Waterfront Café

by Mia Malone

I did the unforgivable and read his emails. I shouldn’t have done that, I know, but what was I supposed to do? After careful consideration, I had concluded that our relationship was over and staying together in a marriage like ours was a convenience. In a way, that made my actions easier, and I opened his email account without hesitation.

  We’d never been passionate. Sex had been good, and comforting, but the things Beau talked to her about in his emails were raw. It was unsettling to read the explicit language my husband used to describe their sneaky encounters in her office, or in his, at the same college where I worked, where they did it against the wall or on the desk.

  I’d put my cup of coffee on that desk just a few days earlier. Had he wiped it off or did I get the remains of their lovemaking on my hand when I picked it up again?

  When I shared what I’d read in his emails, he moved out, and I hid how it hurt behind a bland smile as I thanked him for the years we’d had. Beau watched me in silence for a long time, and then he sighed.

  “You’re cold as a fish,” he said. “There’s nothing behind that empty, blank stare.”

  I wanted to tell him that fish were cold-blooded animals who would adapt their body temperature to the water surrounding them, which meant they weren’t necessarily cold as such. I reminded myself to not be that literal and opted against sharing that his analogy sucked in a way he wouldn’t appreciate.

  Maybe I was cold-blooded, just like a fish, but if I was cold, then wasn’t that because I adapted to my surroundings?

  “I’m sorry to hear that you feel that way,” I murmured and wished he would just leave.

  I wanted him gone so I could sit down in my garden and start dealing with being alone.

  “You don’t even know what love is,” he snarled.

  I blinked a few times and felt my anger spike.

  “I know what love is,” I protested. “I love my garden and this house, and I love my job. I just don’t love you.”

  But I had. I’d loved Beau with everything that I was when we met and got married. And he had loved me. We didn’t have children because he didn’t want any, and I’d thought we were a match made in heaven because I didn’t either. I’d wanted a pet, but Beau was allergic, so I’d given up on that, and it hadn’t been hard. He’d wanted to go to more social gatherings than I was comfortable with but had settled for going without me. I hadn’t thought that was hard for him either. We’d compromised, which was one did in a relationship. Or?

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said haughtily. “I meant that you don’t know what it is to love people. Even that mother of yours, as awful as she is, knows that.”

  That was a low blow, and he knew it.

  My mother was an ugly part of my history which I couldn’t escape and throwing her in my face was beneath him. The fact that he so obviously thought her way of living life was a better way than the one I’d chosen hurt more than a knife to my gut would have done, and breathing evenly was suddenly a struggle.

  “You should leave,” I informed him.

  “I will,” he agreed and moved toward the door, but knocked me almost off my feet with the words he threw over his shoulder. “I’ll be in touch about the house. You should start packing up your things.”

  Breaking

  I lived in a small, furnished apartment close to campus, but I wasn’t there much. I had no study, and correcting papers at the rickety kitchen table had felt awkward, so I spent more time in my office.

  On the windowsill in the kitchen area, I had three potted plants, and I watched them every morning as I ate breakfast. I missed my garden, and sometimes went to the park on the weekend but it wasn’t the same.

  My mother had come for a visit, and she’d not been able to hide how it pleased her to see me in the one-bedroom apartment with its shabby furniture and empty walls.

  I’d given her money because I always did, and as always; I did it to make her go away.

  I missed my lab in the basement of the house but managed to make a deal with the head of the chemistry department which gave me access to theirs during off-hours when no one else needed it. I spent most nights in that lab which worked fine because I usually didn’t sleep much, and even less now.

  I knew I needed to eat, so I did, but it didn’t taste much, and my belly hurt, so I lost even more weight, which I couldn’t afford.

  Theoretically, I knew that I had some kind of post-divorce depression and that I should talk to someone, but I couldn’t find the energy or the time for it.

  And then I broke.

  I’d been to my usual grocery store because, well… it was my usual store, and I liked it. It was in my old neighborhood, but I didn’t have to go past the house until that day when there was an accident on the freeway and they re-routed traffic. There were long queues, but I knew those streets well, so I took a shortcut. It would save me time, but also take me right past my old home and I braced as I drove down the familiar street.

  Beau walked a small, fluffy dog toward the house, and a younger woman waited for him on the front porch. She smiled a happy smile, and I saw his face split up with delight when she ran straight into his arms. He held her gently, and the expression on his face as he looked down on her was one I had never seen before.

  Then my ex-husband smiled sweetly and put a hand on her belly, and my world came tumbling down around me.

  She was pregnant.

  I’d heard that she’d moved in with him and had wondered what it felt like to be the other woman, but when I saw their togetherness, I knew.

  Because she wasn’t the other woman.

  I was.

  Chapter One

  Mr. December

  Patrick

  He laughed so hard he had to lean on the bar in front of him when he saw the look on his brother’s face.

  “It’s true,” Marie insisted. “He’s going to be on the cover.”

  “Babe,” Brody muttered. “How the hell did you make him do it?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Marie protested. “All I did was tell Letty how that kind of calendars are very popular and bring in a lot of money, and that her husband is hot. She took it from there.”

