by Remy Rose
It’s been a good mother-daughter day, but I’m also celebrating that my closing on the building went off without a hitch yesterday. Not that I’m surprised; having my BFF involved kept me relaxed and confident about the whole thing. At lunch, I’m planning to tell Mom about that new venture. And about Damon.
We’re heading down the sidewalk toward Finn’s Irish Pub when my mother spies a bearded man in a red flannel shirt and dirty jeans, sitting on the curb in front of the restaurant and smoking a cigarette. He looks equal parts bored and pissed.
Thankfully, there aren’t many homeless people in Ellsworth, but leave it to Annie Brewster to find them. She is compassionate to a fault, and I watch in loving exasperation as she fishes in her pocket for what I know is coming.
She whispers loudly to me out of the side of her mouth. “This is why I always carry a five-dollar bill with me.”
I answer, whispering out of the side of my mouth, too. “So you can give it to someone who’s probably going to spend it on cigarettes?”
“Laney,” she scolds me. “He could be Jesus.”
“He could be, but probably not.” Although...if Garry Marshall was playing a homeless guy in Pretty Woman, I guess anything could be possible.
She shushes me and walks over to the man, handing him the five and telling him she hoped he’d have a brighter day. He looks at her warily for a few seconds, takes the money and then says “Bless you.”
Mom turns back to me and gives me a triumphant smile.
We settle into a booth at Finn’s and order haddock sandwiches, salads and iced teas. Mom takes her phone from her purse, and I watch as a glow spreads over her face. It’s the kind of glow that a girl gets when a guy she likes has texted her.
I happen to know that glow, because I feel it whenever I get a text from Damon.
She catches me looking at her and quickly puts her phone away. “Just a text from a friend, asking about going to a movie tonight.”
I nod, but I don’t want to know any more. It’s still hard, having my parents apart.
“Did I tell you I’m going on a meditation retreat? Cecile and I are doing it. It’s in Boulder. Ten days of silent meditation.”
“Wow—that actually sounds really challenging.”
“Frankly, I’m not sure I can keep my mouth shut for ten days. But I want to try. Do some more soul-searching. My yoga instructor said it was one of the best experiences she’s ever had. And as you know, I’m all about trying new things.”
And there’s my segue. “Speaking of trying new things...I have something to share.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” I break into a huge smile, like I do now whenever I talk about it. “I’m opening a café. I just closed on the building yesterday—I’ll take you to see it after lunch. It’s got an apartment above it, too. I’m actually moving out of my place tomorrow.”
“Oh my goodness, honey—that’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you. Especially that you get to leave those tools at Precision Machine. And I’m talking about your bosses.”
“Careful, Mom,” I grin. “One of them might be Jesus.”
She snorts. “Not a chance. I want to hear more about the café.”
I tell her about the equipment I plan to order and tap on my Pinterest mobile app to show her the décor ideas I’ve saved. And then I decide to be proactive and casually slide into the conversation that a friend who wants to remain anonymous lent me the money to purchase the building.
I don’t need to worry about this, though, because my mother is so excited about the what that she really doesn’t care about the how. We chat excitedly about my new venture in between (and sometimes during) bites of our lunch, and then I share my other news, shoving the guilt away because of the fake factor.
“Also, Mom, I’m seeing someone.”
“Is it a...”
Jesus. “It’s a guy, Mom. Because I’m heterosexual.”
She clasps her hands delightedly. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s wonderful! Either would have been absolutely fine, of course...I’m just so thrilled you’re out there! I knew the time would come. So who is this new man in your life?”
I’m careful about what I tell her—just enough bits and pieces to satisfy her curiosity: his first name, his age, hair color and that he works for a boat company. I emphasize that we just started dating and how neither of us is looking for anything serious.
I leave out the part about him being a multi-millionaire. Also the part where he can practically bring me to orgasm with a kiss. And definitely the part where he’s not actually my boyfriend.
But even with minimal details, she’s brimming with happiness for me, and beaming with pride about my café. Nestled amidst my love and gratitude for Annie Brewster is a pocket of pain for Damon, who has never known a mother like this.
Later that afternoon, I’ve got the U-Haul outside my place and am packing up the last of my kitchen cupboards when the phone rings. My heart does the now-familiar little leap thing when I see Damon’s name.
“Delaney Brewster, girlfriend for hire. How can I help you?”
“You really want me to answer that?”
“Um, no. How are you?”
“I’m good. Just got back from playing a little one-on-one at the gym with Tommy. What are you up to?”
“Finishing packing.”
“Ah...I can relate to the joy.”
“It hasn’t been too bad with just a one-bedroom.”
“I would have gotten the U-Haul for you today, you know.”
“It’s okay...I just felt funny asking since we’re not really—you know.” Ugh. I scrunch my shoulders at the discomfort of saying this. Of knowing this. “Jack and Maddie offered to bring it over, so it was no problem.”
“What time is the big move tomorrow?”
“8 a.m.”
“I’ll definitely be there for that. How was the rest of your day?”
“Very nice. Spent part of it with my mom, and she now knows about you.”
“Did it go well?”
“Yes. She’s been wanting me to see someone for a long time, so this was definitely good news for her.”
