Better Love

by Daisy Prescott

  “No reason.”

  I’d noticed that Jonah’s sister Ashley kept Carter in her sights most of the evening. He didn’t seem to notice, clueless as always. Who was I to meddle in someone else’s love life? They’d either figure it out eventually or find another love.

  Or not.

  I’d dated since Roslyn, but never let anyone in close enough to fall in love. I enjoyed the company of women. Fluent in flirting, I loved the quick back and forth of engaging a woman in conversation. Sal loved old black and white movies starring Bogart, Bacall, Grant, and Russell. I’d spent hours watching the quick banter of a couple sparring before giving into their feelings in a dramatic kiss. At the time I thought the kissing was the worst part. So gross. How wrong I’d been. Banter and flirting were great, up unto a point, but kissing? Kissing was always the best.

  Among our group of friends, Carter, Jonah, and I were the solo guys once again. Everyone else had been paired off like a strange version of Noah’s Ark. Zombies danced with unicorns. Sci-fi guys chatted up gamer girls. Witches and priests, cats and dogs, the world had gone mad. Two opposing presidential candidates made out against the wall on the way to the bathrooms. I could never un-see that image.

  After making my rounds, I didn’t stay long. I didn’t want a fake Tinker Bell. I only had eyes for Wendy, who wasn’t in Neverland at all.

  Shrouded in fog and low, misty clouds, the first day of November started with barely a sunrise. The gray sky lightened just enough to distinguish it from night. On mornings like this, Whidbey felt a thousand miles away from the rest of the country.

  Dark and gloomy suited my mood.

  I stomped around the kitchen at Sal’s prepping dough and taking stock of what needed to be done for the week. I’d volunteered for the early shift to give Coop and Jeff the morning off to ease their Halloween hangovers.

  While the Hobart kneaded dough, I did a quick inventory of the walk-in to prepare for a supply order tomorrow.

  The kitchen was my sanctuary. No matter what went on in the world, this warm, bright kitchen with its smell of rising dough comforted and calmed me.

  Roslyn hadn’t texted again last night.

  Three things annoyed me about that.

  One, I wondered what kind of work emergency she’d had on a Saturday night.

  Two, it bothered me that I questioned her.

  Three, I missed her at the party. Used to flying solo, I’d never complained or felt sorry for myself for attending an event alone. Last night had been different. A dozen times something was said or done that I wanted to share with her.

  I respected her wish to take things slow. Whatever this was between us didn’t need to be rushed. Intellectually, I knew that.

  I texted her again.

  Hoping and not hoping for a quick reply.

  Mentally kicking myself for mooning over her.

  A couple of hours later, Coop strolled in, still wearing eye-liner and faint traces of glitter in his hair.

  He mumbled a greeting before slowly moving in the direction of the soda machine.

  “How’s the head?” I asked as he passed me with his cup full of carbonated relief.

  “Man, I’m getting too old for wild nights like this.”

  He was twenty-one.

  “Rough one?” I asked.

  “We ended up in a bar in Pioneer Square listening to some band do KISS covers in full vintage costumes and makeup.”

  “Sounds crazy.” Not really.

  “That’s not even the wild part. A bunch of huge football guys showed up and turned the place into their own private party. People started freaking out when they tried to kick everyone out of the bar. A couple fights started. I think one of the players was involved, but I couldn’t see that well. We got crushed in the crowd trying to leave when management flipped on the lights. I lost a shoe.”

  “Did the cops show up?” The classic sign of a party out of hand.

  “Eventually.”

  “Did you ever find your shoe?”

  “No. I imagine it’s going to be one of those lonely, desolate, single shoes on the side of the road. People will wonder how it got there and look for its twin.” Coop definitely had his moments of deep thoughts. He guzzled his drink and exhaled. “Oh, and your friend was there.”

  “Who?”

  “The beautiful publicist from Seattle.”

  “Roslyn?”

  “Yeah. She was with the big pack of people around Anderson McPhee.”