  Someone had apparently decided that the small town of Bakersville city center could do with a facelift, and when it was discovered that funds were short, a flurry of activities to raise money had kicked off.

  One of them apparently being a calendar with some of the local men somewhat less than fully clothed.

  And Bobby Baines, labeled “Officer Hottie” by his cousin Shelly, would represent the police department.

  Patrick wondered who else they had bamboozled into –

  Oh, shit.

  He saw how Marie was watching him and knew what would come.

  “No,” he said firmly.

  “Pat –”

  “I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “I meant absolutely, unequivocally; No. Fucking. Way.”

  Brody barked out laughter, which stopped abruptly when Marie turned to him with a small smirk.

  “You’re Mr. July,” she whispered, turned to Patrick and added, “And you’re December.”

  Half an hour later, Patrick had agreed to pose for the goddamned photo, and he had no clue how the hell his agreement had been obtained. Mrs. Clarke, hundreds of years old and owner of a small art gallery in town would take the pictures, which made it even more horrifying.

  “It’ll be great,” Marie chirped. “We already discussed it, and she’ll take the photo here.”

  “Here?” Pat echoed and looked around the bar as if he’d never seen it before when he’d, in fact, run it for the past ten years.

  “Yes. You’ll be behind the bar.”

  Oh. Well, he could do that, he assumed.

  “Don’t worry, you only have to take your shirt off and slide your pants down a bit.”

  What the fu –

  “Oh, Christ,” Brody muttered with a grin.

  “You’ll be in your kitche
n,” Marie stated.

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “Wearing your apron.”

  “Not doing it.”

  “How come he gets to wear clothes?” Patrick grumbled, knowing that Brody would protest all the way through the damned photoshoot, but he’d do it.

  The way his older brother had softened when he met and fell in love with Marie was still a surprise, but a good one. It felt good to see Brody so happy, and even better to know that he wasn’t going to slide further down the path toward becoming their cantankerous uncle, Jools.

  “He’s not wearing any clothes,” Marie shared calmly.

  Brody Baker, world-renowned chef, was going to stand in his kitchen, clad only in his apron which meant his ass would be on display?

  Patrick blinked a few times and pushed out a hoarse laugh. Brody bent forward and put his head between the elbows he leaned on the bar.

  Marie smiled sunnily.

  “It’ll be great, you’ll see,” she said. “The city center will be fantastic. Just think about it… New benches here and there and widened sidewalks. A fountain or something at the square, and –”

  “Not doing it,” Brody muttered into his chest.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Marie said, and apparently felt that the topic was exhausted because she added, “Pat, have you seen the tenant in the Mermaid house?”

  “Not since she arrived.”

  “I’m worried. It’s been almost two weeks, and I haven’t seen her either. I knocked on both doors a few times, but she didn’t open. Do you think she left again?”

  “Car’s still there,” Pat said. “Leave her alone for a while, Marie. She had some kind of breakdown and could probably do with some peace and quiet.”

  “Okay,” Marie said uncertainly. “I wonder if she has enough food, though.”

  ***

  It was late when Patrick finally walked into his house, but he wasn’t tired. The book he tried to read didn’t catch his attention, so he threw it on the coffee table and spent fifteen minutes wiping off his already spotless kitchen counter.

  Why the hell was he so damned restless?

  Maybe he needed to get laid, or something, he thought with a snort of laughter. He dated occasionally and slept with women when he felt like it, and it had been a while. Not a long while, but a while. Perhaps that was it?

  He stepped out into the soft, early summer night and watched the waves from the deck for a while. Yes. He’d call –

  There wasn’t any movement, and he hadn’t heard a sound, but he still narrowed his eyes and turned toward the small pink house next to his. There was a bundle in one of the deck chairs, and he felt his brows go up when he realized that it was their reclusive neighbor.

  What the hell was she doing, sitting there wrapped up on a blanket in the middle of the night?

  “Hey,” he said quietly as he walked up to the small porch.

  The mermaid painted on the wall next to the woman stared at him, and if he hadn’t known better, he could have sworn she blinked.

  The woman raised her head, and a pair of big, gray eyes looked back at him.

  “Hey,” she whispered.

  “I’m Patrick Baker,” he said soothingly. “I live next door.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Of course,” the woman said. “I just don’t know what to do, and I always know what to do.”

  Something clenched in his gut when he saw the stunned pain in her wide eyes, and he took another step forward.

  Annie

  I looked at the man in front of me. He was Dorothea Baker’s youngest son. Patrick Andrew Baker. Forty-nine turning Fifty in December. Bar owner. Ex-navy seal.

  I’d done my homework because that’s what I did.

  Until I came to Bakersville and did absolutely nothing.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  I blinked.

  “Hungry?” I echoed.

  “I can’t sleep so I’ll make an omelet.”

  I blinked again and wondered if I was dreaming. The handsome man with soft, kind eyes who was standing in front of me would prepare food. It must be almost two in the morning.

  “Okay,” I heard myself say.

  “Come on then,” he said and twitched his head toward the house next to the small pink one I’d rented.

  “Okay,” I repeated and got up to follow him into his home.

