by Linda Seed
“Okay,” Kate said. “So that explains the first kiss. But what about the second one?”
“He was gathering data.”
“Gathering data,” Gen repeated, a chunk of watermelon on a fork halfway to her mouth.
“Right.”
“Wait,” Lacy said, waving her arms. “Wait, wait. What kind of data was he gathering, exactly?”
“He wanted to see if he could replicate the results,” Rose said simply.
“The results of the first kiss,” Kate said.
“Right.”
“And what results were those, exactly?” Gen wanted to know.
Rose shrugged and took a sip of her latte. “Well, you know … not much. Except that it was so hot both of our faces almost melted off.”
Rose broke into a grin as her three friends stared at her.
“Will?” Kate said, looking perplexed.
“Scientist Will?” Lacy said.
“Well. He is a biologist,” Gen pointed out.
“Yes, Will,” Rose said. “I mean, he’s cute, right? He’s got that Southern California surfer look going on, which is … good. It’s good. But you’d never think it, would you? With the birds, and the studies and the … the data.”
“Wow. Your face melted off?” Lacy said.
“Almost. For a minute there, I thought I was levitating.”
“God,” Lacy said. “I want someone to collect my data.”
“I got my data collected just this morning,” Gen said, wiggling her eyebrows. “There was really a lot of data to collect. And Ryan collected it all.”
“Shut up,” Lacy said, throwing a wadded-up paper napkin at Gen.
“Let’s not get off topic here.” Kate, who had the happy, relaxed look of someone who got her data collected on a regular basis, turned toward Rose. “I want an answer to Lacy’s question. If there was kissing, then how was it not a date?”
Rose sighed impatiently. “I told you. I only kissed him to piss off his ex.”
“But it melted your face,” Kate pointed out.
“Well … yeah. That was unexpected.”
“One could argue that, beginning at the moment of the face-melting, it became a real date,” Gen offered.
“No.” Rose shook her head. “No, no.”
“But why not?” Lacy asked.
“Because I’m finished with men,” Rose said.
“Oh, honey.” Kate reached out and put a hand on Rose’s arm. “The thing with Jeremy was just—”
“It’s not about Jeremy.”
“So you’ve said,” Gen put in.
“Well, it’s not,” Rose insisted. “It’s not about him. It’s about … everything. And the kisses were just kisses. I enjoyed them. Okay, a lot. But they don’t mean Will and I are dating, and they don’t mean I’m not done. Because I am.”
“All right.” Kate nodded. “Do you want me to go to the animal shelter with you to pick out your twelve cats?”
Rose shot her a look. “Not today.”
“Birds,” Gen added. “She should get birds.” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Maybe a snowy plover.”
“Shut up,” Rose said.
Some days Will hated his time with the birds, and other days he loved it. This was one of the latter. Sitting out here in the dunes, in the quiet of the morning, with the breeze on his face and the sound of the crashing waves in his ears, gave him time to think. Time to get away from himself and just … be. If he sometimes became so absorbed in his thoughts that he got less work done than he should have, well, he considered it a fair tradeoff.
The morning was foggy and cool, but not so cool that it was uncomfortable. The marine layer made everything feel soft, like the world had been wrapped in gauze. Sitting out here with his spotting scope and his notebook, he thought about his career, his goals, and the situation with Chris and Melinda.
And Rose. He thought about Rose.
He hadn’t even planned on going out with her. When he’d been pushed into it due to circumstances that had spun out of his control, he’d thought, Okay, fine. I like her, it could be fun. And then she’d kissed him.
He couldn’t recall ever having been so profoundly affected by a kiss. His body had reacted to her in powerful and unexpected ways. Of course, there was the expected reaction—he’d been relieved that he hadn’t had to stand up for a while—but aside from that, there was the sensation that he’d been taken apart and put back together again as someone better, happier, more at peace. It occurred to him that Rose’s kiss had done for him in a few seconds what a lifetime of organized religion never could.
And then, for reasons that escaped him, he’d talked to her about things he’d never told anyone. He’d revealed to her his insecurities, his feelings of inadequacy, his uncertainty about who he was and where he was going with his life. How in the world had that happened?
Now, having experienced all of that, he couldn’t help thinking about her, when he should have been thinking about the birds.
What was the point, though? She’d told him not once but a few times that she was finished with dating. And who could blame her? Relationships were trouble wrapped in annoyance, bound together with guilt and obligation. Just look at the whole mess with him and Melinda.
He couldn’t help wondering what would happen if she weren’t done with dating. What then? Would the two of them be relationship material? Could they make a go of it?
Which was a stupid thing to wonder about, since he barely even knew her.
But changing that—getting to know her—would be part, or even most, of the fun.
She was interesting. He found himself wanting to know what ancient hurts had caused her to be who she was. She walked around wearing a suit of armor made of hair dye, makeup, body jewelry, and snark. What had made her construct it? And what was under it?
He suspected that the real Rose—the beating heart and soul of her—was just under the surface. No one could kiss like that unless they had easy access to their living, pulsing emotions. He was curious about that real Rose. He wanted to know.
