “Restorative.”

  Graeme patted the cushion beside him. “Come and sit down.”

  She shook her head. “I think it’s time I head home.”

  He stood. “I’ll follow you in my car.”

  “I can assure you that I’m going straight home.”

  Graeme took a step and cradled her face in his hands. “Please indulge me, Kay. I’ll feel a lot better if I know you made it home safely.”

  Kayana recalled the last time she’d snapped at him when he’d asked her to text him when she got home, and then chided herself for believing he was attempting to control her rather than being concerned for her safety. She wanted to tell Graeme the drive from his house to the restaurant could be accomplished in minutes, but she decided to humor him.

  “Okay. Just don’t follow too closely or it will bring back nightmares of when I had to drive in Atlanta’s downtown rush-hour traffic.”

  Graeme pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Okay.”

  She gathered her wristlet off a table and headed for the front door, as Graeme shut off the television and reached for his vehicle’s key fob. He ordered Barley to stay before he armed the security system. She was behind the wheel, shifting into REVERSE, and had backed out of the driveway as Graeme made his way to his SUV.

  Kayana drove slowly, keeping under the unofficial speed limit of twenty-five miles an hour on the unlit road. She pulled into the restaurant’s lot and parked in her reserved spot. The lot was empty, and all of the lights in the restaurant were off, indicating that Derrick had closed up and gone home. Seconds later, Graeme maneuvered into a space next to her and lowered the driver’s-side window.

  “I’ll walk you upstairs,” he called out.

  She knew nothing she could say to Graeme would get him to change his mind, although there was little to no risk of her being assaulted between the parking lot and the door leading to the second story. Coates Island wasn’t exempt from crime; however, there hadn’t been a reported murder in more than thirty years, while there was an occasional break-in in the downtown business district. She got out and waited for Graeme to join her as she unlocked the restaurant’s door, disarmed the alarm, and led him up the staircase.

  “You can get quite a workout if you go up and down these stairs several times a day.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “There are exactly twenty-two steps, and when I first moved up here, I found myself stopping halfway until I could build up enough stamina to make it to the top without stopping.”

  “Where did you live before?”

  “I stayed with my brother until I had the space renovated into an apartment.”

  “What was it before?”

  Kayana heard that Graeme’s breathing was heavier as she unlocked the door to her living quarters. She had made a practice to lock it whenever she was out of the building. And in the event of an emergency, Derrick had an extra set of keys.

  “It was used to store everything but the kitchen sink. Sit down and catch your breath before you collapse.”

  * * *

  Graeme gave Kayana a baleful look as he sucked in air before slowly letting it out. He didn’t feel this winded when jogging along the beach. “I think I’m going to take you up on your offer to sit.”

  A floor lamp bathed the open space with soothing golden light as he made his way over to a sofa covered with a floral print in polished cotton. Stretching out bare legs, he studied the space Kayana called home. The first thing he noticed was that it was immaculate. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the floor or on any flat surface. He stared at the antique clock and the collection of framed photos on the fireplace mantelpiece.

  “Can I get you some water?”

  Graeme stood. “No, thank you. I’m going to leave now so you can get some sleep.”

  Kayana gave him a bright smile. “I’m wide awake now.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re going to stay up reading again?”

  She took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “No. I don’t want a repeat of last night—or should I say this morning. Are we on for tomorrow?”

  Graeme’s impassive expression belied his shock. He was the one who always asked when he was going to see her. “Yes”

  “I’ll text and let you know when to expect me.”

  Bringing her hand to his mouth, Graeme dropped a kiss on the knuckles. “I’ll make dinner for us.”

  Kayana narrowed her eyes. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Didn’t you say that if I have to get up early to go to work, and then come home exhausted after standing on my feet for hours, I would really appreciate it if my boyfriend would occasionally fix dinner for us? I’ve been practicing with a few recipes, and I believe I’ve perfected one that I hope you’ll like.”

  “Do you want to give me a hint as to what it is?”

  “Nah. You’ll find out when you come over.”

  “Is there anything you’d like me to bring?” she asked.

  “Yes. Just yourself.”

  Easing her fingers from his grip, Kayana rose on tiptoe and brushed a light kiss over his mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Graeme stared at Kayana under lowered lids. Although her kisses were innocent enough, it was becoming more difficult for him to keep his hands off her. “Good night, babe. Come and lock the door behind me.”

  “The door is self-locking. I can set the alarm from up here.”

  Turning on his heel, he retraced his steps and walked into the cool night air. Graeme was in a quandary when it came to Kayana. Every time he saw her, his affection for her intensified until he’d wanted to blurt out that he was falling in love with her. It wasn’t vanity, but Graeme hadn’t had to work this hard to convince any woman to go out with him. He’d always heard that patience was a virtue, yet somehow he felt as if he was being tested.

  He returned home, let Barley out for his last romp, and then sat down to search cooking sites for what he could prepare that did not require ingredients that weren’t readily available. After forty minutes of scrolling through entrées, side dishes, and desserts, Graeme finalized his menu.

  Whistling a nameless tune, he shut down the computer, left the study, and walked across the hall into the bedroom. He almost couldn’t believe that Kayana had taken time to remake the bed. It appeared as if they had something in common: They were both neat freaks.

  * * *

  Graeme took a final look at the table, wondering if he had forgotten anything. He had opened a bottle of rosé to allow it to breathe and filled goblets with sparkling water. Suddenly, he wished he had paid more attention to his mother when she’d instructed the housekeepers how to set a table for her guests. Lauren loved entertaining, and during the summer months when they weren’t traveling abroad, she hosted luncheons, garden parties, and even fund-raising gatherings at the estate in Newbur
yport. Whether these events were held under a tent in the garden, in the smaller and formal dining rooms, or the ballroom, Lauren was at the forefront of the activity, making certain silver and glassware were set correctly at each place setting. Graeme, like Patrick, generally left the house during such gatherings and only returned once their home had settled back to a normal routine.

  Graeme knew his reluctance to invite friends and colleagues to his home was the result of his mother’s constant need to entertain and surround herself with people, and as he aged, he’d come to acknowledge that he was more like his blue-collar father than his blue-blood mother. He’d preferred remaining in the background to standing in the spotlight.

  He could not believe he’d turned into Lauren when he got up early and drove to the supermarket in Shelby and ordered Cornish game hens from the in-store butcher. He asked the man to remove the backbone so the hens would lie flat when cooked on the stovetop grill. The butcher recommended he thread two or three soaked wooden skewers through the birds to hold them flat while grilling.

  Graeme felt like a kid in a candy shop when pushing the shopping cart up and down the aisles while examining fresh produce and searching for the items and ingredients for a salad and a marinade for the hens. He’d noticed both times he’d cooked with Kayana that they hadn’t had dessert. He lingered in the bakery department, staring at the delicious-looking confections in the showcase. In the end, the salesperson made the decision for him, and when he checked out and stored his purchases in the cargo area of his vehicle, a silent voice told him, You can do this.

  He did not want to believe he had to wait until he was over fifty to try and impress a woman. And it wasn’t about taking her to a Michelin-starred restaurant for dinner or flying to exotic locales and checking into a private villa with a personal chef and housekeeper. She probably had experienced that and more when she was married to her physician husband, and Graeme hoped she would appreciate his uneasy attempt to make an impact on her, given her vast experience cooking for the public.