Better Love

by Daisy Prescott

  “I’m supposed to meet Cari for lunch. I drove over early to get some work done.”

  “How long have you been loitering in my booth?” I flipped on the espresso machine to make myself a doppio espresso. “Need a coffee?”

  “Cappuccino, if it’s not too much trouble.” Her phone buzzed and she tapped the screen.

  When her drink was finished, I brought it and a sweet cinnamon knot of pizza dough over to her table.

  “What’s this?”

  “Thought you might need to eat.”

  “Who eats carbs anymore?” She poked at the bread on her plate.

  “You don’t need to worry about your weight.” My mind flashed back to her curves barely hidden beneath the spa robe.

  Sighing, she focused on the ceiling. “Right. You spend your life working with professional athletes and their supermodel girlfriends.”

  “You need to hang around more normal people. Did Erik and Cari invite you to the annual Halloween party here? It’s, as Erik would say, pretty epic.”

  “Ugh. No. I deal with enough lost boys as clients. Spending my off hours with a bunch of perpetual hooligans sounds like hell.”

  “Yet you keep showing up here on the island.”

  “I have clients here.” She lifted her chin defiantly.

  Curiosity got the best of me. “More than Erik?”

  “A few of my athletes have second, or third, homes around the Sound.”

  “Of course they do.” I didn’t hold back on the sarcasm in my voice. Or my eye roll.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Have you seen the giant McMansions on the water here?” I frowned in disgust at the overconsumption displayed in some of the newer builds on the island. Did anyone need eight bedrooms, plus a guest house?

  “I didn’t realize you’d moved into a shack in the woods.” Her own dry tone matched mine.

  Okay, I was being a hypocrite.

  “I live in a one-bedroom.”

  “You’re unbelievable.” She closed her laptop.

  “It’s not a lie.”

  “Who builds a massive house with one bedroom? Do you live in an oversized tree fort?” She twisted her body to face me straight on.

  “Someone who enjoys his privacy.”

  “This entire island is filled with boys who don’t want to grow up.” She wrinkled her nose, her opinion clearly not a positive one.

  I held back my laughter when I realized she was serious. She really needed to eat something. I could make her a salad. “I think that’s exaggerating a bit, don’t you?”

  “I stand by it. It’s Neverland here.” She crossed her arms and tapped her fingers against her elbow.

  “Where’s Tinker Bell? I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a giant crocodile with a clock when I’ve been out kayaking. Or a pirate with a hook. Except in Coupeville for the annual pirate party.”

  “Stop being literal.”

  “Stop judging everyone because you think we’re backwoods and not living a real life. There is life outside of the city and the rat race.”

  “You’re not even from here.” She actually huffed.

  I rolled my bottom lip into my mouth and squinted at her. “Wait, are you mad because you’re not Wendy in this scenario? There’s your Halloween costume.”

  The front door opened and I automatically turned to greet the customer.

  Tom Donnely strolled into the restaurant, all smiles like the mayor of pizza town. “Dan, my man. How’s it rising?”

  Double-entendres were his specialty. I don’t think he was ever serious.

  “Your pizza’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “No problem. I’ll occupy myself. Don’t worry about entertaining me with stories,” he lowered his voice to whisper, “of the secret mafia that doesn’t exist.”

  He emphasized his words with a wink and a tap to the side of his nose as he leaned casually against the counter. He’d make a terrible spy.

  Some days I wished there was a secret society of pizza shop owners. I wanted to compare notes on nutty customers.

  Roslyn shot dirty looks at me while I ignored her. Tom must’ve picked up on the tension because he kept glancing over at her, then back at me. I didn’t know if he knew her from the calendar stuff, but I wasn’t about to make introductions.

  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed she picked up the cinnamon knot and sniffed it. Just eat it. Unless she’d developed a gluten allergy, a little bread wouldn’t kill her.

  I smiled when she bit into it and closed her eyes. When she opened them and caught me staring, she glared at me, then popped the rest into her mouth. I gave her a smug lift of my eyebrows and went back to ignoring her.