  Logical thought left my brain.

  I saw red.

  No, I wasn’t angry.

  I saw green.

  She’d ditched me to hang out with Mr. MVP. Work thing? In a bar in Pioneer Square? Didn’t sound very plausible.

  “Was she wearing a costume?”

  “Yeah. The whole group was dressed as superheroes. She was Cat Woman. I recognized her red hair. Man, she has some curves on her.”

  Why would a woman like Roslyn want to spend Halloween in a small town rod and gun club with taxidermy mounted on the walls and a DJ playing “Monster Mash”?

  I got it. Completely understandable.

  That part didn’t bother me.

  She didn’t need to make up an excuse or blame work to get out of plans with me. Whatever we were, we needed to be honest with each other. If she did date her clients after me, who was I to be mad?

  Tell that to my lizard brain screaming over some goliath trying to steal what was his.

  Logic had nothing to do with how I felt.

  I needed to get out on the water and process this information before calling her.

  Maybe she was on the clock last night.

  Definitely sounded like McPhee needed constant handling to keep himself out of trouble. Manhandling apparently.

  “You all right to function for the afternoon?” I eyed Coop’s slow pace around the kitchen.

  “I’m going to make a small pie for myself, and then I should be fine. I bounce back pretty quick with some grease and caffeine.”

  I missed those days of quick recovery. In all things.

  I tugged on a pair of dry pants to counteract the cold, damp day. The neoprene clung to my legs like last night’s running leggings. I’d gotten teased by my friends, but received accolades and a few gropes from the women at the party. I think my left cheek had a small bruise. It felt tender when I sat down in my kayak.

  The air and water temperature were about the same, so I wore my wetsuit booties, too. I hated cold feet.

  In all senses.

  Following the shoreline, I mulled over the situation with Roslyn as I paddled. I felt jealousy and annoyance about an assumption I’d made based on gossip from a second party. Nothing Coop said indicated she was with Anderson in anything more than a professional role. Yet my mind immediately went to a place of suspicion and mistrust. Neither of those were good foundations for building a new relationship.

  Flashback to six years ago before I burned everything to the ground, and yes, jealousy, cockiness, and possessiveness where the three musketeers of my personality around women.

  I understood a guy throwing around money to get his way in all things, including the woman he wanted. Been there, done that.

  What if that was the kind of man Roslyn still wanted?

  When I had my “episode” as I liked to think of it and snapped out of the millionaire fog I’d created out of imposter syndrome, entitlement, and bank balances, I knew I couldn’t continue being that guy.

  Except I fell right back into old patterns when I’d kissed her outside the Edgewater, claiming her as mine in front of a perceived rival.

  I hadn’t changed at all when it came to her and that pissed me off.

  I wanted a new beginning with her. Picking up where we ended wouldn’t work.

  Neither would moving forward based on assumptions and old patterns.

  I knew physically she still wanted me. No doubts there. Could we find a place where we could be equals? Would she want the life she’d rejected? The ol
d saying about time healing all wounds only could be true if the wounds had been allowed to heal.

  I wasn’t sure if five years had been enough time.

  The only way to resolve any of this wasn’t going to be found out here on the water in my kayak.

  I needed clarity, not more time alone. Conversation, not silent assumptions.

  Roslyn was the only person who could give me answers.

  ROSLYN’S NAME LIT up my phone’s screen. I thought about not answering her call and seeing if she explained herself in voicemail, but decided to man up and ask her myself.

  When she answered, I resisted calling her Cat Woman.

  “If it isn’t the lovely Miss Porter.” Good. Neutral, if not a little too formal.

  “Hi, I’m so glad I caught you. I’m sorry I missed the party. Cari sent me pictures. Looks like you were the hit of the evening. Although I could’ve done without the snap of some woman’s fingers pinching your butt.”

  “Is that jealousy I detect in your voice?” Inside the closet, I switched the phone to speaker while I stripped out of my wetsuit pants and kayaking gear.

