The Pretend Husband: Romance In the City, Book 1

by Declan Rhodes

  “I don’t know if I could handle fishing. I have a hard enough time looking at a whole fish on my plate.”

  I laughed softly. Liam’s comment about fishing fit well with his gentle approach to every living creature. I wasn’t sure that he even killed bugs in the house.

  I asked, “Did your family take road trips?”

  He nodded yes. “I think we covered every tourist trap in the state of Wisconsin and a lot of them in Michigan. We went to Cave of the Mounds, House on the Rock, Wisconsin Dells. I could go on and on. Most of it was fun. Hokey but fun.”

  “Places like that sound like fun.”

  “We’ll have to go together,” said Liam. He glanced at me, and I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if he meant it, or he was just making conversation.

  I didn’t have the chance to ask for clarification because he was pulling off the highway for our diner breakfast.

  * * *

  “Do you like biscuits and gravy?” asked Liam.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “It’s awesome here. The diner uses sausage made in Milwaukee, and the biscuits are incredible.”

  I said, “You have me convinced.”

  “I’m going to have the corned beef hash.”

  I raised an eyebrow and asked, “Why are you ordering that after you convinced me to order the biscuits and gravy?”

  “Because I love the hash, too.” Then he leaned closer across the table and said, “And you’re going to offer me a bite of the biscuits and gravy, right?”

  I felt a little shiver up my spine. Liam was leaning across staring straight into my eyes, and he wanted me to feed him. It was a moment of intimacy that only made me want him more.

  Our server appeared at the table asking, “So what would the two of you like for breakfast? Our corned beef hash is on special. I can take your drink order or the whole thing if you know what you want to eat.”

  We both looked up. An older woman was standing near the table with a pad and a pen. She was friendly, but her tone was firm. Neither of us spoke immediately, and she asked, “Do you need a minute? I’ll come back.”

  Liam said, “No, I think we know what we want. I would like the hash special and a cup of black coffee.”

  “And you, hun?” she asked as she focused on me.

  “I’ll have the biscuits and gravy. Coffee for me, too.”

  She grinned showing a gold-rimmed tooth and said, “Perfect choice, hun. It’s my favorite. They make biscuits here just like my grandma’s, rest her soul. The Wisconsin milk can’t be beaten in the gravy.”

  I smiled and said, “I can’t wait.”

  Liam was right about the quality of the breakfast. I swirled the last bite of the biscuit around my plate to soak up any leftover gravy, and I was full. As we stood, I patted my stomach and said, “Did you say we could walk on the beach? I need some exercise.”

  While he paid the bill at a cash register by the front door, Liam said, “Perfect beaches are on the way.”

  I was expecting a beach more like the lakefront ones in Milwaukee. Instead, Liam drove into a state park with a wild, narrow beach backed by rows of dunes. Liam wasn’t kidding about a jacket. The air temperature was in the upper 40s, but it was breezy and cloudy. The waves crashed in on the beach, and I pulled my jacket closer.

  “Are you cold?” asked Liam.

  “It’s a little chilly.”

  Liam started to jog forward and said, “Come out here to the edge of the water with me and move those legs. It will warm you up.”

  I jogged into the sand, and it slowed my gait. The sand was soft, and my sneakers sank with each step. Finally, I reached Liam’s side on the hard sand at the edge of the waves.

  “This is beautiful. It’s not what I expected.”

  “You don’t get beaches like this in Florida. I love that it’s so wild.”

  I looked north and south along the shore. There were no signs of people. It was just me, Liam, the wind, and the waves. As I gazed out at the horizon seeing the waves whipped up into small whitecaps, Liam stepped up behind with his jacket open and wrapped it around me. I was startled for a moment, but then I leaned my head back against his shoulder.

  “Is this okay?” he asked.

  I sighed and said, “It’s wonderful.”

  He said, “Alex, I want to talk about us and our…”

  I reached up and placed a finger over his lips. I said, “Let’s wait until tonight or tomorrow. For now, I just want to enjoy being with you.”

