by Lori Power
“Ah, so not just a wanna-be geek. You’re the real thing.” Vivian wanted to know what made Tuck tick. “So why, was?”
“I only do it for the family now. At one time I was part of a large company that went bust in the tech bubble and lost it all. Much like a fisherman, as fast as I made the money, it disappeared quicker.”
“That must have been hard.” She folded her napkin and placed it back in the bag.
“Let’s hope you never know.” He winked. “We should really change the subject. Between dying fishermen and my lost career, I’m a bit of a downer. You won’t believe me if I told you I’m not usually so pessimistic.” He tossed his napkin in the bag with the remaining food containers. “So, tell me all about you.”
His bright smile warmed her heart as his soft grey eyes turned her insides to liquid. Biting her tongue to suppress her yearnings to nibble his lower lip, she averted her gaze. It had been far too long since she had any kind of interaction with a man and she was clearly out of practice. No one’s fault but hers for hanging around married women and not getting back on the dating saddle.
“I do a few things to keep busy. Aside from the café I run with my business partner, who also happens to be my best friend, I’m a reader for a publishing house. I also have a hobby of collecting junk.” Accustom to raised eye brows when she explained what she did for a living, Vivian waited for his response.
Tuck did not disappoint. “Junk?”
“My mother would farm my brothers and I off on our grandparents—my father’s parents, when we were kids. She couldn’t handle the stress of us.”
Tuck smiled, leaning back on his elbows.
“Mother use to say…”
“Mother?” He interrupted.
“Yes, Mother. My mother considered anything less than the full word, disrespectful.”
“I see,” he said.
Vivian, having already fallen in love with his Ma, doubted Tuck understood. She swallowed a mouthful of water from her bottle and stared out to the deep blue ocean.
A tanned hand nudged her shoulder. “You were saying?”
Surprised that he wanted her to continue, she smiled. “Gran and Gramp’s house was what Mother referred to as being full of junk and we were never, ever under any circumstances to bring any home with us.”
“Your grandparents were a little less stiff?”
She laughed. “Yes. I love them dearly. And I never saw junk. It was ancient treasure to me. The clutter added to the welcome into their home. Made you feel comfortable, you know?”
“I know. Ma’s a bit like that. Anything old is in.”
“It’s strange how something vintage can bring such comfort.”
“Vintage? That’s a good word for it.” He glanced at her, his sunglasses mirroring her face. “So that’s how you got into the junk business? Which by the way, I don’t believe for one moment that the stuff you sell is junk.”
“When I was twenty-one, Gran and I went to Arizona with a bunch of women on a bus tour.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I know. Geriatric squad, right?”
“I’m picturing a bunch of clucking hens.”
“Some were for sure, but I’m telling you, it was the best time I ever had.”
“You don’t get out much.”
Vivian laughed and swatted his arm, enjoying his company. “Now, I just feel silly telling you all this.”
“No, no. Please, continue.” He nudged his sunglasses partway down his aquiline nose, his profile revealing a long Tom Selleck-like dimple. Oh, I like that. “Really, I’m riveted by a bus tour of old ladies.”
With an exaggerated sigh she continued. “Anyway, Gran and I were always close, but my brothers were always around. On this trip, we really bonded…” Vivian paused, lost in the memory. “We stopped at a road-side bizarre of sorts and the women went exploring. A woman on the tour fell in love with an old ring. Blue sapphire, I will never forget it.” Vivian closed her eyes, picturing the square cut ring in white gold. “An old bitty on the tour told her to put it back, that it was just road-side junk. But the woman told her friend she didn’t care, plastic or not, she loved it and worth the ten dollars. It was uncommon for her to stick up for what she wanted. Well, when we returned to the hotel, she went to a local jeweler. Guess what the ring was worth?”
“A couple hundred bucks?”
“Try a couple thousand.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. That’s when I became hooked on junk.”