  “I regret ever telling you to wear tights.” She cracked up at her own admission. “What’s that rustling sound?”

  As a nice balance to my own reaction, I enjoyed her jealousy. I decided to provoke her. “I’m stripping off my clothes.”

  “Are . . . are you getting naked?”

  “You caught me right after I went kayaking.” I rolled the neoprene down my legs and stepped out of the pants. My skin smelled of salt and sweat.

  “Are you crazy? It’s freezing out there today.”

  “I know. And now I’m standing here naked.” A shiver ran through me as I pulled clothes out of my closet drawers.

  She called my bluff. “You are not.”

  “Don’t believe me? Want to FaceTime?” I put on a pair of lounge pants and a long sleeve T-shirt with a skateboard logo on it.

  “No, that’s okay.” She sounded uncertain and flustered. “You’re distracting me.”

  “If you’re sure.” I didn’t fight my smile. “Any particular reason for the call other than you missed me?”

  “Actually,” she paused for a few seconds, “I wanted to do some damage control.”

  I swallowed thickly while she continued.

  “There are some pictures out there of last night.”

  “Of my ass getting pinched?”

  “No, no. Those are in a private text thread. I wanted to give you a head’s up after what happened at the Edgewater. The work issue last night involved McPhee.”

  “I know.” Dressed, I left the bedroom and walked down the hall.

  “He has an annual—Wait, you do? How?”

  “Sources.” Inside the laundry room, I hung up my wetsuit to dry.

  “What kind of sources? Hold on, are you still naked?”

  “I’m dressed. Someone I know was at the bar that got shut down and saw you.” My voice remained calm and even.

  “That’s it. No jumping to conclusions? No stewing and creating your own version of events to be mad about?” She sounded stunned.

  “I went kayaking.”

  “But the . . . you saw the pictures?”

  “I saw a dark, blurry picture on a phone. You rocked the cat suit. Are you keeping it?”

  “You want to know about the costume? That’s what you’re interested in?” She chuckled. “Who is this and why do you have Daniel Ashland’s phone?”

  “If anything, the last year has taught me, you can’t believe what you see online even if there is photographic evidence.”

  “Don’t you want to know the rumor?”

  “Tell me your version. I don’t need to see more pictures. Unless you want to share a full view of you in the cat suit.”

  I could hear her breathing so I knew she hadn’t dropped the call.

  “You went kayaking?”

  I let a laugh slip out at her random direction change. “I did.”

  “Do you do that a lot?”

  “As often as I can. Helps me think. I process things better when I’m out on the water.”

  “Sounds peaceful.”

  “It’s heaven. You should come with me some time.”

  “Me?” Her voice rose higher. “Paddling a boat? In open water? I’d probably flip it and sink.”

  “We can use a tandem kayak. I’d never let you flip us or sink.”

  “Daniel?”

  “Yes, Roslyn?”

  “Nothing is going on with Anderson McPhee.”

  My shoulders relaxed in relief. I had no claim on her, but I didn’t like the idea of her dating other men. Worse than that, dating clients who needed a publicist because they were bad boys with questionable reputations. “Good.”

  “Do you want the details? In case you see something in the news?”

  Shit. How bad were these photos? “Your word is good enough for me. As long as there isn’t as sex tape or photos of the two of you naked.”

  She made a retching sound. “Oh God no. Yuck. It looks like he’s hugging me, but he was shielding me from the rowdy crowd. And his-hand-is-on-my-ass.” The last part of her sentence sounded like one long word as she rushed to add details I had no desire to know.

  “That’s it?” Of course my curiosity had been piqued. If the paps were there and got wind of a potential relationship, I could probably find five sites with the pictures by doing a simple Google search.

  Honestly, did I want to see a photo of another man touching Roslyn?

  No thank you. Not today. Move along.

  She continued speaking, “I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea and be upset.”

  “Why would you think I’d be upset? I’m curious.” I wandered into the living room and sat on the arm of the couch.

