by Remy Blake
“Thanks for looking out for me, but eighteen is too young for me. My tastes run to women my own age.”
And a particular older woman I met yesterday.
“No problem. That’s less competition for me.” He fist bumps me. “Don’t work too hard, cuz.
“Yeah. I’ll try not to.”
“I’ll be home later. Don’t wait up.” He hurries off without another word.
“See ya,” I call out prior to him entering the house and closing the french door.
Taking the spray bottle full of water mixed with dish detergent, I spray the wrought iron chair until it’s well saturated. Clutching the small scrubbing brush, I clean every scrolling nook and cranny at the top and wash the remainder of the chair with a wet sponge.
After I’ve given the entire surface a thorough rinse with the hose, I tug my t-shirt over my head and mop the sweat from my brow. Without a cloud in sight, the sun’s powerful rays beam down on me, burning the top of my head and shoulders.
Moving on to the next chairs, I focus on my task and complete the cleaning phase as fast as possible. I still need to wax them all, but they need time to dry first. Stripping off my shorts poolside, I dive into the crystal clear water and swim the length before surfacing. A groan slips from my lips as I push off the balls of my feet and raise my legs until I’m floating on my back.
The water blocks out all sounds around me. The combination of the tepid water beneath me and the radiant sun above me is a perfect combination, and I lose track of time for a bit. What was supposed to be a quick dip in the pool has turned into a time suck I can’t afford. I should get back to work before Uncle Ted catches me.
Boosting myself over the side of the pool with only my boxer briefs on, I push my hair from my eyes. Not having the foresight to grab a towel, I stand on the patio letting the water run down my tall frame. The click of the french door closing has me looking up. Penelope stands before me.
“Oh.” Her mouth opens and closes in blatant surprise.
I smile. “Hi.” I’m happy to see her. She’s a welcome surprise and a worthy distraction.
Her gaze lowers to my chest, following the slowly trailing beads of pool water as they continue down my stomach to be stopped by my boxer briefs. The same wet boxer briefs are molded to me, exposing the blood-pumping effect her blatant scrutiny has on my body.
“Hello, Cord.” Her voice is breathy, revealing I’m not the only one who was affected by her checking me out.
“What brings you over here?” I’m glad she’s standing in front of me, but I’m curious as to why.
She holds up the bottles of wine. “I brought you and your uncle each a thank you gift.”
I move closer, angling the bottle of wine toward me so I can read the label. “Looks good to me,” I say, like I’m some wine aficionado. When in reality, the only wine I’ve drunk were a few sips from my mom’s glass when I was a teenager. “Would you be interested in sharing it with me?” Her eyes dart up and down my frame, lingering on my groin each time. She licks her lips and her nervousness is obvious. “Uh... uhm…”
“After I get dressed, of course,” I cut off her refusal before it happens.
“Uh, sure,” she replies.
Bending over, I grab my basketball shorts and pull them on. Smiling at Penelope, I hold out my hand and wrap my fingers around the widest part of the bottle. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to find a corkscrew and some glasses. Be right back.” In the glass of the door panes, I see her reflection sinking down on one of the cushioned loungers. Hurrying inside to the kitchen, I grab glasses and a corkscrew and then I pause, wondering if she’s hungry. Searching the pantry and fridge, I look for normal snacks but apparently, my uncle doesn’t believe in simple things like chips and dip. I end up throwing some grapes, cheese, and crackers on a white dinner plate and hope for the best. Even his snacks are pretentious.
Back on the patio, Penelope is still seated, so I choose the chaise next to hers and set the plate on the small table between them. Getting the cork out is easier than expected, and I pour the red wine into the glasses, ignoring the fact that I’m supposed to be waxing the furniture. With Penelope’s arrival, my need to do the right thing has suddenly been put on hold.