****
“Did your Gran ever give you the ring?” Her jaw drooped, and Tuck knew he surprised her, guessing the woman’s true identity.
“Not yet, but as the only girl in the family, she told me it’s mine. She wears it every day, says it reminds her of our trip and how a little luck falls on everyone. “ Vivian pulled her knees to her chin and crossed her ankles, wrapping her arms around them and rocking to the rhythm of waves on the ocean. At that moment, she resembled a teenager than the siren who had been belting out rock tunes the day previous. “I think that trip is what convinced me to take some shop courses on the side. Gran supported me on that—on all of my ideas, really.”
Tuck sat straight. “Whoa, wait a minute.” He removed his glasses. “Shop? You took shop classes.”
She grinned, like a sneaky cat that had just licked the cream when you weren’t looking. “Thought that would get you.” She flicked a blade of grass at him. “After we opened the café, I registered for evening classes at the local college, just some basic mechanics. Sometimes there’s stuff you find that needs a little tinkering.”
“Shop?” Tuck shook his head. He found it an outrageous turn on to meet a woman who understood basic mechanics.
Her head fell back as she laughed, low and husky. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m no expert. I know enough to tinker, but I can’t fix a car or anything like that.”
“Me either.” But he dug the idea of chick wearing a tool belt.
“According to your mother, you’re slowly mastering the craft.”
He shrugged, his shoulder brushing hers. He struggled with the urge to kiss her. That sweet, innocent expression with slight pouting lips, begging to be kissed. He forced his eyes away from the temptation.
“Mother doesn’t understand my obsession, of course. But because of Gran, I at least get some backing from my father.”
“But it’s more than junk you say. Your girl friend and you have the café as well?”
“Marcy’s a classic chef and I’m a hack.”
“I doubt that.” Tuck interjected.
“Agree to disagree then. Our styles are different, but we both love to cook. She was professionally trained and I learned through her. She used to work in classy restaurant, but the pressure became too much.”
Tuck imagined an iron chef with the intense schedule, anxiety, and close to abusive atmosphere of a high-end restaurant kitchen.
“Are you sure you want to hear this? I must be boring you.”
“Yes, and not at all.” He nudged her shoulder. “If I wasn’t interested, trust me, I would have come up with some excuse by this point.”
Vivian explained how her friend, Marcy, newly married and working her dream job, hardly ever saw her husband. “Her schedule was in total opposition to his and what started as a fairy tale career quickly changed in priority. She wanted a family and decided to try her hand at something else. Marcy was at my place one day when I was restoring a couple of old floor lamps, and the rest as they say, is history.”
“Floor lamps? Please don’t tell me you started a business based on floor lamps.” He stretched out his legs, enjoying the summer sun on his face, and the feel of her arm beside his. “It’s either the way you tell the story or something I haven’t put my finger on yet, but so far I have a Safire ring and floor lamps.”
“To be honest I never really thought about it like that before, but I guess you’re right.” She stretched her legs and leaned back on her hands. If he were a
bit closer, he could cover her hand with his own.
“Marcy said if she had a restaurant of her own she would put floor lamps like the ones I had beside the tables to create a homey setting. And there you have it. That was that.” She slapped her hands together.
Tuck was unconvinced. “I happen to know firsthand it takes more than a lamp to create a business.”
“You’re right, of course. But that’s how the idea of combining a café with a nick-knack shop sprung to life. Now we operate seasonally, just off the highway between her house and mine. At first, our many critics thought no one would stop at a café close to town, but they do. And they come back. Marcy is an exceptional cook and people wait all year for the May long weekend for the café to open.”
“Maybe you should have cooked our lunch.” Tuck spontaneously pulling her sunglasses down her nose with the tip of his finger. “You have the most beautiful green eyes.”
“Ah, thank you.” Vivian gasped for a breath. “But I’m on vacation, no cooking.”
Tuck turned to face her, leaning even closer to brush his lips over hers.