“Just a bit different from my mother, then. Speaking of Gloria...she was acting suspicious of us the other day. It got me wondering if she’d hire a private investigator to watch me.”
“Seriously? She would do that?”
“I might be paranoid, but I wouldn’t put anything past her.”
I cradle my phone between my ear and the crook of my neck as I wrap a coffee mug in newspaper. I don’t want her making things more stressful for either one of us, especially Damon.
He continues. “So...I suggest that we don’t give her any reason to doubt our relationship.” A pause. “Maybe we could spend the night together a few times, in case she’s having me followed.”
This makes me smile. “That would be the only reason, though, right?”
I can hear a grin in his voice. “Oh, definitely. No other reason. I’ve convinced her that the reason you’re not moving in with me is because your mother is crazy religious.”
“That’s not far from the truth. Especially the crazy part.”
“And listen, nothing needs to happen. We can just talk.”
Bullshit. Having a platonic sleepover with Damon Cavanaugh would be about as likely as the sun setting in the east. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“Good. Maybe you can use tonight to give it some thought. I figured you might want a break from me, anyway, so I’ll probably grab a couple beers with the guys, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning for the big move.”
I do not want a break from you. That is actually the last thing I want.
“Okay, sounds good!” I inject my voice with cheerfulness before ending the call, aware of an ache beginning a faint pulse in my belly, because tomorrow morning seems very far away.
Chapter 17 / Damon
I’m lugging a couple of plastic bins to the open mouth of the U-Haul. They contain shoes. Just s
hoes. A lot of them. Delaney scoots up beside me carrying a bin of her own, her blonde ponytail swinging like a little girl’s. “I’m wondering...was this in the contract?” she asks, tilting her head.
“Nope. But boyfriends help girlfriends move.”
A pink glow lights up her face. She likes that answer. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it quite like that, but it felt like the right thing to say. It seems like things feel right in general, being around her.
“Hey,” I bend down to make a wise-ass comment. “I’m thinking you might have wanted to rent a separate U-Haul for your footwear.”
“It’s a good thing we’re not really dating, or else you’d probably be pretty freaked out right now.” She gives me a smile so sweet it makes my gut clench.
We’ve got her almost completely out of her apartment. Moving usually ranks right up there with root canals, but this has been fun today—Madeline is here helping, along with Jack, who seems like a great guy, and from the way he looks at his girlfriend, it’s clear he’s totally devoted. Delaney has said she loves them together, and I can see why. It’s the way a relationship should be.
I pass Jack on the way back into the apartment. He’s grinning. “What’d you think of the shoes, man?”
So he and I are on the same page. I shake my head and chuckle. “A pair for every day of the year.”
“Yep. Callaway’s just the same.”
“Hey, I heard you’re going to be renovating the café?”
He nods. “I’m starting tomorrow. The building’s pretty much empty, so it’s basically working with a blank slate, which I like. Shouldn’t be a problem to get it ready by Memorial Day for the opening.”
“Great. I wanted to tell you to send me all the invoices.” I want to make sure Sprite has enough to make this dream of hers be a viable reality. “Spare no expense, okay? She’ll probably want to be cautious financially, but I’d appreciate it if you’d suggest top-of-the-line stuff and give her a low quote. I don’t want her to know I’m paying for it till it’s all done.”
Jack’s face splits into a smile as he holds out his hand to shake mine. “Got it, bud. Delaney’s a special girl, and I’m glad she’s got someone who’s taking care of her like you are.”
Madeline walks out of the apartment, comes up behind Jack and puts her arms around his waist. “What was that, a secret handshake?”
Jack pulls her into him for a hug. “Yeah, babe. Top secret.”
That night, we all go out to Black Bear Brewing for beer and pizza. Delaney wants to pay for people as thanks for helping her move, but I’m not about to let her.
It’s quite amazing, really, how natural all of this feels—hanging out with Delaney and her friends. I put my arm around her and end up leaving it there for a while. It has nothing to do with wanting people to believe that she’s my girlfriend, and everything to do with wanting to just be touching her.
Shit. That’s pretty powerful to admit, even to myself.
It’s probably a good thing she’s spending the night at Madeline and Jack’s, because I don’t think I’d be able to keep my hands off her.
When we leave the bar, I take her hand and lead her over to my car.
“I have something for you, Sprite.”
“I bet you do.” Her eyes are sparkling with the beer and mischief.
“Besides that.” I pat the side of the Rover. “It’s in here. It’s actually two things, to celebrate your new place.” I unlock the car and open the door to show her.
“Oh, I love Boston Ferns! It’s beautiful—thank you.”
“I figured you could either put it in your apartment or the cafe. And there’s this, too.” I reach in to pull out the antique, cast iron CAFÉ sign I got, and my chest tightens watching her face, those perfect pink lips forming an O.
“Damon,” she breathes. “I absolutely love it.”
“I’m glad. My mother is good friends with an antique dealer, and I had him find this for me. There’s a little patina, but it adds to the vintage feel.”
She runs her slender fingers over the letters, her eyes shining. “It’s perfect.”
