“Sorry to objectify your physical appearance in front of you, but I’m not exaggerating. I bet there’s a whole huge market in Seattle. If you’re the one selling it, people would be buying.” Cari swept her hand in front of my body from head to feet.
Once again, Cari’s honest mouth was creating a whole lot of awkward for Roslyn and me. If she noticed how her words impacted us, she didn’t care.
“I think I’ll pass on the male modeling. That’s a slippery slope to being a Chippendale’s dancer.” I held my expression serious.
“What’s Chippendales?” Cari asked, sincerely.
“Male dancers,” Roslyn explained, looking more excited than I liked. “Think Magic Mike, but not as hot.”
“Like the Matthew McConaughey character?”
“Exactly.” Roslyn gave me a smug smile
“Wait, you were a Chippendale’s dancer?” Cari’s eyes widened.
Roslyn hid her snort behind her hand
“No, and I’m not going to be.” I brushed my hand over my beard. “Are we all done here?”
“You’re all set. Thank you.” Cari gave me a thumb’s up. I admired her talent and initiative with this project and knew whatever she produced would be top quality, and not at all cheesy. The only cheese in here should be on the pizzas.
“You know where to reach me,” I let my eyes focus on Roslyn, “if you need me.”
“Thanks for playing nurse.” She held up her hand
“Anytime.”
As I walked away, I overheard the two women talking.
“Serious silver fox crush on him.”
“Join the club. He had women lined up in Seattle back in the day.”
“Erik says he never dates.”
“I doubt that. He’s probably just discreet.”
“Your teachings?”
“One of my first lessons.”
If only Roslyn knew the truth. I hadn’t been on a date in over a year.
She probably wouldn’t have believed me.
AS A THANK you for participating in the Naked Whidbey calendar, Erik gave us all gift certificates to the spa at the Inn in Langley. I guessed it was probably Cari’s idea. Or maybe Roslyn’s.
The idea of a bunch of men getting rubbed with aromatherapy oils and listening to soothing mandolin and guitar music made me laugh. The gesture might’ve been for the guys, but I was certain that their women would probably be the ones indulging themselves at the spa.
Given I didn’t have a woman, I booked myself a sports massage. My left shoulder had been bugging me lately when I was out in the kayak. Could’ve been an old injury or the joys of aging joints. Fucking middle age.
The Inn at Langley sat at the edge of the small downtown, up the hill from the Dog House tavern. Overlooking Saratoga Passage, the Inn had become one of my favorite places on the island long before I decided to buy property here. Back in the days when I’d drop a grand on a meal and expensive wine without blinking, their chef’s table hit the top of my list of local dining experiences. Coming over on the ferry for an evening or weekend made for an impressive date, back when I cared enough to want to impress a woman.
Somehow, along the path to simplicity, I’d become more cynical.
Nama-stay-away from me.
Hello contradiction, thy name is Daniel Ashland.
Then again, I’d always been at odds within myself. As the only son of a Pennsylvanian WASP father and a fiery Italian mother, I tended to stifle my emotions rather than indulge in the passionate side.
The biggest exception being my passion for food. That I got from my maternal grandfather, Salvatore Geraci, aka Sal. He used to tell me that Rudolph Valentino stole his smolder from him.
As a kid I had no idea who Rudolph Valentino was or even what smolder meant outside of a fire, but I idolized my Nonno and took everything he said as truth. A man who knew how to turn ground meat into the best meatballs and made pizza dough as incredible as he could was a genius. I realized this at very young age.
He also taught me the joy of silence. In a family of loud women, he would sit quietly with his own thoughts and observations. When he spoke after a long period, people listened in a way they wouldn’t have if he constantly chattered like everyone else.
My desire to study philosophy grew from our conversations. Even after I went to boarding school, we continued our discussions through letters and visits over the holidays. When I graduated college, he met me in New Hampshire and we drove the length of the East Coast from Maine to Key West, stopping to read every historical marker and exploring the most random roadside attractions.
That trip taught me to live in the moment, something I forgot in my thirties.
He died a year later when I was busy discovering myself in the mountains north of Santa Fe.
His love for over fifty years, my grandmother, passed six months after.
A sign of true love or a broken heart? Both? My mother swore on the latter.
To his honor, I named my business after him. He would’ve loved it. I could still hear his heavily accented English telling me how proud he was of me.
Then there was my father. He never mentioned his eldest son owned a pizza parlor. Instead, he told people I’d retired at thirty-eight after selling my business for millions.
He wasn’t lying.
Whenever we spoke, he asked about my investments. I tried to tell him about life on the island and the simple happiness I had from running a small business. He’d lose track of the conversation after a minute or two, handing me off to speak with my mother.
A continent and three time zones seemed like the right amount of distance between his expectations for me and the life that made me happy.
Inside the massage room, I stripped off my clothes and folded them on the chair. Soft music played in the dimly lit room. A second massage table took up the left side of the space, giving me a choice of locations. I chose the table on the right with the sheet and thin blanket folded back. After lying face down, I situated the sheet over my hips, covering my ass, but leaving my back and shoulders exposed. With my face in the cradle, I exhaled and tried to relax before the massage began. Often I fell asleep during massages, which seemed counterintuitive. Or maybe counterproductive. Or perhaps entirely the point.