****
An instant heat filled her core when his lips touched hers. Vivian didn’t push him away. Why would she? Her heart hit the floor of her stomach, spreading tendrils of excitement coursing through her veins. His lips were like the soft caress of a feather teasing across her slightly parted lips. His thumb brushed her cheek and continued to move slowly across her ear to rest at the back of her head as he deepened the kiss, brushing his tongue across hers.
Oh, this is what I wanted to do since first meeting Tuck. Vivian got lost in the moment as the sea breeze brushed over her like a warm caress. His hand behind her head held her as he deftly explored her lips. His mouth was fresh and inviting, tasting like the salt sea air.
As quickly as the kiss began, it was over. He leaned back casually as though he did this kind of thing every day. Perhaps he did. Standing, he held out his hand. “We better get going. We have some ground to cover.”
Her legs wobbled as she stood, but she refused his offer to help, hoping to show as little reaction to the kiss as he was. Did he take all of the tourists out and causally kiss them on the beach, rocking their world and making the angels sing, only to carry on as though nothing happened?
With hardly a word spoken on the way back, he dropped her off at the door of the Inn like a perfect gentleman.
She replayed the kiss in her mind as she paced her room. She had never been kissed like that before. Tuck’s kiss made her knees weak and he what—just walked away, unfazed? Was this an everyday experience for him?
The picnic had been so lovely. They shared memories and got to know each other. She was more comfortable with Tuck than she had ever been with another man. She connected to him.
The whole ride back, Vivian hoped he would pull over and kiss her again. How she wanted his lips on hers again, to feel that instant passion. The sensation he created in her core from the brush of his finely molded lips was completely new. But then he dropped her off at the door as chaste as a brother. Only dropping a light kiss on her cheek and telling her he would see her soon.
Vivian’s hand cupped her cheek where his lips had last touched, and then let her hand fall. Soon? What did that mean? Where she came from you don’t kiss and run. Her clenched hands relaxed and rested on her hips, as she walked to the window. Maybe Tuck didn’t like kissing her? But a woman would know—would sense his dislike. Right?
He’s obvious not into her. She should have known from his lame-ass remark at the airport. Well, it was his loss. She wouldn’t be left at the door as though she were a child. She was on vacation and wanted to have some fun. It was still light outside and she wasn’t going to bed yet.
Determinedly fixing her hair and makeup, Vivian decided to walk down the main street and see what the town held in the way of nightlife. She had never been one for going to bars, but this was the new Vivian and she wanted to go out and meet people. Tuck couldn’t be the only good looking guy in town. If there was one, there were bound to be more.
She grabbed her purse and sweater, and walked down the stairs, tip-toeing as though she was sneaking out of her parent’s house for a hot date.
Chapter Seven
Vivian walked the entire downtown core and to her horror there seemed to be only two places to choose from for an evening drink. Seedy and seedier, otherwise referred to as the Tavern and Bullets. Each boarded the main street across from one another. She stood on the curb, eyeing them wearily and then remembered that Marston indicated he worked at the Tavern. Without further pondering, in she went.
You could have heard a pin drop when she opened the large mahogany door and entered the taproom. Javex, with a hint of left over vomit, perfumed the air as she made her way to a table in the furthest corner of the room. The men, for most of them present were men by Vivian’s estimation, looked as though they had been carved from the same mahogany as the furnishings. They stood so wooden, blending in with the general decor. Only sheer will-power and bravado kept Vivian from turning tail running out. This was a small town on the Eastern Seaboard, what could possibly happen?
Platinum blond hair streaked with a bold pattern of purple and red stalked toward her table. “What can I get for you this evenin’?”
Vivian kept her purse on her lap. The squat, solidly-built woman who appeared to be in her mid fifties, and well-use to dealing with trouble, waited for an answer.
Glancing around the large, mahogany decorated interior, Vivian’s mind blanked. “Ahhh.”