Will spotted one of the snowy plovers that was part of his study, as evidenced by a tag on its left leg. He approached it slowly, carefully. If he made too much noise or frightened it, it was going to take flight, and then who knew when he’d be able to spot it again? He eased forward, slow and stealthy, his movements as gentle as a mother’s touch.
Pamela Watkins started in on Rose within days of being invited to the wedding.
“You’re going to dye your hair, of course,” Pamela told Rose over the phone. She’d called during a lull at De-Vine, on the store phone rather than Rose’s cell phone. The strategy was a good one; Rose would never have picked up her own phone knowing it was Pamela, but she couldn’t ignore the business line.
“Of course,” Rose agreed. “Gen’s colors are pink and gray. Well, they’re calling it blush, but it’s pink. I know gray hair is in fashion, but I’ve never been a fan, so I thought I’d go with the pink.”
“Very amusing, Rosemary,” Pamela said in a tone that indicated the opposite. “Your natural brown is rather drab—let’s face it—but I think you’d look lovely with some golden blond highlights.”
Rose clamped her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mother. If you’re worried about me having drab hair, then I suggest you embrace the pink.”
Pamela made a sputtering noise. “You can’t possibly be planning to … at a Delaney wedding! You simply can’t—”
“Mother,” Rose tried.
“You’ll humiliate yourself, and me, and I simply won’t—”
“Mother.”
“Why, the bride will be mortified—”
Rose banged the handset of the phone against the bar a few times to get Pamela’s attention. When she put the handset to her ear again, Pamela was silent.
“Gen won’t be mortified, Mom, because she’s my friend, and she loves me, and she accepts me the way I am. Something you might give a whirl sometime.”
“It’s because I love you that I care about these things,” Pamela said, slightly more subdued now.
Rose knew she was telling the truth. She knew her mother did love her. The problem was that Pamela equated one’s appearance with the success or failure of one’s life. If you looked a certain way, it had to mean that you were happy, fulfilled, thriving. But Rose knew from experience that you could have the right hair, the right clothes, the right makeup, and the right dress size and still be miserable as hell, mostly because you were trying to be someone you weren’t. And that was the part her mother had never understood.
“Look, Mom, I know. I know you do,” Rose said. “But I’m going to look how I look. And as long as it’s okay with Gen, it should be okay with you, too.”
“I just thought—” Pamela began.
“Hey, Mom? I have a customer coming into the store. I have to go.”
“If you could only—”
“Oops! I’ve got someone on the other line. Gotta go. Bye, Mom. Love you!”
Rose hung up the phone and gazed around the shop, which remained empty except for her. Sandra and Gen didn’t want to take back Pamela’s invitation now that it had been issued, and Rose understood that. So, she pondered other things that might keep her mother from attending.
Car trouble.
Major illness.
Injury.
Flash flooding.
Since none of those things seemed likely, she was going to have to gird her loins for the onslaught of maternal disapproval.
Ah, well. A wedding was nothing without family drama. Gen didn’t seem to have much of that, so Rose would have to supply it for her. It would be a sort of wedding gift. Like a Crock Pot, but with guilt and recrimination.
Chapter Eight
Having Melinda at the house was uncomfortable at best, but fortunately, Will didn’t have to see her much. Will mostly kept to himself, sticking to the guest house or staying away from the property entirely, working with the birds or hanging out with his friends.
The afternoon after the restaurant incident, Chris stopped by the guest house, and Will invited him in for a beer. Will grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator and handed one to Chris, and the two of them lounged around the little living room, drinking the cold craft brew.
The afternoon light filtered in through the windows, giving the place a warm, cozy feel that inspired napping and lazy reading. Will would have rather been doing either of those than talking about women with Chris.
“Rose seemed … interesting,” Chris offered.
If that was his opening gambit, then the rest of the conversation was likely to go downhill from there.
“She is,” Will said. He took a swallow of the cold beer and wondered where this was going to go, and how many times he’d have to lie about topics including, but not limited to, his relationship with Melinda and his relationship with Rose.
“She and Melinda didn’t seem to get along.”
“No,” Will agreed.
“What do you think was going on there?” Chris had his feet up on the coffee table, and he was slumped back into the sofa, relaxing like he owned the place. Which he did.
“Did you ask Melinda?” The response was evasive, but Will hoped Chris wouldn’t notice that.
“Yeah.”
“And what did she say?”
Chris shrugged. “She said Rose had a chip on her shoulder and was trying to pick a fight.”
“Seemed like the other way around to me,” Will said.
“Me too.”
“Huh.” Will stayed silent. Nothing bad ever came from staying silent.
“Well, whatever was going on there, it looked like you two have something good going on.” Chris winked at Will. It was a slightly lecherous wink that clearly referred to the kiss that had almost brought the walls down around them.
“You think so?” Will said.
“Don’t you?”
Will thought about that, took a slug of his beer, and shrugged. “It’s new. We’re still getting to know each other.” At least that part was true.
Chris guffawed. “If that was her getting-to-know-you kiss, I can only imagine what’s going to happen if she decides she really likes you.”
