by Mia Malone
“Anyway,” Brody said after a while. “Marie was there when Thea called. We talked some. I calmed down, and then we had dinner.”
The summary of the evening sounded lame, but it was accurate.
“Dorothy, huh?”
“I know. Fucking idiot daughter of mine didn't want to tell me about her, but she still named her mostly after mom. The poor kid will be teased mercilessly, so we’ll have to come up with a nickname.”
“Dory?”
“No.”
“Doo?”
“Fuck no.”
“Oy?”
“Shut up.” Brody grinned and added, “Dot.”
“That could work,” Patrick murmured. “You’re a fucking grandfather.”
“That I am.” Brody couldn’t help himself because a small amount of gloating was surely appropriate, and added, “In every sense of those words.”
Patrick snorted out laughter, but it faded away as he watched Brody.
“We all worried, Bro.”
“What?”
“You’ve always lived in your head. You were always... Broody.” Pat flashed a quick grin when he used their mother’s nickname for Brody. “It was different the past couple of years, though. You weren’t happy. Then Jools told mom he wanted out of the Café, and we knew she’d make you come back.”
“I wasn’t unhappy,” Brody stalled, a little uncomfortable knowing that they had gossiped about his state of mind.
“Bro,” Patrick sighed. “When I walked in and found you laughing about a tiny woman who wanted to be a hippie... it was the first time since you moved back that I saw a real smile on your face. Couldn't even remember when I last heard that laugh.”
Well, crap. He’d known that he wasn’t happy but thought he’d covered it up well enough.
“I’m okay,” Brody muttered.
“I know. You were getting there, but infuriatingly slowly. Lucky for you, someone came along and kicked your ass into gear.”
Chapter Eight
Officer Hottie
Brody
“Brody...”
“I’m not the boss,” Brody said with a grin.
“I am,” Marie snapped angrily. “Get the wall done by tomorrow.”
He’d never heard a group of men whine as much as the crew Marie pushed relentlessly to complete what they’d said they’d complete at the time they promised to have it done. The problem for the crew was that their boss had taken a chance and overpromised, probably thinking that the tiny, sweet woman would accept delays if need be.
She did in no way accept anything except the completion dates she had been smart enough to get in writing.
The first time she yelled at them, Brody had to crouch down and pretend to do something behind the counter to hide his laughter. When they had managed to tear everything out on time, Marie showed up with homemade chocolate-chip cookies and a sweet smile to “celebrate their achievements,” and the looks on the men’s faces had made Brody retire to the storeroom where he'd laughed for five minutes straight.
Now they were used to her, mostly, but one of the younger men still resented the fact that she asked them in no uncertain terms to stick to the agreed timeline. As Marie was on her way out the door, Brody heard the man mutter something.
“Man,” one of the older guys said calmly. “Cool down. She's right, so let's just get it done. An hour of overtime, that's all.”
“She’s such a fucking bitch.”
Fuck no. Brody was around the counter in two steps and pushed the man in the chest with two hard hands. He stumbled backward, and Brody followed him until they were nose to nose.
“You’re off the crew,” he growled.
“What the hell?”
“You do not throw slurs around about her.”
“She shouldn’t behave like such an old rag then.”
Two punches later the man was groaning, and then Brody pushed him up against the wall. The other men were standing back and watched without helping their coworker, but Brody was angry enough to have taken them all on if he had to.
“Calm down, boy,” a grumpy old voice said behind him.
Brody sighed and let go of the younger man.
“He called Marie a fucking bitch, and an old rag,” he said calmly as he stepped back.
The blow surprised everyone, and then Jools stepped in closer, although shaking his hand and wincing.
“Asshole,” he said sourly. “My boy here is right; You’re off the crew, and I’m calling your grandparents.”
“My gra –”
“Yup. I know who you are. I play poker with your grandfather. Used to date your grandmother’s sister when she was sixteen.”
Brody suddenly started laughing. Living in a small town had its drawbacks, but it sure had benefits too.
“Get out of here. Calm down. If you apologize to Marie, you’re back on the crew tomorrow,” he said.
“Fucking shit,” the young man muttered. “Do I have to tell her what I’m apologizing for?”
“Yeah,” Brody said. “She likes jellybeans so if I were you, I’d bring a few to sweeten her mood.”
“Fucking shit,” the man repeated and walked out without another word.
“We need to get going on the wall if we’re to finish it tonight,” one of the other men said.
“I’ll give you a hand,” Brody offered.
“Me too,” Jools said.
Then they spent the evening putting crooked fucking planks on the wall, and by the time they were finished, Brody offered to buy a round of beers. It would be his way of apologizing for the goddamned design Marie had come up with because it looked fan-fucking-tastic, but it had been a nightmare to put in place.
He had blisters on his right hand and had thought he was in good shape from running, but this had been different, so his whole body hurt.
Marie took one look at his hand and sent him off to take a shower.
“I’ll take care of you when you’re done,” she murmured.
Brody was hungry and tired, but the shower felt good, and he walked out with a towel around his hips and water dripping from his hair. He needed a haircut but hadn't gotten around to it and had started to put it in a stubby ponytail at his neck when he was working.