Not that I got a lot of massages.
Who had time?
The door opened and I heard muffled voices from the hall. I expected the sound of my massage therapist Claire’s footsteps padding across the floor, and turned my head to greet her. Instead, I heard a soft gasp from the doorway.
Roslyn stood there in a fluffy white spa robe, clutching the lapels and belt with both hands. A broad-shouldered man with a tiny, blond quail-knot on the crown of his head loomed behind her.
“Sorry to be late. We can get started as soon as Claire returns.” He stepped around Roslyn and into the room with me.
I sat up quickly and the sheet shifted off of my body, sliding to the back of the table before I could grasp it. I scrambled to cover myself in front of the stranger, less concerned about exposing myself to Roslyn.
Nothing she hadn’t seen before.
“Easy there, big guy,” he said. “No need to get up and shake hands.”
I pulled the sheet tighter around my waist and held it in place at the side, moving to stand. “I think there’s been a mistake.”
Roslyn stood frozen in the door, still clutching her robe. Her eyes looked dilated and huge, not unlike a deer crossing the highway and caught in the middle of the road.
“Couples massage at three? Ros and Dan?” His gaze flicked between us.
“Sorry I’m late.” Claire joined us. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get a full hour’s massage. Should we get started?”
“There’s been a mistake.” Roslyn pointed to me and then back to herself.
Claire and Shoulders stared at me like I was some sort of imposter crashing a romantic couple’s massage.
“Clearly this is all a misunderstanding.” I stood and pull
ed the sheet with me like a toga costume at a frat party. Only this fraternity preferred the scent of lavender to stale beer. “We’re not a couple.”
“What a relief.” Shoulders shook his head. “Yeah. Okay. Cool. Lovely.”
I raised an eyebrow at his random exclamations.
“Your energy is totally abrasive and not at all in sync with each other. I totally get it. If you were a couple, yeah, we’d need to do some serious Reiki on aligning your heart chakra.”
Ros snorted from her spot. “Another room would be perfect.”
I turned to focus on her. Our past was complicated, but we weren’t complete strangers.
“All the rooms are occupied. If one of you would like to cancel and reschedule, we could do that, but if you’d both like a massage today, then this is the only option.” The singsong tone to Claire’s voice made her sound like she was speaking to toddlers on the brink of a tantrum.
“We can put up a divider and you won’t even know the other person is there.” The male massage therapist walked to where a Japanese shoji screen filled a corner.
Trying to be the bigger person, as much as a man could be while wearing a white sheet toga around his waist, I spoke to Ros, “Your call.”
I caught the way her focus shifted up my torso before settling on my face. “It’s not ideal, but it doesn’t bother me.”
It bothered me that it didn’t bother her. “Sure. Whatever.”
After the screen was situated between the tables, Claire and Shoulders, who was apparently named Roe, like the fish eggs, left the room to let us get settled. The sounds of Roslyn moving around on the other side carried over the divider. With careful listening, I could make out the sound of her robe being removed, and her footsteps between the chair and table. Rustling of the sheet followed a slight creak when she lay on her table.
“Aren’t you going to lie down?” she asked.
I hadn’t moved.
“I can leave and reschedule.” I shifted my weight to my left leg.
“I swear it’s fine. I was just surprised to find a naked man waiting for me in my room.”
“If this is uncomfortable—”
“No. It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” She swallowed a nervous giggle. “Or recently. We need to stop meeting like this.”
“Unexpectedly?”
“When only one of us is wearing clothes.”
I peeked around the screen and saw her lovely back exposed above the sheet. The swell of her ass was clearly outlined beneath the thin material.
“If you’re sure.” I gave her one more out.
“Thanks for offering.”
I resettled myself on the table, repositioning the sheet, and resting my face in the cradle. With an exhale, I attempted to forget she was on the other side of a paper screen. Naked.
This was going to be the longest massage in history.
“IT’S AN EASY mistake. Roslyn. Ros and Dan.” Roslyn trailed behind me as I walked up the hill to my car.
“On what planet? Anyone who knows me would never make that mistake.” Massages were supposed to be relaxing. What I’d experienced for the last hour was the opposite. I felt riled up and every nerve stretched tight like a guitar string.
A dry, sarcastic laugh followed me. “Right. Anyone who knows you. Because you live your life like a monk?”
I felt her barb prick, but ignored it. “Anyone who knows me now,” I stressed the present tense, “would know I’m single, and therefore wouldn’t book a couples’ massage. Even if I were married, I’d never book a couples’ massage.”
She scoffed. “Right. You married. Perish a fool to suggest such a thing.”
I scowled at her sarcasm. “You know how I feel about institutions.”
With a huff, Ros increased her pace.
I mumbled quietly as she stomped past me. “Plus, if I’m going to have a couples’ massage, I want to be the one in charge of touching my woman. Listening to her moan as someone else has their hands on her naked skin isn’t my idea of enjoyable. I don’t like sharing what’s mine. Voyeurism isn’t my thing.”
