We stood on the observation deck of the Space Needle with the other tourists.
“I’ve never been to the top. My entire life I’ve lived in Seattle, I never bothered. Not during school trips or with out-of-town guests.”
“Me neither. That’s why we’re here today. The first annual I’ve Never Day in Seattle is officially underway.”
“What’s next?”
“We could get lunch while slowly revolving in a circle?” I mentioned the Needle’s famous restaurant.
“We ate breakfast an hour ago.”
“Your point?” I swung our joined hands between us. “Food is my life.”
“It’s too soon for third breakfast or brunch or whatever you want to call it.” She patted her belly beneath her coat. It looked fine to me.
“Okay, no food.” I kissed her softly. “Yet.”
“How about the EMP? Although I attended an event at the museum a few weeks ago.”
“New rule: we can’t do anything either of us has done before. Or at least recently.”
“I grew up here. That’s going to be tough.”
“Yes, but you’d never been to the top of the Space Needle, so you’ve labeled yourself as unreliable and not to be trusted. You’re probably originally from California.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
“I didn’t. You just told me a few seconds ago that you grew up here.”
“We moved here from Los Angeles when I was five.”
I leaned away from her, using the tension of our linked hands to keep me upright. “I’ll never look at you the same.”
“Aren’t you from California?”
“You wound me, Roslyn Porter. I grew up in the commonwealth of Massachusetts.”
“How did I not remember that? You don’t really have an accent.”
“My father will be thrilled to hear that. Private schools and Dartmouth helped.”
“Again, how did I forget you were an Ivy League man?”
“Because I probably never bothered to remind you.” I disliked the turn of this conversation. My privileged background didn’t define me as a person. When I started my bread bakery, my father refused to loan me any money. With the few thousand dollars my grandfather, Sal, left me, I’d managed to secure more financing. The Ivy League label and all the connotations it brought along with it didn’t sit well with me. I’d avoided being a snob, preferring to hang out with hardworking men like John Day and Olaf. Over and over they proved to be more interesting and real than a stuffed suit with an MBA from an elite school.
“But the tattoos and skateboarding scream southern California.”
“I spent some time in Santa Monica during my vagabond years.”
“Daniel Ashland, a mixed metaphor of a man. That’s what you are.”
“I believe the word you are looking for is oxymoron. Emphasis on the moron.”
She bellowed out a laugh. “Your word, not mine. I have to confess something.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’ve always loved your big brain.”
I grinned at her odd compliment. “Phew, for a second there I thought you were going to say my big cock. And I would’ve had to remind you there are children and nuns standing right over there.”
Her hair whipped across her face as she spun to find the nun and kids.
“I don’t see any small humans or habits.” She heaved an exasperated sigh.
Covering my snicker with a cough, I returned to the topic at hand. “Where do we go next? Underground tour? Sticking gum to the gum wall? A visit to the Fremont Troll? Catching a fish at Pike’s Market? Crab Pot?” I listed off some Seattle classics I’d never experienced.
“Done the gum thing. I stuffed three pieces of bubble gum in my mouth in high school to make sure my piece would stand out on the wall. Later I found out they periodically scrape it all off and start over.”
“I bet it’s a cesspool of germs.” I exaggerated my shudder.
“The ball pit of public art?” She winked.
“Exactly. The zombie flu begins with the gum wall. Let’s go. But first I need to buy clothes.”
“Is this the part where we reenact the dressing room scene from Pretty Woman?”
I had no idea what she meant. “Does it involve sex in a dressing room? I think that might be frowned upon at Nordstrom.”
In the car on the way to Pike Place after buying me fresh jeans, a shirt, and boxers, we discussed all the other things we had never done close to home. Neither of us had been to Portland in ages. I mentioned meeting John’s friends who lived there. “That reminds me, she’s a food blogger.”
“Excellent, then we should get restaurant recommendations from her.”
A forgotten thought niggled at my brain. “I forgot to tell you. She’s writing up a review about Sal’s. I have no idea when it’s coming out, but she’s giving me approval.”
She shifted in her seat to face me. “You agreed to publicity? That’s a first. She must be beautiful.”
“Her physical appearance has nothing to do with saying yes. I promise this to you. I may notice other women’s beauty, even admire it, but don’t ever doubt you are the only one who owns my heart.” I’d stopped at a red light and took advantage of it to lean over and kiss her. She kissed me back and we only broke apart when several cars honked.
“What is it about you and kissing in this car?” She rubbed her lips together.
I tasted mint and honey. “I like your lip gloss.”
“Good. It looks very pretty with your beard.”
I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. My lips did appear pinker. “Probably work better if I had a glitter beard or was one of those hipsters who put flowers or ornaments in my facial hair.”
“There’s your Christmas card right there.” She petted my beard like I was a cat. Damn if it didn’t feel good. I leaned into her hand as I looked for parking.
A block past the market I found a spot on the street. I continued the conversation as we exited the car.
“We don’t send out a company card. I don’t think I’ve mailed holiday cards to friends and family in . . . ever. Who has time for that? I call them and send presents. Some years I even fly home and eat dry turkey and soggy stuffing around the table with my siblings and parents like a Norman Rockwell painting.”