“Sit,” Marie ordered, and he sank down on the bed, thinking that he could put a band-aid on the blister himself after he’d eaten something.
She crouched down in front of him and put a hand on his knee, and as she surveyed his thumb, that hand moved along his thigh in a way that made him forget about the pain in his arms and heat rush through him straight to his crotch. Oh, yeah, he thought with a grin. She would absolutely get to take care of him. Her eyes widened when he slowly pushed the towel open, and he cupped her cheek with the hand she wasn’t holding.
“You wanna take care of me?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.”
He slid his hand down slowly along her neck and watched her lids droop a little.
“Take me in your mouth,” he murmured.
She tilted her head forward, used a small hand to hold him steady and closed her mouth over his cock. He'd gone rock hard in seconds, and as she moved her head up and down leisurely, he leaned back and watched her.
“Babe,” he hissed when she slowed down. “Don’t stop. Use your tongue around the tip, and –”
He released another puff of air and kept watching her as she brought him closer and closer to the edge. When he knew he wouldn't hold back much longer, he pushed her back and stood up.
“I liked it,” she protested.
“You'll get to keep doing it,” he promised. “You'll like this too. Let's get your clothes off, baby.”
He helped her, and when she was naked, he got back in bed, pulling her with him but pushing her head gently toward his crotch.
“Do you know what a sixty-nine is?” he murmured.
“Yes,” she said hoarsely.
“Expl
ain it to me.”
“Brody –”
“Babe.”
“It's when I have your cock in my mouth, and you have your mouth between my legs.”
“On your...”
“Your mouth on my clit,” she said, and he grinned.
He didn’t mind at all being the one taking the lead on what they did, and Marie was still hesitant about saying some of the words, but she got off from hearing him using them. She was also getting more comfortable with talking about what she wanted, and it was hotter than the fucking sun when his sweet woman forgot to be shy.
“Good,” he murmured and pushed a pillow under his head. “Get on top and suck my cock.”
He pushed her pussy down to his mouth and started teasing her with his tongue, forcing himself to focus on making sure she felt good and not how fucking fantastic her mouth felt around his cock. When he knew he wouldn’t last, he let go of her, and ordered, “I’m gonna come, so use your hand, baby.”
Then he went back to eating her, and when he heard her soft wail and felt her body go tense, he let go and came too.
Marie
I was singing along with the music on the radio and Shelly was sitting next to me, belting out the lyrics with equal gusto. Neither of us knew all the words, but we filled out the blanks with made up ones, so there was also a lot of laughter as we bopped our heads in sync.
My happy singalong came to a screeching halt when I saw the blue light flashing behind us.
“Shit,” I murmured. “Did I speed? I didn’t speed? Oh my God, we’ll be arrested. I didn’t speed, did I?”
“Calm down,” Shelly chuckled. “You didn’t speed, or if you did, it was not by much. Roll down your window.”
I rolled down my window and tried to breathe in a way that communicated somber middle agedness and not drunken, drug smuggling adolescence. It was early afternoon, I’d had lemonade with my lunch and wouldn’t recognize drugs if I saw them, but still.
“Ladies,” the handsome police officer, or patrol officer, or state trooper, or whatever he was, murmured. “How are you doing today?”
“Peachy,” I squealed, and Shelly stifled a giggle.
“Is that so,” the officer said calmly. “Had anything to drink today?”
“Absolutely,” I chirped, all my focus on answering his questions correctly. I realized my mistake immediately, and squeaked, “Lemonade.”
“Huh,” he said. “Would you mind stepping out of the car.”
“Of course,” I said. “Or, no. I meant, of course, I won’t mind. Not at all. In fact –”
“Marie,” Shelly said calmly. “You might want to calm down. No one will arrest you.”
“You don’t know that,” I hissed and unfastened my belt.
“I do know that,” she said. “You had lemonade with your lunch, and you weren’t speeding.”
“This is true,” I said and opened the door to get out on shaky legs. “But still.”
The officer seemed mostly curious, and not as if he'd start reading my rights in the next few minutes, and his calm gaze took the edge off my nervousness. I looked at him in silence and thought to myself that this particular man was not only the first officer I’d ever been stopped by, he was also amazingly handsome. He had fantastic eyes, so dark they were almost black. His hair was cut short, which I assumed was due to his profession, but he'd look even better with it slightly longer, I thought. Or if he had dreads.
“You were swaying some as you came down the highway.”
“We were singing,” I shared, and bit my lip. “We found chair twenty-nine and thirty, so we were happy...” I trailed off when I saw his brows go up. “Only two more to go,” I added weakly.
“You’re looking for... chairs.”
“Yes,” I confirmed and nodded for good measure. His eyes had softened, so I tried to explain. “I'm redecorating a restaurant down in Bakersville and need thirty-two mismatched chairs. They can be worn down, but they have to have a certain look, you know,” I paused but since I doubted the man knew what look I meant, I went on, “We'll paint them, but they have to be just right.” I leaned slowly to the side and pointed at the back of my car. “Those two look right.”