“Good. Listen, I’ll let you go—I know Jack and Madeline are waiting.” I look down at her, feel like I could fall into her big, baby blue eyes. Jesus, I want to be with her. I don’t want to push it—would never push her, not with the hummingbird wing-fragile vibe she exudes. She’s struggling with something in the past, and I hope someday soon she’ll feel she can share it with me. In the meantime, I’ll be struggling inside myself—wanting to allow her time and space while I tamp down my raw, visceral need to fuck her.
I bend down close to her, brushing my lips against her ear while she shivers. “You could have spent the night at my place, Sprite. Absolutely no pressure, but I just wanted you to know the invitation’s always open.”
In a completely unexpected move she wraps her arms around my neck. I can smell her flowery scent, and I don’t give a fuck that we’re in a parking lot and her friends are watching—I don’t give a fuck that this feels more real than it’s supposed to. All I care about at this moment is putting my mouth on hers.
I pull her close. She arches her back to mold her lower half against mine—fuck, does that feel good—and when my lips come down on hers, she makes this barely audible, sexy sigh that turns me inside out. She lets me slip my tongue inside her mouth, and it takes all of my willpower not to ask her to come home with me. I slide a hand up to her ponytail, grasping it while I kiss her deeply for a few precious seconds, and then she steps back, blushing like crazy and darting her eyes over to Jack and Madeline who are pretending not to notice our impromptu make-out session.
“Thanks for the sign,” she says breathlessly. “And that kiss.”
“Both were my pleasure. Especially the second one.”
The color in her cheeks deepens. “It’s amazing how well you can know someone when you haven’t known them that long, isn’t it?”
I watch her walk away. Her words stay with me all the way home.
Chapter 18 / Delaney
If it’s possible for someone to fall in love with a building, then I have. I love my new apartment. It has a lot more character and charm and space than my old one, and I love that this whole building belongs to me—well, Damon, technically, but he would say me—it feels good and reassuring knowing that my place of business is right below. My new home has nine foot ceilings, huge windows overlooking the street and refinished oak floors that creak comfortingly rather than being annoying. There’s a gorgeous brick accent wall in the living room and the original molding over the doors and windows that are made up of uniformly-spaced little blocks of wood (Jack said it’s called “dentil”). The kitchen is my favorite room—granite countertops, coral-colored walls, and a big center island with bead board around the base. Decorating has been minimal so far—I did pick up some sheers for the living room windows, set out a few framed family photos and a couple of Maddie and me, and I got some cobalt blue bowls for the kitchen—but the rest will be on the back burner till I get Memory Lane Café up and running.
I haven’t seen Damon for six days. I’ve kept replaying that parking lot kiss, including in bed at night, which made my hands wander beneath the blankets, and I’ve also wondered if it felt as meaningful to him as it did me. I don’t know what it was about that kiss—the impulsivity, or the fact that it seemed to convey so many things—for me, anyway. It made me want him more than ever. It made me miss him when I walked away. I almost turned around to go back to him, to leave with him instead of Maddie and Jack, but I got scared. Again. Not only because of what’s holding me back, but because of being afraid that once I’m truly with him, I won’t want to let go.
Not seeing him all week has been hard. Luckily, I’ve been busy. Café preparations are in full swing: deciding on a refrigeration unit, oven and a point of sale system, ordering coffee makers, an espresso machine, a coffee grinder, and looking over Jack’s designs for shelving, my office, the kitchen and counter. And when I
get home from work, I try out online recipes, keeping a list of the best ones. My kitchen is filled with the delicious smells of banana-chocolate chip muffins, maple-cinnamon cookies, onion bagels...in just a few short weeks, I’ll be making them for real customers. Until then, Mads and Jack, and Stu, Lou and the Precision Machine gang have been the beneficiaries of some of my baking—figured it couldn’t hurt to sweeten up the boys before I give them my notice.
My days and evenings are packed, so it makes no sense that I still feel empty. Reading romance at night this week was almost torturous—got me all ramped up with no place to race, since Damon has been in Boston for a sales meeting and trade show, gearing up for boat season. He brought Portia. And I’ve been just the tiniest bit concerned about that, even though I witnessed with my own eyes the lack of initial chemistry between them. But things can change. Regardless, I shouldn’t care.
I do, though.
I care enough so that when 1:00 rolls around and I know he’s probably back home, I decide can’t stand the wondering anymore and pick up my phone just like a real girlfriend would, and I call him.
He answers on the third ring with a breathless “Hey.” And just hearing him say that one word sends a rush of longing right where rushes of longing usually go.
“Did you have a good trip?” I say it a little too enthusiastically, like real girlfriends do when they really mean, why the fuck didn’t you call me?
“Very productive.”
“Was it all business?” Jeeezus, Delaney Brewster, would you please shut the eff up!
There is a distinctive layer of amusement in his voice, and my pathetically-needy question spread it. “Nothing happened between Portia and me. Separate rooms, business meetings, friendly conversation at breakfasts, lunches and dinners, and nothing happened, so don’t worry.”
I force out a little laugh that sounds more like a cough. “Who said I was worried? Wow, you can be so arrogant. And besides...I like Portia, remember?”