Taking the offered glass from me, our fingertips brush, creating a punch of desire that slams into my gut. I suck down a mouthful of wine, wishing it were whiskey, or anything strong enough to dull my senses or numb my body’s reaction to her. Yesterday, she looked beautiful in her (WHAT?), but today, in her casual shorts and shirt with her long, black hair flowing free around her shoulders, she’s flawless. We’re sitting facing each other, our knees so close they could easily bump.
Spreading my legs, I lean forward. “This is good.” I hold up my glass. “Thank you for the gift.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“In the future, if I help you out with anything, you don’t need to buy me a present.”
She shrugs. “I probably will anyway.”
I raise a brow. “But I’m telling you it’s not necessary.” Her eyes briefly lower to the stone pavers beneath our feet before swinging up to meet mine. “Maybe you just wanted an excuse to see me,” I offer, but she doesn’t respond. “Yes? No? Maybe?” I prod, on the edge of my seat. “Answer me.” My heart feels like it’s sprinting inside my chest as I wait for her reply.
Looking conflicted, she presses her front teeth into her bottom lip. She sighs, as if she’s reluctant to tell me. “Yes. I wanted to see you. Even though I shouldn’t. Even though I’m barely divorced and getting involved with anyone is the last thing I should do.”
I take her glass of wine and set it down on the table along with mine. Catching hold of her hands, I skim my thumbs over her smooth skin. “Those are all valid arguments, but I’ve got one that blows them all away.” She looks at me expectantly. “We’re adults and we don’t have to follow any rules when it comes to spending time with whomever we want.”
“True,” she agrees.
“So if I’m interested in getting to know you better, there’s no reason why I can’t—unless you’re opposed to spending time with me.”
She smiles. “I suppose there are worse ways I could spend my free time.”
“All right then. I’m glad we agree.” Releasing my hold, I return her glass of wine to her hand. Picking my own up, I drain the contents in one smooth pull before refilling both glasses. Setting the plate of food on the cushion beside her, I join her on the chaise. Plucking some grapes from the bunch, I pop one between my lips and chew before handing another to Penelope. Taking the fruit without hesitation, she bites off a piece.
The sound of the french door opening has us both turning around. I’m relieved to see it’s only Leon. What happened to the party he was going to?
“Hey, cuz,” he calls out, sauntering over. Despite the obvious dirty look I’m sending him, he sits on the chaise across from me and I introduce them. We make small talk for a few minutes, but the vibe Penelope and I had going completely shifted with Leon’s arrival.
She places her empty glass on the table and rises to her feet. “I should be going. Can you please make sure Ted gets his bottle of wine?”
I nod. “Of course.”
“It was nice seeing you again, Leon.” She looks at me. “Cord, I’ll see you later.” She wants to say more but can’t with my cousin here.
“Talk soon.” I wink and watch her disappear inside the house.
“Nice, cuz,” Leon says. “I’ve always thought she was hot. I know my dad certainly thinks so, but looks like her interest lies with younger men.”
“What’s that?” I pretend not to understand.
“Nice work. I didn’t know you had the game to catch the interest of an older woman.”
“You’ve got an active imagination,” I reply.
He looks at me, turning serious. “Cord, your secret’s safe with me.”
“It’s nothing more than some mild flirting and won’t amount to anythin
g, but I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. I’m in enough shit already. No need to add to the pile.”
He picks up the bottle of wine, raising it to his lips. “No worries, man,” he tells me before he guzzles the remainder down.
“You’re in for the night?” I’m worried he might get back in his car. He doesn’t need to make the same stupid mistake I did.
“Yeah.”
Nodding, I stand and move over to the wrought iron furniture. It’s time to get back to work. Unfortunately, these chairs won’t wax themselves. Replaying my conversation with Penelope while I rub them down with the car wax makes this task seem a lot less menial.
PENELOPE
“Your phone is beeping,” Shannon, my full-time shop assistant, calls out.
“Who is it?” I walk out of the storeroom, my arms full of dresses that need to be steamed and hung up.