  In response, he kissed the side of my neck, and I couldn’t help but moan softly in response. I turned around. Liam kept his jacket wrapped around me while my arms circled his waist. He parted his lips, and I kissed him.

  All of the wind and cold air was forgotten. Kissing Liam was more than enough to warm my body. He pulled one hand upward and cupped the back of my head. I kissed hard and then sucked on his lower lip. When someone talks about the world stopping for a kiss, it sounds hokey, but I know the whole world stopped turning for Liam and me. He was the only thing in the world for me. I wanted our kiss to last and never end.

  When we finally pulled apart, Liam said, “I want that every day.”

  “Every hour is even better than every day.”

  Then he shivered. His jacket was still open and partly wrapped around me. He said, “Every hour or even minute sounds great, but maybe we should consider kissing indoors away from the wind.”

  We both laughed. I said, “It’s beautiful out here, but that cold is starting to seep into my bones. Can we go back to the car?”

  “I’ll race you!” said Liam.

  We jogged along the boardwalk that wound its way through the dunes. I nearly tripped once, but I caught my balance. However, my stumbling was enough to give Liam the jogging advantage, and he beat me by at least five strides.

  “One more kiss,” said Liam, “and then back on the road.”

  We made the best of it, twining our tongues together, and then climbed back into the car boosting the heater to high.

  I cheered when we passed a sign that said, “Welcome to Door County.” I said, “We’re almost there now, aren’t we?”

  “Just about twenty more minutes.”

  Approximately twenty-two minutes later, Liam pulled onto a gravel driveway. It wound its way past tall grass meadows. Even though it was chilly outside, I rolled down my window of the car. I could hear the waves crashing on rocks before I could see them. We climbed a small rise that was just high enough to support tall trees. As the car moved down the other side, I saw Mr. Fetterson’s house in the distance.

  It was a small, wood-framed house that looked like it could be a century old, but I wondered if decades of Lake Michigan storms had prematurely aged the structure.

  Liam exclaimed, “We’re here!” Then he pointed to the left. I leaned forward. He said, “You can see a lighthouse over there in the distance.”

  When we approached the house, the boathouse came into view. It perched among rocks near the shore. I couldn’t wait to spend the night with Liam in such a wild, but romantic, setting.

  Liam parked, and the front door of the house opened. A thin man with a full white beard appeared. The wrinkles on his face betrayed his age, but the speed of his gait approaching the car dispensed with any notion that Mr. Fetterson might be frail.

  21

  Liam

  I’ve tried many times to describe to people the smell of Lake Michigan up close. It wasn’t like the putrid, salty, rotting smell of seaweed in the ocean. It also didn’t smell of fish either. Instead, to me, it was the smell of childhood. The first time I could remember hiking on the shores of Door County, I was only five years old. I struggled to keep up with my brother, but I was fascinated by everything.

  As Alex and I climbed out of the car at Mr. Fetterson’s, that aroma of childhood hit me again full force. It made me smile as I stared into the wizened old face of our host. He was wearing a worn lumberjack-style plaid shirt, and a pair of faded blue jeans clu
ng loosely to his thin frame.

  “Which one of you young men is Liam?” asked Mr. Fetterson in a firm, almost demanding voice.

  I said, “I’m Liam.” Then I gestured to my right and said, “This is my…,” I paused, and said, “friend Alex.”

  The gruff voice continued as he held out a hand wrinkled but still vigorous in its grip. “I’m very pleased to meet you Liam, and this looks like a healthy, inquisitive young man that you brought with you.”

  He offered his hand to Alex as well. I wasn’t quite sure what he saw that convinced him of Alex’s inquisitive nature, but he wasn’t wrong. As they shook hands, I looked over Mr. Fetterson’s shoulder, and I could see a number of his sculptures perched on supports around the perimeter of the house, and then lining a walk toward the boathouse along the shore of the lake.