  “Half hot Hawaiian, half meat lovers up,” Jeff called out as he slid the pizza box onto the counter.

  Tom shot one more look at Roslyn before stepping up to the counter to pay. His face was full of unasked questions. You know what they say about cats and curiosity? Tom Cat lived up to his nickname.

  OUTWARDLY I’D SAID yes to the Naked Whidbey because I wanted to support fighting cancer. However, my ego had other motivations. The young bucks around here thought they invented the idea of stud calendars and I wasn’t going to let them have all the glory. Not that I had anything to prove. Okay, maybe I had a little something to prove because Roslyn was involved in the project. If she was going to be ogling naked men for charity, I’d better be one of them.

  Tastefully shot, the photos could definitely be considered artistic.

  Especially when they were enlarged to poster size and hung around the fundraising event at a local winery.

  Ever walk into a party and see your naked ass blown up larger than life? Me neither until that night. Naked Whidbey rented out one of the local wineries for the launch and fundraiser in early October. The party spilled out from a beautifully restored barn onto a wide lawn lined with planters and tables. Scattered around the event were easels holding over-sized posters of each calendar month.

  I arrived by myself and planned to loop through the event before making a quick escape. With all the people in attendance I needed to say hello to, I estimated I’d have to be there for at least thirty minutes. Forty minutes tops.

  I avoided getting too close to my photo, in case anyone asked to see the real thing in person. The bar seemed a safe zone and I found John Day and Tom there, loitering around sipping on beers. Erik, the man behind Naked Whidbey and this fundraiser, joined us.

  We stood silently, drinking from our bottles and observing the simmering tension between the female party guests as they left their bids on the posters in the silent auction. I felt like I was observing lionesses in the Serengeti stalking their next kill. One would casually walk over to the bid form, glance around, maybe throw out a fake laugh at how silly the whole evening seemed, and then add a higher bid before she moved into a position that allowed her to observe the form and protect her interest from the evil hyenas who would bid against her to steal her prize. I swore a few times I heard growling.

  “Looks like October is getting some action.” John tilted his head in the direction of a loud scuffle across the lawn.

  “Who’s October?” I asked, stretching to my full height to peer over the crowd. Connie and Sandy played a game of keep away. One had the bid sheet. The other held a pen over her head. As they shifted positions, I saw the poster. “Oh shit.”

  I was Mr. October.

  “Watch out, there’s a cougar fight over you, Dan.” Erik gestured at me with his bottle.

  “Auctioning the posters is a terrible idea. I’m going to spend a fortune tonight outbidding those two women. Excuse me.”

  “Cat fight.” Tom smirked.

  I wove through the crowd to my poster. “Evening, ladies.”

  Distracted by my arrival, Sandy stopped jumping for the pen in Connie’s hand. She had a lot of lift for a woman in her fifties.

  Connie grabbed the bid sheet and released a triumphant, “Woot!”

  “You better guard that
with your life, Connie. The second you turn your back, I’m outbidding you.”

  “With what money? Your Christmas savings account?” Sandy sneered at her best friend.

  “Okay, okay. Let’s not get mean.” I glanced at the bids in Connie’s hand. The last amount written down topped a thousand dollars. For a poster. Of my naked ass in front of the brick oven. For the record, making pizza naked wasn’t something I recommended. Eating pizza naked was another story. Especially if done with an also naked woman.

  My eyes scanned the crowd for the only woman here I’d done exactly that with more than once. Late at night, a little drunk, cocky about life, we’d stumbled into the kitchen after having sex for a snack or brought the pizza back to the bedroom for a naked picnic on the bed.

  Roslyn’s auburn hair stood out amongst the crowd. In a burgundy dress that caressed her curves, she looked like a goblet filled with my favorite red, and I was dying of thirst.

  An elbow to my ribs snapped me from further thoughts of Roslyn. Connie whispered an apology while shouldering Sandy, who attempted to take the clipboard back.