The man looked at the old, ratty chairs, at me, leaned down to look at Shelly, and then at me again.
“You’re working at the Café?” he asked.
“Yes!” I squeaked, realized that I was lying to what probably was a police officer and not a state trooper, and corrected my statement immediately, “Or, no. Not Shelly. And, um, not me either. I’m doing it as a favor for Brody. Brody Baker, he owns –”
“I know who Brody is,” the man cut me off, and leaned forward to look at Shelly. “I know who you are too.” Shelly pushed out a nervous giggle, but he straightened and asked me sternly, “What did you sing?”
“What?” I breathed out.
“What song did you sing along to?”
“Respect,” I whispered, wondering if he would think it was wrong for two very white females to have done this.
Perhaps we should have done something by Dolly Parton. Or Eminem.
“Good choice,” he said, nodded and added, “Tell Brody I said hi, and that he owes me a beer.”
Then he walked away, and I stared at his back.
“Okay,” I whispered, got back in the car and stared straight ahead as he passed us. “That was weird.”
Shelly started laughing, and I turned slowly.
“I almost got arrested,” I said. “I’ve never been arrested.”
“Come on, let’s go back home,” she said with a giggle. “He was cute, wasn’t he?”
“God, yes,” I murmured, and started the car. “Hot.”
“Officer Hottie,” she squealed and turned on the music again.
I was calm again by the time we walked into the Café, although when I saw the look on Brody's face, it dawned on me that his buddy probably had called him.
“Babe,” he said with a sigh, and confirmed my suspicion. “Respect?”
I closed my eyes and winced.
“What you want, baby I got,” someone squealed in a high-pitched voice, and my eyes flew open.
“Patrick,” I said. “Officer Hottie almost arrested me. I’m not in the mood for jokes.”
“Officer Hottie?” Brody drawled. “Really?”
“Shelly came up with that,” I said, throwing my friend and his cousin mercilessly under the bus. “We found two more chairs,” I added to divert his attention and pointed at the chairs
He shook his head with a grin, but we were interrupted by Dottie who came through the door, holding another chair in front of her.
“Look! I found four of these, aren’t they perfect?”
I would have accepted any old thing, but she was right. They were exactly right.
“Great,” I squealed, voice full of relief. “I’ll get the guys to start painting them tomorrow. Let’s go through the colors one more time.”
Before anyone could protest, I helped Dottie cart the other three chairs inside, and we started grouping them, and finally writing the color we wanted under the seat with a black marker. Teal, turquoise, red and a buttery beige. They would look amazing, I thought.
The Café was coming together, and all of it would, in fact, look amazing. The whole place had a fresh coat of paint, and the whitewashed wall continuing into the kitchen was done. The floor would need another scrub, but it looked good under the paper still covering it. The kitchen looked the same as before, but also different. Brody had kept the layout but replaced almost everything, and the counter separating the kitchen and dining area was completed too.
We had designed a menu board where the items would be written on exchangeable planks, to make it easy when Brody felt like adding or removing things, and it looked better than I expected. Some lamps, hanging the art, and getting everything in place were the only things that remained once the chairs were painted.
I
had most of the pictures and photos in their frames at the Mermaid house and had decided that hanging them would be the last thing I’d do. I was a little nervous about my sketches, but Brody had seen them and said they looked good. We’d been naked when he said that, so I’d showed them to Shelly too, and she had said the same thing, using a lot more words.
A few more days and we’d be done.
“I need a few guinea pigs,” Brody said, and I jerked around.
“I’m going to assume you mean test-eaters and not actual animals,” I asked and got the chuckle I’d aimed for.
“Yeah. A handful of people to try out some things I’ve been playing around with.”
“Me,” I said.
“Me,” Pat echoed.
Dottie immediately announced that she wanted to be part of it, and said she’d bring Jools. Patrick sighed but got a glare from his mother, so he didn’t say anything, and neither did Brody.
“A few of us could do it,” one of the men on the crew said, but he sounded hesitant.
“Nope,” Brody said. “You get the real thing. I won't take reservations, but I've made an exception, so there will be a table for those on the crew who feel up to it. Your food is on the house on opening day.”
The man looked stunned, but shared that he was sure they’d all come and that they appreciated it. Brody just shrugged and pointed at me.
“Her idea,” he said with a grin. “And you know it’s impossible to say no to her.”
Brody
Marie had done a really good job with his place, he thought as he stood in his kitchen and prepared small paper plates with pieces of a new and seriously upgraded lobster roll that he still wasn’t happy with, different versions of crab cakes, small glasses with two different soups, and a few other things.
He'd decided to keep the menu simple. A few standard items, and a special each day which he would decide upon when he knew what he got from the fishermen, or the farmers. It would be seasonal and wholly based on what he felt like cooking. Hell, it was his place, so he might even change the special during the day, should he feel so inclined.
Marie was the only one who hadn’t arrived yet, but she’d be there any minute. She’d texted to share that since she’d asked a gazillion times, her son had finally agreed to come for a visit and that they would talk through the details.