  I asked, “Should we get our things out of the car?”

  Mr. Fetterson looked up to the sky and said, “It looks like rain before two hours are up. Why don’t we look at those carvings first? Then we’ll share dinner, and you can retire to the old boathouse.”

  I said, “No, you don’t need to make dinner for us. We can go out to a restaurant, or we could cook for you.”

  He shook his head. “No, Amelia made me promise before she left that I would always welcome guests with a meal at least until I’m unable to get up to do it anymore. Young man, the two of you are guests.”

  Alex smiled at me, and I resisted any impulses to protest further. Mr. Fetterson silently gestured toward the side of the house. We followed in his footsteps.

  I said, “Your work is exquisite.”

  He shrugged. “Grandpa taught me to carve, and Grandma painted what he carved. When I stopped fishing so much, I needed something to take up time. Amelia said I should take things to an art show down in Egg Harbor, and that’s where it all started. Sometimes I still think people are crazy. These are only wood carvings.”

  As we approached the first piece, a weathervane that was carved into the shape of a seagull holding a small fish in its bill, I said, “There’s something unique about what you do, Mr. Fetterson. There’s a passion and inborn talent that shows through.”

  He said, “Just call me Dean.” He held a hand up to lightly stroke the bill of the seagull, and I noticed a slight shake in his hand.” Alex stood quietly and stared at the piece Dean touched. Dean laughed when he said, “I don’t know about passion. It’s more that I can’t help myself.” He pulled the hand back and said, “But I’m not sure how much longer these hands will hold up to do anything new. That’s why I wanted to give some things to the museum now. Once I’m gone and the kids and grandkids start tramping around, it’s hard to know what happens to all of this.”

  I asked, “Do you have a will that sorts all of this out.”

  He sighed and said, “I hate those lawyers. I think half of them are crooked and the other half are money grubbers, but yep, I’ve got a will. I just don’t trust all of those kids to follow what it says.”

  Alex nodded at his comments. I said, “Thank you so much for inviting me up. I can confidently say that the two pieces of your work that we purchased in the past are treasured parts of the museum collection.”

  “Don’t worry, I trust you, young man,” said Dean. He strolled a little further on a worn path along the side of the house. As he approached a bench, he coughed once and said, “Let’s have a seat here, and we can talk.”

  The bench was barely large enough to fit all three of us. Alex said, “I can stand if I need to. That’s no problem.”

  Dean said, “We’re all good friends. Sit here, Alex. The two of you are even better friends than most, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t know how to respond to the comment. I said, “Alex is a close friend.” I pointed at the bench, and he sat beside me.

  Speaking directly to Dean, I said, “I know that you plan to donate pieces to the museum, but I was also authorized to purchase an additional piece if you still have items for sale.”

  He laughed, and the chortling led to a small coughing fit. “They would put me in the home if I wasn’t still hawking wood to visitors. Since I don’t fish anymore, that’s what keeps all of this going. If it were up to me, I’d give you the other piece you want, but Amelia would come back and haunt me if I wasn’t a good businessman.”

  I said, “She’s a wise woman. Dean, I know a lot of your work and what you’ve said are the principles behind what you do, but could you explain it to Alex?”

  “I think most of the words are just gobbledygook. You know, at those little gallery shops out on the highway, they always want us to say something smart to impress the people with the credit cards. I finally came up with something to say, but I’m not sure it is much above nonsense.”

  Alex put his hand on my thigh and said, “I would love to hear more.”

  Dean closed his eyes for a moment and leaned back. He opened them again, stared straight ahead and said, “Well, when I first started, I carved things that told stories about when I was a kid and what I remembered about my grandma and grandpa. I was always happiest hanging out at their place. They lived out on Washington Island. Sometimes grandma spent the entire summer there and never touched the mainland.”

  I said, “Really? I didn’t know that about them.”

