The Proposal

by R. R. Banks

  She sighs and gives me a slight shrug of her shoulders. Not the definitive statement I was looking for. I relay the conversation I had with Mrs. B. and when I finish, Skyler gives me a sly smile.

  “Mrs. B. knows what's up,” she says. “Take that sexy ass down to the Caribbean, find you some hot, hung island man, have drinks on the beach and make sweet love all night long. Every night. Now that would be the life.”

  I laugh. “That sounds more like your kind of life.”

  She shrugs. “Once I'm done here in Port Safira and am ready to pack it in,” she says, “you better bet that's what I'm going to do. And if you're not already down there, I'm going to drag your sweet ass down there with me.”

  I laugh, and we share a moment of comfortable silence as we sip our coffee. Skyler's always been able to roll with the punches that life throws a lot better than I have. She's more flexible and adaptable to change than I am. It's something else that I admire about her.

  Skyler gives me a smile and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “Mrs. B. is right, you know,” she says softly.

  “About which part?”

  “About all of it, silly,” she says. “But mostly about the bookstore not being the legacy your folks left. It's all the good they did in the community. Their legacy is you.”

  “Yeah, well, I don't think I'm doing their legacy any favors then.”

  “So, do something about it.”

  “Like what?”

  Skyler pops another bit of muffin into her mouth. “I don't know,” she says. “Build the shop up again. Do what they used to do and get involved with the community.”

  I grimace and take another drink of my coffee. That stuff is so far out of my wheelhouse that I wouldn't even know where to begin.

  “Or,” Skyler says, “sell the shop, take the money, and do something different. Honor their memory in another way.”

  “Like how?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I don't know,” she replies. “That's something you'd have to figure out.”

  I let out a long, frustrated breath. Everything is just so jumbled in my head right now that I don't even know where to begin sorting it all out.

  “Listen,” Skyler says, squeezing my hand again. “You don't have to figure it all out by the time you finish that coffee. Think about it. This is one of those things that deserves some real thought. All I can tell you for sure is that you need to do something, hon. You just seem so – stuck. Like you don't know what to do with yourself.”

  A wry smile touches my lips. “That's one way to put it.”

  “Then find something to do, hon,” she says. “Figure out what's going to make you happy and go do that. If that means selling the shop and using that money to say, go back to school, so be it. Your parents would never begrudge you that and you know it.”

  “No,” I say softly. “They wouldn't. I know they'd want me to be happy.”

  “Damn right they would,” she says. “They'd be the first ones to tell you the shop is just a building filled with stuff.”

  I nod, knowing everything that she and Mrs. Brenton said is true. Everything they said is right. I just don't know what I want, or what I want to do, just yet. I guess they're right about that too – it's something I'm going to have to figure out.

  “Thanks, Sky,” I say. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

  “Probably melt into a quivering puddle of self-pity.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She slaps me on the arm and laughs. “I'm kidding, hon,” she says. “You know that.”

  “I know,” I say and give her a small smile.

  “So, listen,” she says. “Did you know that somebody bought the old McFarland place up on Sapphire Hill?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I knew that already,” I laugh. “Where have you been?”

  She shrugs. “Oh, well, probably busy with my European stud-induced multiple orgasms,” she replies. “Multiple orgasms that you can have too, you know. Henrik has plenty of hot friends onboard the ship.”

  “Pass,” I say. “But, thanks for thinking of me.”

  She shrugs again and smirks. “That's okay,” she says. “More for me then.”

  “Have at 'em, tiger.”

  “Oh, I plan on it,” she says. “Anyway, what's up with the guy on the hill? Apparently, he moved in weeks ago and nobody's seen or heard from him. He's like this mysterious old shut-in or something.”

  “Yeah, town gossip isn't my thing,” I say.

  “Oh, it's totally mine,” she says. “Nobody's seen the guy though. Most seem to think he's like some super old, creepy guy. Some think he's morbidly obese and can't get around, and others think he's disfigured like the Phantom of the Opera or something and doesn't want to be seen.”

  “Or, maybe he's just a guy who likes his privacy.”

  “It's totally weird if you ask me,” she says. “He's been living there for weeks apparently and nobody's seen him. Not even once. I bet he's got like, a lot of women chained up in some basement sex dungeon or something.”

  “You say that like you're hoping for an invitation,” I say and chuckle.

  “Shut up,” she laughs. “I just think it's creepy that he moves into town and yet, is never actually seen around town. People are calling him Gatsby, in case you wondered.”

  “I wasn't wondering.”

  It's odd. There's no doubt about that. But, I'm not one to engage in idle gossip. Besides, I already did some research on the newest member of our community. It's amazing what you can find when you Google something. I'm not going to share that information with Skyler though. She's having too much fun speculating and gossiping about all of this anyway.

  Personally, I know all I that need to know about the new resident on Sapphire Hill. His name is Liam Anderson and he's a real estate developer. Just another filthy, stinking rich, predatory vulture who has come to pick the meat off the bones of my hometown.

  Chapter Six

  Liam

  “You've always been a soft touch, big brother,” he says.

