Better Love

by Daisy Prescott

  “You’ve changed.”

  I downshifted to take the bridge to West Seattle. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Some parts are still the same.”

  “Like what?”

  “I still work hard. I still skateboard.” I caught her surprised expression. “I know. At my advanced age, I should be concerned with bulging discs and joint replacement.”

  She smiled, causing the corners of her eyes to crinkle. “You’re not that old.”

  “Remember when you thought thirty-seven was ancient?” I met her eyes.

  “I’ll be thirty-six in a few months. How is that possible?”

  “I remember when you turned twenty-nine and had your breakdown about life being over at thirty. The only things to look forward to were getting fat and wiping another human’s butt.”

  “I never said those words.”

  “That’s an exact quote. You and whatsherface, your roommate, had too much wine at a bar in Ballard and you called me crying.”

  She rested her head in her hands. “I did say that. What an idiot.”

  “Not one of your best moments, but it still makes me smile at how certain you were about getting old.”

  “I don’t feel older. I close my eyes and I’m still twenty-seven.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I think you’re more beautiful at thirty-five than you were then.”

  She hummed to herself. “It does make me feel better.”

  “You’re still young.”

  “Are you going to call me a whippersnapper?”

  “Not unless you call me an old man.”

  “Ohmygod, I can’t believe that snooty valet called you that.”

  “It’s the gray hair. It screams middle aged.”

  “If only he could see your badass tattoos.”

  “Wouldn’t matter. I’m still old enough to be his dad. Once you hit that point in your life, people treat you differently.” I could have a kid in college. Or out of college. Biologically it was completely possible, but I’d been too busy working in my twenties and thirties to think about starting a family.

  “That’s so weird when you put it like that.”

  “Do you feel the same about having kids?” I asked

  “I know I’m supposed to have a biological clock ticking away inside of me, but I’m not sure I do. Mine might be broken. I survived the first two rounds of friends getting married and having kids. Now that we’re in our mid-thirties, it’s the third wave of babies. The fun of bachelorette weekends in Vegas has been replaced with games of ‘guess what’s in the diaper’ and cupcakes on a Saturday afternoon.”

  “You sound thrilled.”

  “At least there’s cake.”

  I drove up the hill and around a few more curves before reaching my destination. Alki Beach stretched to the south. Small waves outlined the narrow shore as they crashed against the rocky sand. A ferry approached downtown Seattle to our north.

  Roslyn giggled. “Did you take me parking?”

  I hadn’t really thought through where I was driving or what we’d do when we reached our destination. By instinct I’d sought out the water.

  “I wanted to keep talking.” I glanced around at the other cars parked along the street. None of their windows appeared steamed up from activities taking place inside. “Is this a notorious make out spot?”

  Her hand muffled her laughter. “Does anyone still do that? Go someplace to make out in a parked car?”

  “Why wouldn’t they? Making out in cars is one of life’s simple joys.”

  We stared at each other through the tension my words created.

  Memories of kissing her flooded my brain and anticipation coursed through my veins. My body didn’t know the kiss earlier wasn’t a precursor for now. It only wanted more. Always more of her. Never enough. Never satiated.

  This was why I stayed away.

  We didn’t want the same things in life.

  Anything we started now would circle back to the reasons we ended.

  I wanted simple.

  She wanted the world.

  “I’ll take you home.” I restarted the car.

  She touched the back of my hand where it rested on the gear shift. “We don’t have to go. It’s beautiful here. I never come to West Seattle.”

  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Lifting her fingers, I kissed the back of her hand before placing it on her lap.

  “You keep saying that.”

  I half-laughed, half-sighed. “I feel awash in mixed signals.”

  “Yours or mine?” She inhaled and exhaled a slow breath. “This shouldn’t be so awkward.”

  “Why’s that?” I couldn’t think of a more awkward situation than still wanting an ex.

  Our couples’ massage topped the list.

  “We’ve known each other for years. You’re not some stranger to me.”

  “Yet we are kind of strangers, the kind with a mutual history.” I resisted directly referencing the why.

  “Dan? What are we doing here?”

  “Talking.”

  “I meant the whole evening.” Her inhale sounded a little shaky. “You broke up with me and I haven’t seen or heard from you in five years. Out of nowhere you call me and ask a favor. Now we’re running into each other and having dinner together.”

  I allowed myself to brush her hair off of her shoulder. She didn’t move away, and I took it as a good sign.

  “I’ve missed you. For years, I didn’t allow myself to acknowledge your absence in my life because it was too painful.”

  Her eyes sparkled with tears in the dim light from the console. “You missed me?”

  “Unbearably at times.”

  “I thought,” she paused to touch the corner of her eyes, “I thought I was everything you didn’t want.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong. You were everything I was afraid I’d never have.”

  “So you do think I’m scary?”

  “Terrifying.” I leaned closer, letting my hand brush her thigh. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”

  “You ended things so abruptly. I believed you when you said we’d never work.”

  “You told me you loved your life and didn’t want to change. I didn’t think there were any other options. I wanted out and you were all in.”

  “You wanted everything to change, including me,” she whispered.