  I ate a small portion of the omelet he prepared, and when he offered me more, I ate that too. We talked about the weather and the small town. It was safe and easy and still felt like a dream

  Then he gave me a cup of hot chocolate and told me to have it on the couch. Halfway through the mug which was whiskey laced and very sweet, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, his laughing brown eyes was the first thing I saw.

  “Hey there, sleepyhead,” he murmured. “Feeling better today?”

  ~~~

  I plan to release Waterfront Bar sometimes during 2019 – hit follow on Amazon or on Goodreads if you want more news about dates etc.

  Gibson

  The Brothers, book one

  Six months earlier

  Charlene

  “Come on, Charlene. Why do you always have to be so boring?”

  I stared at my sister-in-law and wondered if hurting her, at least a little, wouldn’t actually be legal after all. I was pretty certain no judge in his right mind would blame me if he, or she, spent five minutes in the woman’s presence.

  “I think I’ll –”

  “Do not say you’ll go back to the cabin and sleep. We’re going bar-hopping, and you’re coming.”

  Bar-hopping? Sure, we were fiftyish, all of us, but using that ridiculous term was… well, ridiculous.

  “I –”

  “Let’s go.”

  We walked out of the small, overpriced restaurant where the steaks we’d ordered had been overcooked, and into the bar next door. I sighed with relief when I saw that we didn’t raise the average age with the twenty years I’d feared we would. The crowd was mixed, and some were younger than us, but some looked considerably older too. It was a nice place, with music playing but not so loud you couldn’t talk. There were comfortable chairs around low tables, and the atmosphere was relaxed.

  Marianne led the way, and her three girlfriends followed eagerly. I trailed behind and wished I didn’t feel exactly as dull as she’d accused me of being. I wasn’t, and I didn’t particularly want to go back to the cabin, but I didn’t want to be in that bar, or at least, not with them. I’d never had a close relationship with my loud and thoroughly obnoxious sister-in-law, and I did not like her friends. We all lived in the same suburb, though, so we spent time together, whenever I couldn’t come up with an excuse to bail out of their get-togethers. Unfortunately, my husband, Bob, had told me about Marianne’s invite to go skiing for the weekend in a way which had given me no choice but to smile and tell him how lovely it would be.

  I loved skiing so in a way it hadn’t been a lie. I’d grown up in a small town in the mountains and had skied since I learned how to walk, but these days I rarely got the chance. The first years Bob and I were dating, we went every weekend, but over the years he started making excuses for why we had to stay at home instead, so we did. I wondered if I’d ever get him off the couch long enough to put on a pair of skis again, or if it would be too much of an effort.

  “Ohh, shots!” Marianne squealed, and I cringed when heads swiveled our way to look at the group of women in front of me.

  I should perhaps have made an effort with my own appearance, but I’d been too tired. It also looked perfectly ridiculous to be dressed up in way too expensive ski-clothes and with flawless makeup when you were relaxing after a day in the slopes, so I’d brushed my hair and considered myself done.

  The women didn’t notice how people were watching us, or perhaps they didn’t care, and they giggled as they ordered, “Suck me slow,” “Tongue m
e,” and, “Deepthroat.” To top it all off, Marianne winked at the twenty-something bartender man-boy and said, “One Big O, and I promise you, make it good, and I’ll come back for more.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes but to give him credit, he didn’t bat an eyelid and just nodded once. Then he turned to me and raised his brows.

  “Tequila, straight up,” I said.

  “Good choice,” he muttered and gave me a grin.

  We downed our shots, and I turned around to look for somewhere to sit because my whole body ached after two days in the slopes. The others had spent most of that time on the terrace at the base, but I’d skied from when the lifts opened until I was so tired I was afraid I’d fall and hurt myself. I’d realized immediately how seriously out of shape I was, and since the button at the waist of my ski-pants kept popping open, I knew I carried quite a few unnecessary pounds as well. Standing at the side of a double black diamond slope, out of breath to the point where it felt as if I was sucking in air through a straw, I vowed to join a gym the second we were back home.

  “Come,” Marianne ordered. “There’s a table over there.”

  Miraculously, a group by the door had started gathering up their things. Marianne marched over, pushed an older couple out of the way and reached the table with a loud, “Great. We’ll take this table.”

  I winced and immediately tried to make amends for her rudeness.

  “Marianne, I think that couple was trying to –”

  “Sit down, Charlene,” she hissed, and they all sat down, watching me expectantly.

  There were two free chairs at the end of the table, and I turned toward the couple who were watching with surprise, and considerable annoyance.

  “I’m sorry. If you want to sit at the end, I’ll be happy to stand,” I offered.

  I wouldn’t, but it would at least give me a good excuse to leave sooner rather than later.

  “Thanks,” the man said, and winked at me. “Old farts like us have no need to fake politeness so we’ll just go ahead and take you up on that offer.”

  I grinned at them as they sat and moved to lean on the wall next to the table. Loud, rowdy laughter echoed suddenly, and when I turned, my breath hitched. In a corner at the other side of the bar were five men, drinking beer and apparently enjoying themselves. They were all good looking in a rough, outdoorsy way, but the reason I stopped breathing was the man who had said something to make the others hoot with laughter.