  I sigh and lean back in my seat, looking at the face of my younger brother Brayden on the computer screen. Well, one of my younger brothers, anyway. I was the eldest of four – one of four heads of Anderson Development Enterprises. Our father, in his will, had divided the company – a multi-billion-dollar real estate development company – into four geographic slices.

  Each of us was in charge of our own geographic center and responsible for everything that happened within it. It was really a brilliant way to divide up the vast and highly profitable kingdom he'd built for us. But then, that's not altogether that surprising. My father was a brilliant man.

  Brayden is the closest to me in terms of age and that's probably why I'm closer to him than my other brothers. Not that I'm not close to them, but I feel like Brayden and I have a bond that unfortunately, I don't share with the other two.

  My region of the company is the West Coast, running from Alaska down to Baja California, while his is the South and Southwest, so we don't get to see each other as often as I'd like, but we usually Skype at least once a week, just to stay current with one another.

  “I wasn't exactly a soft touch,” I say. “I made her relinquish her claim to any money or property. I gave her nothing.”

  “You gave her the condo,” he replies. “Last I checked, that counted as something and is definitely not nothing.”

  A wry grin touches my lips. “Yeah, well, she would have been out on the streets if I hadn't given her at least the condo,” I say. “I'm not a complete asshole.”

  “Like I said, a soft touch,” Brayden laughs. “If I were in your shoes, I would have sent her evil, conniving ass to prison. At least there, you know she'd have a roof over her head and three squares a day, brother.”

  Brayden likes to talk tough, but if push actually came to shove, he probably would have done the same thing I did. Probably even tossed in a bit of cash just to make the transition easier. He likes to s
ay I'm the soft touch in the family, but of the four brothers, I'd have to say that he's got the kindest heart.

  In other words, he's mostly bark with little bite.

  “Well, it's done,” I say. “If she comes back at me though, I'll be sure to unleash hell on her.”

  “Oh, I have a feeling she's going to come back at you, brother,” Brayden says. “You just need to be careful. My biggest concern is that you're not going to see it coming, so watch your back.”

  “I will, Bray,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “So, how is your new hometown?”

  I look out the window and a small smile touches my lips. The town of Port Safira is charming. It has a real small-town feel and a slower pace of life that I find incredibly appealing. Honestly, I'm slightly appalled to see the gentrification going on as it seems to be stripping some of that charm away. It's unfortunate, as I much prefer seeing the small, homegrown businesses as opposed to the high-end, generic retail chains.

  “It's nice,” I say. “Quiet. Peaceful. I think this is exactly what I need right now.”

  “That's good to hear, brother,” Brayden says. “You definitely need some time to clear your head and get your brain back into the game.”

  “That I do.”

  In the distance are the port and the larger-than-life cruise ships that are docked near the sleek, modern terminal. Hotels have sprouted up all around the area and I can see construction going on down that way. I can't say for sure what they are yet, but I have a feeling there are some high-dollar condos being built near the water. Even near a major cruise line hub, condos on the water are going to fetch a pretty penny. It’s the same everywhere.

  “Any business opportunities there?” Brayden asks. “Where is it again?”

  “Port Safira,” I say. “A little up-and-coming town on the Olympic Peninsula. And yeah, it looks like there is a lot of business going on here. Looks like a new cruise line hub and some condos are going up. The main artery through town looks like it's going through some major changes.”

  “Are you planning on doing business there?”

  I shrug. “I don't know,” I say. “Something about all of the gentrification I see happening here just feels wrong. This place is actually really charming. It's a nice town. But, somebody looks like they're trying to turn it into a mirror image of Seattle or something. The character of the place is getting stripped away. It's unfortunate.”

  “Like I said, you're a soft touch,” Brayden laughs.

  I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, that's me,” I say. “Anyway, I should get going. I need to take Hemingway out.”

  “Sounds good. Give me a call in a couple of days,” I say. “I want to hear more about your new town.”

  “I'll do that,” I say. “Love you, brother.”

  “Love you too.”

  I disconnect the call and lean back in my seat for a moment, just staring out at the town of Port Safira. Being up on the hill I am, I have an excellent vantage point and can see it all spread out down below me. Yeah, I can't say I'm a fan of the character of this place being stripped away.

  I'm so lost in thought, I don't even realize my Golden Retriever, Hemingway, is in the room until he lays his big head on my leg, his big, soulful eyes looking up at me. I reach down and scratch behind his ears and smile.

  “Ready for a walk?” I ask.

  As if he understands my every word, he backs up, a big, doggy smile on his face, his tail beating the air behind him. He turns in a circle and gives me a quick yip to encourage me to get moving.

  It's hard to stay in a foul mood with this guy around.

  Chapter Seven

  Liam

  I take Hemingway up through the trails behind my house. I've seen people up here running every now and then, but for the most part, we have the trails to ourselves. Which is how I like it. In the month and a half I've been in Port Safira, I don't think I've really left my home.

  At least, not to go into town. I have a private helicopter and a pilot who is always on call that I use to travel back and forth between here and the Seattle office – the home base of my slice of the ADE kingdom. I don't have to be there too often, and frankly, I prefer staying out of Seattle as much as I can these days. I'm thankful that I can do pretty much everything I need to do from my home office.