“I was wrong about Scrooge. I’d be afraid of ghosts, if I were you.” She swung our hands between us. “You probably don’t even decorate or put up a tree.”
“There are a few things I’ve learned over the years in dealing with the public.” I clasped her hand as we walked up the hill back to the market. Across the street people lined up to get coffee at the original Starbucks.
“Enlighten me.”
“Never discuss politics in an election year, the military overseas, and religion, except Christmas decorations.”
“You lost me on the last one.”
“Not optional. It’s an unwritten bi-law that every business should have holiday decorations.” I pointed at a tea shop with snowflakes affixed to its windows.
“Do you go all out at Sal’s?”
“Mostly for Christmas and Chanukah. It’s a house rule we only decorate for the next holiday on the calendar. No skipping.”
“So no Christmasgiving decorations?” She glanced up at me.
“No way. Although a few years ago we had some nice Thanksgivingkah drawings on the chalkboards.”
“Sorry I missed those.”
“Coop has a talent for window illustrations. He does our chalkboard menu on the wall, too.” Odd as he could be, he had talents and always brought an interesting perspective to conversations.
“Are you against festive decorations?”
“I don’t like the idea of mandatory anything.” I dodged a couple of tourists taking pictures of the waterfront below us.
“You sound more and more like a—”
“Don’t say it. I hate labels, too.”
“Seems lik
e you found your people on the island.” She ducked closer to me as a guy on a bike sped down the sidewalk.
“If you mean Olaf, then yes. Last year he ended up with a kissing ball outside the Dog House and a Kelso on a stool beneath it.”
Roslyn’s laugh came out like a half snort, half giggle. “Which one?”
“Erik.”
“I should’ve known. Unlike most of my clients, he learned his lesson after the first dumb decision in public.”
“I’m not typically surprised by those brothers. I read people pretty well. But I’m impressed with the way he’s grown up the last year. Now if Carter will stop dicking around, wasting his life, and figure out a way to finally win over Ashley’s heart, I’ll feel like my work is done with those two.”
“Wait, huh? Carter and Ashley?” She looked perplexed.
“Come on, you haven’t noticed how they’re always staring when they think the other one isn’t looking? They’ve mastered the art of avoiding each other while in the same room. Ask yourself why.” I steered us into the craft part of the market where local artisans sold everything from alpaca wool socks to hand-crafted instruments. Vibrant colors and conversations filled the narrow space.
“Why doesn’t he ask her out? Is it because they grew up together? Too familiar? He’s a fool if he doesn’t make a move soon. She’s awesome. You know she kind of interns and works part time for me. For someone who never took business classes or went to business school, she’s pretty brilliant. All of those coffee huts? Helping Erik and her brother with their roasting business? She’s the smartest one of the bunch.”
“You know for Halloween she wore a scarlet A on her dress?” I stared at her.
She cocked her head to the side. “Yeah, she told me. I thought it was hysterical.”
“Do you know why she identifies with Hester Pryne?”
“I thought she was playing off of her name starting with the letter A. No idea.”
“Long history between her and Tom. Since I’ve known that crowd, Tom and Ashley had a casual thing because that was all he wanted. Off and on for years. Pretty obvious to everyone but Tom she hoped for more. Then Hailey King came back to the island. Changed his mind about relationships. Ashley was upset and probably a little heartbroken she wasn’t the one to tame the Tom Cat.” I left out the part about the viral video of the incident at Payless Foods.
“This makes so much sense. Thanks for filling in the gaps.” Her smile was genuine.
“She reminds me of you when we met.”
“A woman scorned?” She picked up a red scarf and held it to her chest.
I fought a smile and lost. “No, focused on taking over the world and not giving two fucks about what the rest of the world thinks of her.”
“She deserves to be more than a small town scandal.”
We wandered around the market, chatting and checking out all the vendors. After she swooned over the flower vendors, I bought her a bouquet the size of her head filled with deep red and purple blooms. “You should always have fresh flowers to brighten your day.”
“Is that what you do?” She smelled the bouquet.
“My housekeeper, Cilla, insists on bringing them every week. I think in the summer and fall the blooms come from her garden.”
Holding the bouquet in one arm, she reclaimed my hand. “I’m glad you have someone looking after you.”
“Do you worry about me being lonely?” I kiss the top of her forehead near her hairline.
“I do. I can’t help it. Part of being a good publicist is having the mother hen gene.”
“So once a client, always a client?”
“No. Some clients I’m happy to never see again. Let them be someone else’s nightmare. Too many narcissists and psychopaths in the world. But not you. You were always different. You didn’t spend your life trying to be famous or chasing popularity to feed your ego. No, you were never just a client.” She twisted her neck to look up at me. “Once a piece of my heart, always a piece.”
“Even if I was the biggest bastard who wanted you to throw away your life and move to the middle of nowhere?”
“Absolutely. I told you I only wanted you dead for about a week. When I wished for you to spend the rest of your life alone, I didn’t really want it to come true.”