  “Maybe you wouldn’t be.” Her voice had a defensive edge not there a minute ago.

  “Do you want me to be angry over some photos? You canceled plans for work. You were papped with a client. You didn’t lie to me. Your work is important and is going to take priority sometimes. As long as it’s not all the time. You know the saying about all work and no play.”

  “From The Shining?”

  “I think it predates the Stephen King novel. You’ve been hanging around Erik too much.”

  “I’ve never met someone so obsessed with horror movies.”

  “Can we make a deal?” I wanted to bring our conversation back on track.

  “Sure.”

  I stared out at the view, barely able to see the land across the water due to the low hanging clouds. “Don’t always make work your number one. Trust me. You’ll be happier if you have a life.”

  “You sound like my father.”

  “Not sure that’s a good thing. He was never my biggest fan.” Alexander Porter had screamed at me over the phone countless times and once across a conference table in front of a half dozen investors. Roslyn’s father was a gale force windstorm crossed with a tiger when angry.

  “He doesn’t like anyone. The pitfall of working in this business for thirty years. He might like you more now. He respects people who follow their own path. He’s a big fan of the road less traveled if it leads to success.”

  “Good to know if our paths every cross again.” Back in my thirties, the man had a talent for making me feel like a twelve-year-old boy caught lying about doing his homework. I knew if I wanted to make this work with Roslyn, I’d have to get over whatever lingering feelings and resentments I had toward her father. I wasn’t a little boy and hadn’t been in many years. I might’ve made mistakes and royally fucked up, but I was a man and owned my actions—good, bad, and ugly.

  “You’re probably safe. Didn’t you know? He moved to Scottsdale last year and is semi-retired.”

  “I haven’t been following the Seattle business news.” I shouldn’t feel relief about avoiding her family, but I did. “Your father always loved and adored you. If he tells you to do something, you should listen.”

  “He tol
d me not to date you.”

  “Seven years ago he was right.”

  “And now?” Her voice had dropped to a low, hopeful whisper.

  “I’d argue he doesn’t know me at all and has no solid foundation for his opinion. Then I’d tell him to butt out of our love life.”

  Time to lay my cards on the table.

  “I messed up five years ago giving you an ultimatum and walking away. I’ve known that for four years and three-hundred-sixty-four days. I set fire to my bridges and never looked back to see if they still stood, charred but passable. I was wrong. I don’t know if we can find a way forward, but I’d like to try. I’m not the same man who only saw the world in black and white. I don’t even know if we could find a balance between our lives, but fuck it, I want to find out.”

  All of my inner thoughts were neatly presented at her feet. She could easily stomp them to pieces with a simple no. My vulnerability covered me like a rough wool sweater, making my skin itch.

  “It wasn’t just you. Yes, I hated you for not wanting the same things I did. How dare you so easily give everything up I thought we’d both wanted? I was so invested in you and your success.” Her voice caught on an unsteady breath. “Damn you for walking away so easily.”

  “It wasn’t easy. Hardest thing I’ve ever done was saying no to you.” I stood up and paced in front of the windows.

  “You made it seem easy,” she said softly, barely above a whisper.

  “I thought a clean cut would heal better for both of us given enough time.”

  “You disappeared.”

  I stopped and leaned against the window, my back to the view. “I moved less than an hour away.”

  “You never called.”

  “I couldn’t. I would’ve broken down and begged you to change. I knew I’d be asking the impossible and it wouldn’t be fair to you. I couldn’t do that. I’d never ask you to change for me. If you said yes, you’d resent me. If you said no, you’d break me all over again.” My voice lowered as memories of how pitiful I was those first months alone on the island rushed forward.

  I had Sal’s to focus on, but at night, I’d sit in my too big house, drink too much, and feel sorry for myself. A pitiful party of one. It was during those months I’d struck up my unlikely friendship with Olaf after another evening sitting at the end of his bar seeking comfort in the bottom of my pint glass.