  “So one day Amelia asked me if I ever thought about the future when I was carving. I thought long and hard about that. I sat hours in that little studio we built and attached to the back of the house. I wondered how I could carve pieces that talked about a world that I didn’t know yet.”

  “But you figured it out?” asked Alex.

  “I did my best,” said Dean. “Some of it’s really silly. I carved spaceships and flying cars, but now most of it’s abstract. I still carve things that remind me of grandma and grandpa. I remember the little shops on the island and the birds and fish and the storms.”

  “That’s all fascinating,” said Alex. “Did you ever do both in one piece?”

  I asked, “Both? How could you do past and present together?”

  Dean laughed. He said, “I did take a swing at that. It’s one of the weathervanes, and I carved it, oh, fifteen years ago or so. I’m not sure it’s as good as the rest of what I do. I’ve never shown it in a gallery.”

  “Do you have it somewhere that we can see?” asked Alex.

  “Oh, it’s on an old post around behind the house. One of you help me up, and you can see it.”

  Alex offered his right hand, and then he braced Dean’s shoulder with his other hand as Dean rose to standing. We followed Dean as he traversed the worn path. His gait was slower this time than when he first approached my car, and his age was more visible.

  Alex spotted the piece immediately. He pointed to a post placed nearly 25 feet away from the house. It rose out of a small cluster of boulders. Alex asked, “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Dean smiled, obviously pleased with the recognition. “Yes, it is. Go ahead and check it out. I’ll catch up.”

  As I approached the weathervane, I smiled. There had to be an engaging story behind it. It was composed primarily of two figures. They were two hearts, one on each end. On one end the heart had a fissure down the middle. It appeared to be a representation of a broken heart. The paint was a purplish color that made it look like the heart was wounded and bruised.

  On the opposite end was a heart that was solid, plump, and painted a deep glowing red. It was undeniably healthy. The entire piece was held together by an arrow that pointed in the direction of the healthy heart with the tip piercing and indicating due north.

  Alex whispered, “It’s beautiful,” as Dean approached.

  When Dean drew close, I said, “There must be a story here.”

  He turned first to me and then to Alex before he spoke. “I carved this less than a month after my precious Amelia passed away. She was attacked by cancer that took her away far too soon. I wasn’t ready for her to go.”

  Alex said, “That explains the broken heart, but the
healthy one? Is that representing earlier in your relationship? If it does, why does the arrow point the way it does?”

  Dean said, “Because I think broken hearts always heal. The healthy heart is the future.”

  Alex whispered again. This time his voice was loud enough for Dean to hear. He said, “I’m starting to believe that, too.”

  “Is this the piece you would like to buy?” asked Dean. “It does need a good home.”

  I said, “I love the story.”

  Alex said, “Then this is the one. I can’t think of one that would touch me inside any better.”

  “You can feel it?” asked Dean.

  “I can still feel it, but it’s starting to heal. I’m closer to the healthy heart than the broken one now.” Alex reached out and wove the fingers of his right hand into the fingers of my left. I curled my hand into his and smiled.

  22

  Alex

  Dean served us a simple, delicious dinner with fish caught by a friend in one of the lakes in northern Wisconsin. He pan-fried the fish while he encouraged Liam and me to put together a salad from veggies in the fridge. The conversation was fascinating, and we talked until after 10:00 p.m. when Dean insisted that he needed to go to bed. He suggested that we come to the house anytime in the morning, just not before 8:00 a.m.

  The walk to the boathouse was a chilly one. With the sun down, the wind off the lake cut to the bone. I held onto Liam and pulled myself close while we retrieved our luggage from the car and then walked down a stone path with a flashlight in hand.

  We could hear the waves crashing on rocks, but we couldn’t see them. The moon hid behind clouds, and the world was nearly pitch black outside the reach of our flashlight beam. I said, “I can’t believe I’m here with you, but I’m incredibly happy that I am.”

  “I’m just hoping there’s some heat in the boathouse. Dean said there was, but I think this wind will just seep in through the cracks,” said Liam.