  “Rock, meet hard place.” I gave her a sad smile. Everything she said was true. Then and now.

  “You walked away. Left it all behind. Gone. Has it all changed for the better?”

  “Most of it. I still have the Porsche. I live in a ridiculously large house with beautiful things and never have to worry about money. But I’m different.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Of me?”

  “No, you’re still one of the few things that have the power to make my heart race with nerves.” I touched her cheek. “I don’t feel like an imposter anymore. My money doesn’t define me. I’m not famous. My fifteen minutes are over and I’m thrilled. No one remembers me or my company. I feel like I can finally breathe again.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Dan the Pizza Man.” I lean in close and brush my lips over her cheek. “I’m Daniel Ashland, a man who is dying to kiss you again.”

  “Hi, Daniel.” She tilted her head and captured my mouth with her own.

  Inhaling her scent, letting it envelop me in its familiar warm spice, I kissed her back. I leaned farther across the center console until the gear shift poked me in the thigh.

  When I retreated back to my side, she followed. Unbuckling and untangling herself from the seatbelt, she grinned against my mouth before gently sucking on my tongue. I mirrored her actions, drawing her tongue into my mouth, tasting her. Soon her fingers slid into my hair. I moaned when she gently tugged, the pressure more pleasurable than painful. My hands sought the curve of her hips and waist. If I could’ve, I would’ve pulled her over my lap to st
raddle me.

  Something I came to realize as we continued kissing and exploring each other with our hands: sports cars were not designed for making out. Unlike high school or college, the last times I made out with a woman in a car, I couldn’t suggest we move to the larger back seat or recline the seats far enough to make a difference. The rear seats had a hump dividing them, an even worse option than staying up front.

  “Bucket seats are the worst design feature ever invented,” I whispered as I kissed and licked a path down to her collarbone. My tongue soothed behind where my teeth nipped her tender skin, erasing any pain I caused in the name of pleasure.

  “Ironic to be blocked by a car designed to seduce with its beauty and speed.” Her words sounded breathless.

  “I’m a walking cliché.” I chuckled against her shoulder.

  Instead of lying to me, she lifted my chin with her finger and kissed me again.

  I forgot we weren’t together.

  I forgot I broke her heart.

  I forgot I was too old to be making out in cars with girls.

  I lost myself in her.

  Sharp tapping on the window snapped us out of our kiss. I opened my eyes to a bright light being shone inside the car.

  “Unbelievable,” I mumbled, fumbling with the key to roll down my window. “Officer?”

  His handlebar mustache momentarily distracted me from his baby face and the embarrassment in the eyes of the young police officer peering through the lowered window. He didn’t do a good job of hiding his shock at seeing my bearded face and silver-streaked hair.

  “Excuse me, sir. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “No? Don’t get too many grownups making out in their cars on the beach at night?”

  “No, sir. Mostly it’s people smoking pot. Or teenagers.”

  “Am I breaking any laws by parking here?”

  “No, sir. Carry on.” He patted the roof of the car twice. “Sorry.”

  “No problem. Thanks for checking on us.”

  I rolled up the window, but stared out the side mirror to make sure he got in his car and left.

  “What were you saying about being old? I feel about seventeen right now,” Roslyn mumbled as she settled in her seat.

  “Your blush is lovely.” I ran my finger over her heated cheek.

  As he drove away, Roslyn started belly laughing so hard her head rested on the side of her seat, and she let loose a bellowing laugh.

  “Yes?” I ran the back of my hand down her arm.

  “That’s twice tonight we were told to get a room by some twenty-something.”

  “I think it’s a sign.”

  “Not to kiss in public?”

  I shook my head. “We need privacy. Your place or mine?”

  Her laughter quieted.

  I’d been too presumptuous on where this evening was heading. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay.” She met my eyes, then lowered her lashes as she stared at her hands in her lap. “Can we take this slow?”

  “Of course.” I stroked my hand over her hair. “I didn’t ask you to dinner for anything more than conversation.”

  “I know. Can we do this again?”

  “Make out in a sports car and get busted by a junior crossing guard with a fake mustache?” I gave her one last peck on the lips before starting the car.

  “You think the mustache was fake?” Her laughter pealed like church bells as we pulled away.

  “I seriously hope so. No man should go through life twenty-four seven with a handlebar mustache.”

  “Says the mountain man beard guy.”

  I ran a hand over my beard. “It’s not that long.”

  “I like it.”

  “Me too.”

  “At first I didn’t.” She touched her jawline. What I took as a blush earlier was probably beard burn.

  “Sorry, it can be a bit much. I use beard oil to keep it soft. I can trim it shorter.” Hell, I’d shave it off if she asked. I usually gave myself a shearing at the start of every summer.

  “No!” Her voice sounded loud in the small space of the car. “I meant when I saw you at the farmers’ market. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

  “Have I changed that much?”

  “You seemed wild and untamed. Silver hair, dark beard, dark eyes . . . your arm tattoos on full display in a short sleeve T-shirt. You weren’t the uptight, clean-shaven Daniel in button down shirts I knew in Seattle. It was a shock.”