That was a thought laden with imagery that made it difficult for Will to focus on the conversation, and in fact, he didn’t realize Chris was still talking until the man was halfway through another thought.
“—at the wedding,” Chris said.
“What? I didn’t … Sorry. What was that?”
“I said, I hope Melinda can be better behaved at the wedding.”
Will blinked at him. “What wedding?”
“Gen Porter and Ryan Delaney.”
It wasn’t making any sense, so Will thought he must have misheard. “Melinda’s coming to Gen and Ryan’s wedding?”
Chris chuckled. “Well, I am. And I’m free to bring a date, so …”
“But why are you coming?” Will asked. “Do you even know them?”
He shrugged and shook his head. “Nah. But apparently, that night when I let them use Cooper House, they had a really good time. It made an impression. So, I guess the invitation was a kind of thank you.”
“Ah.” It made sense. He could see it. The problem was, what had started as one weekend pretending that he and Melinda didn’t know each other was now going to be one weekend and a wedding. And, Chris was going to expect Will and Rose to be a couple at the event.
Well, maybe they would be by then.
It could happen, if Will had any say in the matter.
“Let’s summarize for those of us joining in the middle of the broadcast,” Daniel said just before his turn at the dart board.
He, Will, Ryan, and Jackson were at Ted’s, a bar off Main Street, on Saturday night after Jackson’s shift at Neptune ended. Daniel and Jackson were competing for the Ted’s Cup, an award they’d invented for the occasion. They were vaguely aware of the official rules for darts, but found them too complicated, and instead they had their own scoring system based mostly on illogic and grandiosity.
The bar was dim and noisy, and the carpet looked like people had been driving tractor-trailer rigs over it for years. The place smelled like beer, sweat, and french fries.
Daniel continued his thought, ticking off points on his fingers. “Your ex is coming to Ryan’s wedding. And she’s going to be your boss’s date. And your boss doesn’t know that your ex is your ex. Meanwhile, your boss and your ex think you and Rose are a couple, which you’re not. So you’ll have to either continue to pretend you’re a couple at the wedding, or make up some kind of bullshit story about how you broke up. And finally.” He paused for drama. “Your ex and Rose hate each other so much that they might break out in hair-pulling and eye-gouging at the reception.”
Will nodded miserably. “That about sums it up, yeah.”
Daniel, looking self-satisfied, as one does when one’s own problems pale in comparison, took aim and threw a dart. It went high and to the right for four points.
“I hope there won’t be hair-pulling and eye-gouging at the reception,” Ryan said mildly. “Because then Gen would want to jump in to defend Rose, and she might rip her dress. We paid a lot for that dress.”
“I don’t know how Chris got invited in the first place. You don’t even know him,” Will said to Ryan.
“Gen wanted to invite him because of that date we had at his house,” Ryan said.
“Must have been a good date,” Jackson observed.
“It was a very good date,” Ryan confirmed. “I relive that date often.”
Daniel threw his second and third darts. One hit the bull’s eye, but because it was on his second throw, it didn’t count.
“Your rules don’t make any sense,” Will observed.
“You’re just jealous because you were eliminated in the Ted’s Cup semifinals,” Jackson said. He pulled Daniel’s darts from the board and lined up for his turn.
“So, what’s your plan, coll
ege boy?” Daniel wanted to know. “Are you going to plead with Rose to act like she’s your sweetie?”
“I don’t know,” Will said. He straightened his glasses and thought about it.
“You could always say it didn’t work out,” Ryan said. He was sitting on a barstool just outside the range of dart fire, sipping beer from a mug.
“Yeah, but then they’d have to pretend to be hurt and awkward,” Jackson pointed out. “People who have broken up recently are usually hurt and awkward.”
“And pretending to be hurt and awkward would be harder than pretending to be a couple,” Daniel said.
“Or,” Will said. He cleared his throat. “Maybe we really will be a couple by then.”
“Oh ho!” Jackson said. He threw his first dart, and it hit close to the center, though not in the bull’s eye.
“Ah, Jesus,” Daniel said. “We’ve already got two men down. Don’t tell me we’re about to lose another one.”
“Yeah, how’s the single life working out for you, Daniel?” Ryan wanted to know.
“It’s good.” Daniel nodded. “Last night I sorted my socks.”
“Maybe Will doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life sorting socks,” Jackson said. He threw his last two darts. One went wild and barely hit the board, and the other was low and to the left.
“So. You and Rose, huh?” Ryan asked. He was grinning in that way people have when they’re about to convert someone to their cult.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Will shrugged and looked at his feet. He picked up his beer mug and looked into it, then put it back down on the table. “She says she’s done with dating. But I like her. I like her a lot.”
“And there was the kiss.”
“What kiss?” Daniel demanded.
“Last night during the date that wasn’t a date, I came out of the kitchen at Neptune to stop by, say hi, ask how everything’s going. And college boy over here was in a serious lip-lock with Rose right there at Table Twelve.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows and let out a long, low whistle.
“It wasn’t like that,” Will said.
“It wasn’t like what?” Jackson grinned. “Wasn’t like you were about to bend her over the salad bar and go for it? Because that’s how it looked to me.”