  It's just one of the many perks of being in my position. Of course, as I've learned, being in my position also comes with plenty of drawbacks. Such as having a woman in my life who saw me as nothing more than an ATM. A body to pay for the upscale, lavish lifestyle she wanted to lead. That she felt like she deserved to lead.

  With that whole mess six weeks behind me now, I've had plenty of time to reflect on things and I still can't help but kick myself again and again for not noticing the signs sooner. I should have known, all the way back in college, that Brittany wasn't who she said she was. Who I thought she was.

  As I look back on it now, there were a million red flags that I chose to ignore because I was so caught up in her. So, head over heels in love with her. Everything from how she treated people she considered to be “less than,” to her insistence on only the finest things in life – I should have known. Should have seen it.

  Hemingway runs up to me with a tennis ball in his mouth and a smile on his face. He wags as I take the ball and scratch behind his ears.

  “Maybe I am a soft touch, huh?” I say. “Maybe Uncle Brayden is right about that.”

  He dances in place, excitedly waiting for me to throw the ball – though, I'm pretty sure he agrees with the notion that I'm a soft touch and approves of it. I hurl it into a wide-open field with tall grass and wildflowers, watching him bound off in search of his toy.

  As I watch him go, I smile. This is one thing that makes me glad to have moved to a place like Port Safira – the wide openness of it all. Seattle, although I love the city, doesn't have many wide open green spaces like this. And for a dog like Hemingway, being able to romp and play in an open field is a good thing. Sure, there are plenty of dog parks in Seattle and the like – it is known as a very pet-friendly city – but it's not anywhere near the same as having a field full of real grass for him to zip around in.

  It's one of the many features of this town that I've really come to appreciate. And I know Hemingway does too. This is also a place I know Brittany would have never agreed to come to. She'd call it too rural. Too backwoods with not enough nightlife. Port Safira doesn’t have enough of the finer things and trappings of wealth she has become accustomed to.

  Those are things I don't particularly need or care for. I'm a simple guy. It's something that surprises a lot of people – people who assume just because I'm wealthy, I'll have gold-plated toilets and fixtures throughout my house. That's just not my style. I'm a low-key guy who doesn't need all the trappings of wealth.

  Sure, I like nice things. I just don't need to be extravagant about it all. Unlike Brittany, who seemed to have a need to flaunt her wealth – well actually, my wealth– at every turn. It's one lesson I'll be forever grateful to my father for. He was absolutely loaded, but you'd never really know it by looking at him. My father was frugal to a fault and always taught us to be humble.

  He continually reminded us that, although we should enjoy the privileges we had, we should avoid being flashy or excessive about it. His mantra and one that will forever echo in my mind is that fortune – like fame and beauty – can be fleeting. Just because you have money today doesn't mean you'll have it tomorrow. It takes hard work, not extravagance, to build and maintain a fortune.

  I have my own indulgences and small extravagances, sure. But, unlike my former wife, those are the exception and not the rule.

  “Live and learn, huh, buddy?” I say as Hemingway bounds up to me, dropping the ball at my feet. “We won't be making that mistake again, now will we?”

  I pick it up and throw it out into the field again, watching him bound through the tall grass. I sit down on a fallen log and look out over the town of Port Safira below. I
take a deep breath, savoring the clean, crisp air, and marvel at the view of the Olympic Mountains in the distance.

  Being out here, amongst all this natural beauty fills me with a sense of peace and tranquility – one I've been reveling in since moving. I don't think I realized how stressed out and tense living in Seattle had made me until I got here and found myself enjoying not being around people. Enjoying the wide-open spaces and the quiet solitude.

  Truthfully, this has been the best elixir I could have had to help deal with everything that went down with Brittany. Just getting away and being by myself, surrounded by the beauty of the natural world – it's worked magic on me.

  “I should have moved here years ago,” I mutter to myself.

  A nearby scream pulls me out of my reverie and I quickly get to my feet and turn around. A woman is standing on the trail – who had obviously been jogging – and Hemingway is standing in front of her, his whole body wiggling and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He's obviously very excited to see her.

  “It's okay,” I call. “He's friendly.”

  As if he wanted to reinforce my words, Hemingway sits down and looks at the woman expectantly, waiting for her to pet him. I quickly walk up to the trail and clip his leash on to the harness. He looks at me, pure adoration in his eyes, so I slip a treat out of the pouch on my belt and feed it to him, giving him a quick scratch behind the ears.

  “He just surprised me,” the woman says. “I didn't expect him to come bouncing out of the field like that.”

  “Apologies,” I say.

  “No, it's fine,” she replies. “No harm done. Besides, a little boost to my heart rate can only help my workout, right?”

  “Say you're sorry to the nice lady, Hemingway,” I say.

  Hemingway steps forward and nuzzles his head against her leg, his tail wagging enthusiastically. The woman laughs and reaches down, scratching him behind the ears and my dog looks like he's in heaven.

  “Hemingway,” she says. “Unusual name for a dog.”