  “I do sound like a mountain man with that description.” I hadn’t given my looks much thought on a regular basis. Tonight I’d pulled my watch out of the safe and put on a collared shirt for our date. I wasn’t sure if it was to impress her or as a form of armor for dealing with the city. “I got rid of ninety-nine percent of my suits. I think if I put one on now it would feel like a costume.”

  “That’s a shame. You always looked amazing in a suit.”

  I lifted my eyebrow and raised my lips in a half smile. “Oh really?”

  “Full honesty?”

  “Always.” I smiled softly at her.

  “I loved knowing underneath the perfectly tailored suit you had tattoos and a ripped body. It felt like a secret I shared with you.”

  Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning, I nodded. “Good to know.”

  She traced the outline of one of my tats peeking out from my rolled up shirt sleeve. “When did you get this one?”

  The map of Whidbey had filled an empty spot between the oak tree and the old-fashioned sailor style anchor with a heart I’d added five years ago. “Last year. I thought I wanted a slice of pizza or a tiny taco, but Jonah talked me out of more food.”

  “Jonah from the coffee place?”

  “The one and the same. He has some of the best art. I started going to his guy, Roger, a couple of years ago.”

  “How many more tattoos do you have?”

  “Not that many. I’m up to five or six. None of them are as big as the dragon on my shoulder.” In my late twenties I discovered white tattoos and began working on a large piece for my upper back and arm. A winged dragon filled my right shoulder and covered most of my bicep. Its tail wrapped around my arm. The concept had been the dragon sat on my shoulder, but in the end, he took over. As it progressed I started dreaming up ideas for more. “It’s addictive.”

  “I agree.”

  A quick flash of her perfect creamy skin reminded me she didn’t have any tattoos when we were together. “Wait, did you get a tattoo?”

  She nodded. “A small one.”

  “Can I see it?” The idea excited me.

  “No.”

  “Why? Is it embarrassing? Did you get a butterfly tramp stamp?”

  Her eyes widened. “No.”

  “Is it a unicorn and rainbow?”

  “No, but that would be awesome. It’s not embarrassing, but I can’t show you right now.”

  I swerved slightly into the other lane. “You got an ass tattoo?”

  “I didn’t say that. It’s tasteful. You’ll have to live with the mystery for now.”

  I liked the “for now” and smiled at the thought of rediscovering her body. “Don’t tell me anything more. I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Confident are you?”

  “After making out with you tonight? Yes.”

  She didn’t invite me upstairs when I dropped her off. A small part of me was disappointed, but I had patience.

  I caught the second to last boat back to the island. Like having a curfew as a kid, the ferries stopped running shortly after midnight on the weekend. Miss it and you’d have to drive around to Deception Pass and down the island through Oak Harbor. A pain in the ass late at night, but doable. Better than the option of sleeping in the car in the ferry line waiting for the first boat in the morning—the ferry ride of shame. I’d done that, too.

  Once parked onboard, I left the car on the lower level and wandered up to the deck. The engines groaned to life as they churned water into a white froth while a
cold wind blew small white caps on the water. To the south Seattle created a glow against the low hanging clouds. Everett did the same north of Mukilteo. In contrast, very few lights dotted the island, which lay mostly in darkness.

  With a deep inhale, I let the city fall away behind me. The tension in my shoulders released. Any islander could describe the joy of watching the mainland grow smaller as the boat approached the island. Somehow the air smelled different across the narrow passage of water. Better, sweeter, it couldn’t be quantified. Something inside shifted and clicked into place every time I arrived back at the dock in Clinton.

  I think this was a cellular level recognition of coming home, of being in the exact right place I was meant to be.

  With a glance to the hazy light of Seattle to the south, I thought of Roslyn. I stretched my arms overhead and then rested my linked palms on the back of my head. Somewhere in the city that felt a world away, a woman held a piece of my heart.

  It was time to get it back.

  THE FOLLOWING WEEKEND I invited Roslyn for dinner at my house. No chance of being interrupted by one of her clients or busted by Officer Handlebar.

  When she texted me from the ferry, I had forty minutes to fidget and pace until she arrived. Normally, I wasn’t a fidgeter and only paced when trying to solve a problem in my head, but knowing she was on her way made me feel uncertain and nervous. I didn’t like either of those emotions.

  I moved the housekeeper’s flowers to the kitchen table. Stared at them for a minute, then set them on the sofa table behind the leather couch in the living room. The dahlias made the room look like a photo shoot and I was trying too hard. I repositioned the vase on the kitchen table for the second time as I debated making a cheese board. She’d probably be hungry after the drive, possibly thirsty.

  Opening the fridge, I started pulling out cheeses and enough bottles of water for a crowd. How thirsty could she be after a twenty-minute ferry ride? It wasn’t like she had been lost a sea. Nor was this a deserted island.

  The buzzer sounded for the gate, announcing her arrival and saving me from myself.

  I shoved all the cheese and water save one bottle back into the fridge.

  Next to the alarm keypad in the kitchen, I checked the video monitor and spotted Roslyn’s white SUV. I pressed the button to open the gate and waited.