  “Ladies.” I raised my voice.

  I caught a few mumbled slurs about granny panties and withered old crone from two women I’d assumed to be best friends.

  “Ladies.” I stepped between them to pluck the clipboard and pen from Connie, holding them above my head to keep their attention.

  “It’s for a good cause.” Sandy batted her lashes at me.

  “Every dollar raised goes to prostate cancer research.” Connie winked.

  “Yes, I know, but no poster is worth ending a friendship over.” I scribbled my bidder number and quadrupled the highest bid.

  “I can’t beat that.” Sandy sighed, resigned when she saw the amount.

  “Me neither. You’ve bid blocked us, Dan. Two sweet ladies who’ve never done a thing against you.” Connie’s coyness fooled no one.

  “How about you both frame the page from one of the calendars?”

  Sandy’s blue eyes sparkled. “Will you autograph mine?”

  Connie’s pointy elbow aimed for Sandy before she stepped away. “Mine too?”

  “Happily.” I flashed a smile at them. “But only if you promise to both play nice tonight. There’s plenty of man candy to go around for everyone. I bet Tom and John’s posters need some bid love.”

  Sandy sped off in one direction, Connie in the other. I stood alone, laughing at their antics. Familiar fingers plucked the clipboard from my hands.

  “Four thousand dollars? You bid almost five thousand dollars on your own poster? Your vanity knows no bounds. Are you going to hang it over your own bed?” Roslyn asked, laughter nearly choking her.

  “Hello, dear Miss Porter. Did you miss the memo this is a fundraiser for charity?”

  Her deep indigo eyes missed nothing as she scrutinized me. “You put down an outrageous sum to scare away any potential competition.”

  She knew me well.

  “You obviously didn’t observe the cougar fight I broke up. Maxing out my bid early prevents more drama. I’m brokering peace.”

  “I see you’re still the cocky guy I used to know.”

  “Nah.” I let it drop. “Bidding on anything?”

  With her poker face in place, she shook her head. “None of your business.”

  Her refusal to tell me made me want to find out her bidder number and check all the auction items.

  “I see you looking around. I’m not telling you.” She jabbed me in the chest with her fingernail.

  “I know almost everyone here. I can find out.”

  Squinting at me, she pursed her lips. “A woman needs to have a few secrets.”

  “I suspect you have more than your share, my fair Roslyn.”

  Her lashes fluttered as she blinked in surprise at my words. When we first met, I’d thought her name was Rosalind, from As You Like It. The name fit the sharp witted woman working for her father’s firm and taking the world by storm in her twenties. Now mid-thirties, she owned every room she entered. I’d watched as heads turned to follow her path through the party. Stunning with her curves on display in her wine-colored dress, she was the most beautiful woman here. In the moment I couldn’t think of a reason why we weren’t spending more time together.

  “I’d love—”

  She cut me off. “Sorry. I need to introduce Erik for his speech. Maybe we can catch up again later?”

  Again implied we caught up at all. Since running into her at the market and twice while I was mostly naked, we hadn’t spoken much at all. I hadn’t asked about her business or her family. I didn’t know a thing about this new version of Roslyn. Other than she ignited something in me I thought had been smothered by my stupidity and stubbornness.

  I knew tonight wasn’t the night to catch up. Not with an audience of nosy islanders and gossiping women with too little time on their hands. When Erik finished speaking, I headed to my car, checking my bid on the way out. My bid sat uncontested and I felt confident I’d be the owner of a four-foot poster of my own ass. I dropped off a signed check at the auction table for my bid, plus an extra thousand.

  It was for a good cause.

  Not prostate cancer research, although any cancer research was something I supported.

  No, the money was well worth spending to be able to burn the damn poster in my fireplace.

  “HEY,” COOP GREETED me when I entered the kitchen at Sal’s on Monday following the fundraiser. “Some woman named Roslyn called for you. Something about a poster you overpaid for needing to be picked up.”