Her steps faltered for a second before she stopped all together. Turning to check on her, I found Roslyn staring at me with her mouth open. With her eyes bugged out, she resembled a fish on a hook.
“What?” I glanced down to make sure my fly wasn’t open. Nothing looked out of place.
“Unbelievable.” She shook away the expression and her face fell into its typical state of beautiful. A few dark hairs had slipped out of the bun at the nape of her neck and coiled along the slope of her shoulder. Her pale skin glowed from the massage oil.
“You don’t think Cari had something to do with the booking mistake, do you?” She brushed away the curl of hair I’d been admiring as if she knew it fascinated me.
“I wouldn’t put it past anyone on this island to meddle in my business.”
“You chose to live in a small town. I’m sure that’s part of the bargain.”
I grumbled at the truth in her words. “I didn’t agree to anything other than some privacy.”
She clicked her key fob and the parking lights of a top of the line white Mercedes SUV flashed across the street.
With her departure approaching, I needed to say something—something civilized and nice. More to prove to myself that I hadn’t turned into a grizzly bear and lost all sense of manners.
I also didn’t want to leave things on a bad note with Roslyn. I liked her. She saved Erik’s back because I called her and asked. There was no reason to have ire toward her. Not anymore.
“I—”
I had nothing.
Apparently I had lost my social skills along with my suits and ties. I smiled awkwardly to cover up my brilliant conversational skills. My muscles tensed as I tried to convince myself I wouldn’t do what I wanted to do at the moment.
There was no way I would kiss Roslyn Porter in the middle of First Street.
But God, did I want to.
Screw rational thought and the long list of reasons why that would be a terrible idea. For the past hour I’d listened to her soft moans and breathy sighs as a man named after fish eggs slid his hands over her naked skin.
Hell on Earth, also known as a surprise couples’ massage.
I’d spent the first part of the massage replaying scenes where my hands were the ones bringing Roslyn pleasure. Brilliant idea. When Claire moved to my feet, I realized she was going to ask me to flip over to do my front. No way I could do that with the semi I’d started sporting. I switched visuals to something unsexy and depressing like chicken nugget manufacturing. Nothing less appealing than processed food.
By the time I rolled onto my back, I had everything under control.
Now standing in the street with Roslyn, the frustration built again.
I didn’t know where we stood with each other. We weren’t work colleagues, but we weren’t friends either. She’d seen me mostly naked twice now in the span of a month.
If I believed in coincidences, I’d question why I kept getting naked around Ros. Life is arbitrary and we typically only assign meaning to things we value after the fact.
An old pickup pulled alongside the curb. I didn’t recognize the driver at first until Carter rolled down the passenger window. “Hey, Pizza Man.”
He hopped out the driver’s side and bounced around the front bumper to join us on the sidewalk. With an expectant look, he waited for me speak.
“Carter. You know Roslyn?”
“Of course. The beautiful Roslyn was at my photo shoot a couple of weeks ago.”
“Hi, Carter.” Ros gave him a small wave.
I wasn’t in the mood for small talk with the elder Kelso. Instead, I said an abrupt good-bye and left them standing there staring at me. I took my bad mood and backtracked to the Dog House to see Olaf.
Finding the front door locked and the lights off, I checked the time on my phone and realized it was only two in the afternoon. Since he stopped serving lunch, Ol
af opened later in the day. Sometimes he didn’t unlock the doors until five. Said he did it to keep fellow citizens out of trouble.
I thought he needed to hire more help and stop trying to run the place most nights by himself. He told me where I could stick my opinions, and if I in any way implied he was an old coot, I could find someone else to beat me at chess.
To be sure he wasn’t in the back, I followed the walkway to the side door and tried that one too. Locked.
Well, screw it.
Now my options were walk back up the street to where I’d parked by Roslyn and Carter. Or meander through town to avoid them.
I chose the second option.
A few tourists milled around on the sidewalk, window shopping and taking pictures of the bright store fronts lining the three streets that comprised downtown Langley.
I headed up Anthes to the Double-Bluff tasting room. To waste time, I’d pick up a growler or two of beer for the house.
As I crossed the street, I checked behind me to see if Roslyn’s car still sat in its spot.
The fact that it was gone weighed heavy in my stomach.
I disliked feeling out of sorts.
After I bought my growlers, I resolved to go kayaking for the rest of the afternoon.
Being on the water always cleared my head and settled my nerves.
I needed a break from people.
AS I ROUNDED the corner from the kitchen to the front of Sal’s, I stubbed my toe on the cabinet.
“Fucking fracking flockers,” I cursed to relieve the pain.
“Did you say flockers?” a familiar voice asked from the other side of the espresso machine.
I hobbled my way to that end of the counter and spotted a familiar head of auburn hair sitting in the corner booth.
“Miss Porter?” My voice raised in a question although I had no doubt it was her.
“Morning.”
I checked the time on the clock. “It’s twelve thirty.”
She looked up from the stack of papers spread across her table. “Is it? I’ve lost track of time.”
“What are you doing here?” It had been two weeks since the disastrous couples’ massage. At least this time when she showed up unexpected, I wasn’t naked.
Better Love Page 4