I stopped walking and kissed her in the middle of the crowded market, people jostling us, fish sailing through the air, and vendors hawking their products. The world continued while we stood frozen in our bubble.
She kissed me back, pulling my head down and standing on her toes to even the height difference. Tangling her hands in my hair, Roslyn smiled against my lips while trying to continue to press her mouth to mine.
Laughter dissolved our embrace after a short, older woman knocked into me with her grocery cart and cursed us in a mix of Vietnamese and English.
“Did she call us fornicators?” Roslyn peered over her shoulder at the woman pushing her way through the crowd.
“Better than old man. And not untrue. We should fornicate again soon.” I kissed her again and rested my arm over her shoulders as I guided her into the open space in front of the market building. Kids posed with Rachel, the bronze pig and mascot of the market. My sweet tooth kicked in thinking about the signature pink pig cookies. “But we’ll need our strength. Let’s grab a coffee and something sweet.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“You’re welcome.” I kissed her laughing mouth and pinched her butt for good measure. When she yelped, I dodged out of the way of her fingers. “You’re not going to get a cookie if you don’t play nice.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be nice.”
I stopped short and she tripped over my foot. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Ashland. Nice can be boring.” She kept walking up the short hill.
“What kind of not nice are we talking about? Naughty?”
A familiar spark lit her eyes. “Very.”
“Taxi!” I shouted and waved at a retreating car.
“We drove.” She gestured over her shoulder. “We’re parked back there.”
I stared over her head and frowned. “It’s so far away. We should abandon the car.”
“You’re ridiculous. Buy me a cookie and I’ll tell you naughty things over coffee.”
Lowering my eyebrows, I squinted at her.
“Come on, you’re the one who brought up cookies. You obviously want one.”
All I could think of was what else a cookie could be a euphemism for. “I want something that’s pink and sweet, but it’s not something I can buy here.”
To emphasize my words, I nipped her lobe. “And I can’t eat it in public.”
Her body shivered.
“Cold?” I asked.
“No, in fact, feeling a little overheated.” She appeared a little flushed.
I rubbed my thumb along the top of my beard below my mouth as if I could still taste her there.
“Don’t make me resurrect your old nickname, Asshole Ashland.”
I blinked innocently at her. “Fine. Let’s get coffee.”
I led her down the alley past the gum wall to a little café Erik had told me about. It felt like stepping back in time to the eighteen-nineties with all the copper and baristas wearing sleeve garters over crisp cotton shirts.
After ordering her coffee, Ros asked for the bathroom and disappeared down the narrow hall at the rear of the narrow space.
Over hidden speakers, Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett’s version of “I Can’t Give You Anything but Love” played. The two baristas chatted about Bennett’s recent ninetieth birthday and upcoming concert. Taking their conversation as a sign, I pulled out my phone and made plans for the evening.
When Roslyn returned from the bathroom, I showed her my phone. “I bought us tickets to Tony Bennett tonight.”
“Jeez, he’s still playing? Another geriatric concert?” She winked at me.
“The word is legend, remember? If we don’t see him now, when will we get the chan
ce again?”
“Never is the likely answer. Do I need to go home and change?”
“It’s Seattle. You could wear jeans and a REI fleece and be fine. You look beautiful.” I handed her the cup of coffee. “Unless you want to go home for a quickie before the concert.”
She glanced at my phone’s screen. “We have hours before the show.”
I was thankful it was all downhill as we raced each other back to the car.
OUTSIDE HER DOOR, she fumbled inside her purse again, searching for her keys.
“Why is your bag so big? Maybe you need a smaller one and less stuff.”
She gaped at me. “Hush. I need everything in here. It’s all essential.”
“I saw everything when you dumped it out last night. I’m not sure I agree.”
“That’s because you’re a man.”
The jingle of keys announced their retrieval from the depths of the bag. Inside the condo, I brought up the portable charger.
“You have everything in there but a vibrator.”
She coughed and spun to face me. “Why would I carry a vibrator around with me?’
“You said you only have essential things.”
“I don’t bring it with me!” She looked flabbergasted and sounded it, too.
“So you do have one?”
“One?” With a soft smile she reserved for idiots and clients, she patted my cheek. “I’m a modern, single girl, Daniel. I have my own toy box.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled long and slow. Opening one eye, I peeked at her. “Is it Christmas?”
My question made her laugh. “They’re not for you.”
I pushed out my bottom lip into pout that would impress a toddler. “You can’t tell me you have a box of toys and not share. Do you take back your gifts on a whim all the time? I need to know this before I start my Christmas shopping. Want to make sure I save all of my gift receipts for you.”“They’re not your toys.”
“So it’s an oldest child thing? Not sharing or playing well with others?” I crossed my arms across my chest. “I’m very disappointed to hear this.”
Stifling her laughter, she composed her face into a serious expression. “Wait, are you asking to use my toys on yourself? Or for me to use them on you? Because, one, not hygienic, and two, I’m not sure I’m into that sort of thing.”
Better Love Page 16