One of the many things that had originally attracted me to the idea of Merlot was the ability to start a new business. With money I’d inherited from my grandmother, it seemed fitting to invest it back into myself. And in Merlot, the competition for a boutique women’s clothing store was non-existent. It was perfect.
Sometimes, I wonder if my dedication to my business is one of the reasons Eric and I didn’t work out. But then I think of where I would have been these last six months without the ability to completely immerse myself in work when I needed it. To have something that was wholly mine and was untouched and untainted by the divorce. And I’ve never been more proud.
Extending her arm, she holds out my cell. “It’s Ted.”
Wordlessly, we do a quick swap, and I swipe at my screen to open Ted’s message.
Ted: Thank you for the wine. You shouldn’t have.
Not wanting to be rude but feeling really guilty about the whole thing, I tap out a quick and succinct response.
Me: You’re welcome.
As soon as I stepped into Ted’s house yesterday, I felt like a fraud, an absolute bitch for using Ted for my own personal gain. And when the nerves had dissipated, and Cord and I started to feel comfortable in one another’s presence, the moment had ended and I’d spent the whole way home on the phone, abusing Delia for talking me into doing something so insane.
What does it matter if the spark was there? He’s twenty-one years old, I’m sure he just about gets giddy at any attention thrown his way.
The quicker I distance myself from Ted and his nephew, the quicker I can just move on to something else. Maybe someone else.
I’d be lying if I said I hated every single one of Delia’s ideas, because I don’t. Letting off some steam–now that I’ve signed on the dotted line–is something I could get behind.
I could even maybe download Tinder?
I pick up my phone to download the app, and another message from Ted comes through. I cringe before opening it, a little irritated the shortness of my last text obviously didn’t seem to translate well.
Ted: I hope this doesn’t seem like I’m overstepping, but I kind of have a favor to ask.
Before I have the chance to reply, another text comes through.
Ted: It’s about Cord.
Well, now I’m intrigued.
Me: What is it?
Ted: Paul Gardner and I struck a deal and he’s going to let Cord shadow him and Asher for the next couple of weeks.
Me: And what do you need me for?
The cell phone chimes and vibrates in my hand. “Hello.”
“Sorry,” Ted says. “I hate texting and figured it would be easier for me to explain this way.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling slightly weary.
“Basically, I’ve signed up Cord for a payless job at the police station. It’ll be more grunt and gopher work, but hopefully it’s enough volunteer hours and servicing a community that the police academy will reconsider his application status and criminal record when the time comes.”
“Right, because he wants to be a police officer.”
“He told you?” Ted sounds surprised.
“Oh, I did some digging when he helped me the other day,” I supply, as nonchalantly as possible. “And while your plan makes sense, what do you need me for?”
“Since the police station is across the road from your store,” he answers hesitantly, “I was hoping you could keep an eye on him.”
“What do you think he’s going to do, Ted? Bail on his hours?” I question, uncharacteristically offended on his behalf. “And wouldn’t Paul or Asher tell you first anyway?”
From the conversation Cord and I had, it seems a little out of character that he would. But then, he did get himself into a situation like this in the first place, so maybe Ted has every right to be wary.
“I don’t think he will, and I would hope I could avoid any confrontation with the sheriff. But I just want to make sure he’s taking this seriously.”
“He’s twenty-one, Ted. Shit happens, but I think you’re underestimating him. I’ll be sure to say hello to him if I see him around town, but I honestly don’t know what else you think I could do besides offer him a friendly face in a place where he doesn’t know anybody.”
“Yes,” Ted agrees excitedly, and I immediately regret ever opening my mouth.
“That’s perfect. Someone he might open up to without the worry that he’ll get into trouble.”
Considering I was just recently having some inappropriate thoughts about his nephew, being his confidant is not exactly the role in this story I wanted to sign up for.
“Look, Ted,” I warn. “I’m barely in the store these days.”
“You’re right. You’ve got enough on your plate, I’m sorry,” he retreats. “It was stupid of me.”