  “Was that all?” I propped my longboard against the wall by the back door.

  He shook his head. “There was more, but she said I didn’t have to repeat it because you probably already knew it.”

  “Go ahead and tell me. What’s the worst it could be?”

  “She called you several colorful names.”

  “Coop, you can put Jeff and I to shame with your cursing and creative expletives on a daily basis. I’m pretty confident whatever she said, I’ve heard before.”

  He tilted his head back like he was trying to remember the exact words. “If I recall correctly, she used the phrase, joy-stealing, miserable, fucking cocky asshat, or something like that. Might’ve been cocky, joy-stealing asshat. Pretty sure all those words were in there. I might’ve added the fucking part, but her tone implied it”

  Cocky. Check.

  Asshat. So five years ago.

  Joy stealing? Ouch. That one hurt.

  “Have I ever stolen your joy, Coop?” Crossing my arms, I leaned against the stainless steel island in the middle of the prep area.

  “Never. You’re the pizza man. You humbly bring melted cheese covered tastiness to the hungry masses day in and day out.”

  “Thanks for throwing in the humble part.”

  “Man, I don’t know what crawled up her butt and died, but you’ve always been a good guy and a good boss. I swear those city girls need attitude adjustments with their fancy shoes and their stupid expensive handbags sitting there in the club like God’s gift. If they don’t want guys talking to them and paying them compliments, they should stay home. You know what I’m saying?”

  Whoa.

  That escalated quickly.

  Coop was a good kid. Jeff hired and trained him last year. He knew his way around dough and came up with some creative new ideas for topping combinations. But when I called him a kid, I meant it. At twenty-one, he spent a lot of time talking out of his ass.

  “You okay?” I asked, although I didn’t want to know any personal stuff.

  “Me? Sure. Why?” He looked behind him.

  “Nothing.”

  “Wait, there’s more.”

  “More colorful descriptions of me?”

  “No, she left her number. In case you changed your mind. Said she had a list of the other interested parties if you planned to renege on your bid.”

  “Not happening. I already paid.” A glance at the industrial-style cloc
k above the door told me I had time to pick up the poster before meeting up with Olaf for chess tonight. “If she calls back, tell her I took care of it.”

  “Want me to put that into code? You know, something like ‘the bird sings at midnight’ or ‘the otter has a new shell’ to keep her guessing?”

  I furrowed my brow so much it hurt. “No, that’s okay. I’ll call her myself and let her know everything’s taken care of.”

  “Boring.” He dumped more flour into the mixer and disappeared into a cloud of white for a few seconds.

  Debating whether or not Roslyn’s call required returning, I stepped into my office and closed the door. Once I’d sorted the mail and checked emails, updated the supply inventory, and made sure I hadn’t missed any voicemails or texts, I scrolled through my phone to find her number.

  “Porterhouse,” I said when she answered.

  “We’re back to old nicknames?”

  “I believe I received a message from you earlier today calling me Asshat.” For some reason the idea of her calling me names made me happy.

  “I knew he’d get the wording wrong.” She sighed, but I heard the smile behind it. “I told him not to tell you that part.”

  “Coop doesn’t follow instructions very well.” I let myself relax into my chair.

  “You should probably blame the management. Oh, wait.” She snickered.

  “Ha ha. I’m calling for two reasons.” I cut through the randomness we seemed to find ourselves stuck in whenever we spoke to each other lately.

  “Your glorious poster being one of them?”

  I stroked my thumb along my bottom lip. “Are you calling my ass glorious? I’ll swing by the winery and pick it up this afternoon.”

  “The ladies of Whidbey will continue to be devastated. Cari told me she’s had request for more copies. One disgruntled bidder thinks it should be your new logo and you need one hanging in the ladies’ room at Sal’s.”

  “The original Salvatore would not approve. I’m not going to summon his ghost by disrespecting his legacy.” I wanted to spit three times like my grandmother taught me when someone disparaged the dead.

  “I told them as much. Plus, they have their calendars to do with what they wish.”