“Nope, don’t sell that here.” The waitress’ low-pitched words were softened by the friendly smiled she bestowed on Vivian. Truly, this woman could probably take on anything flung her way and the glare she turned to the men seated at the bar clearly indicated she had no time for bullshit. “A beer, perhaps? Whisky? Dan’s not really into fancy umbrella drinks, but I can twist his arm if that’s all you’re use to, honey.”
Beer or hard liquor? What a choice. Despite what the waitress said about the arm twisting, and Vivian was sure she could do it, she didn’t have the nerve to even ponder the wrath of Dan if she asked for a margarita. Contrary to her friendly wink, Vivian was sure this waitress wouldn’t think twice about tossing her out on her ass if she ordered a virgin Caesar.
“Whiskey, please. Tall glass with Ginger Ale. Thanks.” Vivian smiled and the woman nodded as she stalked away, her too short shirt hugging her older curvy form.
Vivian gazed out the window, avoiding her own reflection. A quick glance revealed a face that had the appearance of someone caged. Caught in a net of her own design. She waited for her drink, desperate for something to do with her hands. She really hadn’t thought this through very well. Vivian had been so frustrated by Tuck’s kiss all she wanted was to get out of the close confines of her room. Space, she had needed space.
Where did Tuck learn to kiss like that? Self-proclaimed computer geeks are not suppose to even know how to kiss, let alone melt a woman in the most perfect of settings, on a beach with a breeze tickling and a picnic at their feet. Who did he think he was?
“Shall I start a tab for you, hon?” Platinum was back with the drink in hand. “It’ll get busy in here shortly so best to do it now before we’re swamped.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. Friday nights the Tavern gets hopping with some local music and everyone comes by. Don’t let the local color fool ya.” She nodded at the men still seated at the bar who every once and awhile cast glances toward Vivian. “They just look hard. They’re dandies underneath.”
Vivian leaned to glance around the woman. “I’ll have to take your word for it. I’m Vivian, by the way.”
Pointing to her nametag housed on a sliver of fabric just above the swell of left breast, she said. “Margie. Nice to meet you.” As Margie’s face opened with a winning smile, Vivian noted how the genuine smile took years off her face. “You sit back and relax. You’ll love the music. Everyone does.”
; “Okay.” Vivian heard more conviction from her voice than she actually there would be.
Try as she might to drink the tall glass of liquor slowly, she downed it. The whiskey was so smooth. The amber liquid slid down her throat like warm honey, tickling her toes from the inside and making her feel fuzzy.
“You should water this down for me,” Vivian suggested when Margie brought glass number three to the table.
“Don’t worry. Enjoy this one. You’ll be lucky to get another now that the crowd is arriving.” Margie pointed over her shoulder at the band setting up in the corner.
Just as the barmaid predicted, the pub filled fast. From the moment the band struck their first note, the party was on. Dancing, laughing, shouting, and carousing erupted in the bar. Vivian soaked it in, unnoticed for once, as she sat in her corner, enjoying the evening and nursing her drink. The cover songs were dispersed with the band’s originals and the crowd loved them. As drink number four arrived, Vivian sang along, letting the atmosphere engulf her.
She sat straighter, trying to focus her slightly blurred vision. She loved the sound of an acoustic guitar. The strumming of the melody melted her. One of my all-time favorites. Before this song, Vivian didn’t bother to check out the band. She had stayed occupied with people watching, the antics of the locals providing ample amusement. But with one of her favorite songs being plucked, old style, just the way she imagined the original artist playing, she had to see who had such magic fingers.
She wandered through the crowd, toward the stage. Her breath caught in her throat. It couldn’t be? Tuck? His eyes were closed, head slightly bent forward over the instrument as his magic fingers created harmony. Those same fingers that splayed across her cheeks and held her head as his lips brushed across hers earlier that day.
“Sing it, Tuck.” A petite girl with blonde hair piled high on her head swayed in front of the stage.