“No,” I say, now feeling guilty. “I will do what I can, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Thank you, Pen. I really appreciate it.”
Ted hangs up and I pull the phone away from my ear, the Tinder App product page still showing on my screen.
Shannon, who must’ve gone back to the stockroom when I was on the phone, is now beside me, also looking down at my screen.
“Are you downloading Tinder?” she asks.
I think of Cord and how much I want him, then I think of Ted, knowing how much I shouldn’t.
“Yes,” I answer her hastily. “Yes, I am.”
“Morning, Pen,” Chantel, the local barista, greets. “Just the usual?”
“Yes, please.” I fumble around for my wallet in my bag, when a sinewy arm stretches over my shoulder and the deep rumble of a man’s voice sends shivers down my spine.
“Can you please add a double shot espresso to that order? And keep the change.”
Turning to look over my shoulder, I glance up and see Cord looking down at me expectantly.
“Good morning,” he says charmingly.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I protest, feeling a little flustered by his closeness. “I can pay for my own drinks.”
“I’m sure you can. But maybe it’s my turn to say thank you.” His eyes flicker between me and whatever’s caught his eye behind me. He licks his lips and lowers his voice. “For the other night.”
Chantel returns, moving in slow motion, obviously trying to work out how the new guy and I know one another. And why we’re standing so intimately close.
I purposefully step away from him, moving closer to the counter and trying to avoid the rumor mill from gaining any traction. But with a smirk on his face, he just follows, enjoying my discomfort.
“What are you doing here so early?” he asks me.
“I have to open up my store,” I supply.
“Is it nearby?”
“Across the road from the police station,” I tell him, specifically wondering if he’ll divulge the news about his new, unpaid job.
“Oh.” He straightens his spine, his whole mood shifting from seductive to interested. “Do you work everyday?”
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m going to be at the police station every day fo
r the foreseeable future,” he explains, not knowing I already know. “Maybe we could do this,” he gestures between us, “again sometime.”
“And what exactly is this?”
His answer is cut off by a very interested Chantel. “Here are your drinks,” she blurts out. “There’s a free table right by the window if you’re both wanting to stay for some breakfast.”
I drag my gaze away from Cord and raise an eyebrow at Chantel. Could she be anymore obvious?
With a knowing smile plastered on her face, she slides the two paper cups across the counter and we simultaneously reach for them.
“Two people enjoying each other’s company,” Cord continues, like the original conversation had never been interrupted.
While I have definitely thought of ways I would enjoy his company, doing it over a cup of coffee is probably the safest option.
It seems innocent enough, so I agree. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with two people sharing conversation over coffee.”
The side of his lip turns up into a smirk, and it feels almost like he’s mocking me. “What?”
“Nothing,” he supplies, shaking his head. “I just find it extremely interesting that you’re searching for reasons to justify two adults hanging out together.”
“Well, you’re just barely an adult,” I scoff and I see Cord’s eye flicker in understanding
“Oh, I get it now. You have an issue with my age.”
“I don’t have an issue with your age,” I lie.
“No, you just have an issue with wanting someone my age.”
I swallow hard, wishing my face and my burning cheeks didn’t give away all my secrets. My hands begin to get clammy holding on to my chai latte. “Can we not talk about this right here?” I whisper.
He looks around, his gaze slowly taking in his surroundings. “Unless you know somewhere we can go, this is going to have to do.”
Unable to take the bystander scrutiny a second longer, I squeeze his forearm with my hand and begin to direct him out of the cafe and we walk the short distance to my store.
He follows dutifully, holding on to my latte as I unlock each lock. When we’re both inside, I slam the boutique door with a lot more force than necessary and storm off to the back, needing space. I’m being ridiculous, but I like to have control over the order of things, and his addition to my morning routine, with his chivalrous coffee buying, and his deliberate need to ignore personal space, is just a little too much for me to wrap my head around.
