Meant to Be Mine

by Lisa Marie Perry

  Luz, an Argentine immigrant who’d traveled the United States before settling on the Cape, sparkled in the shadows. Eaves was the only home she’d known in America—and she didn’t want another. Sofia had realized that the day she’d suggested Luz move to New York with her and Luz had turned her down cold.

  Sofia stood on the sidewalk in front of Blush and allowed Tish to trot up to the darkened window with a homesick whimper. No one ever said losing someone would hurt like this. She’d been a baby when her parents had divorced and her mother fled to Europe. She’d never mourned her mother—just accepted her as a void in Sofia’s failed heart. Now she was a stranger, and the only motherly influence Sofia had known was Luz’s.

  Female influence, rather. Luz was far from motherly.

  Sofia took in the sight of the building. It was all big windows, shake-shingle siding, and wrought-iron sconces. Above the boutique was Luz’s apartment, which had been Sofia’s apartment, too, for a time. It had been the darkest yet brightest time of her life.

  Joining Tish at the storefront, Sofia reached up and drew her fingertips over the gold lettering on the glass. Lingerie, the word read. Sofia remembered helping Luz repaint these letters.

  “Why’d you choose me, Aunt? Why me?” she asked, but the only answer was traffic on the road and wind in the trees. Tugging Tish’s leash, she continued along the sidewalk, passing a vacant storefront—once a market called Cape Foods, she knew all too well—and arriving at the next building. With no apartment above it, the squat building boasted a sloping roof with atrium skylights. It was a shock of modern on the aged street.

  A studio confronted her. AU NATUREL—CARO JAYNE, PHOTOGRAPHER.

  The place was closed and it was the last one on the block, so Sofia was frustrated until she ventured around the corner and discovered a lit stairwell that apparently led down to a bar.

  A bar called Bottoms Up.

  No fanfare to it, just a glowing red sign…with the letter B shaped into a heart that looked suspiciously like a woman bent over ass-up. After much consideration about what to do with a tired and grieving dog, she escorted Tish inside.

  Bottoms Up was larger than she could’ve guessed from the street, but it was tight. It screamed sex. Not the posh, almost coy sensuality of Blush, but a rougher interpretation of the word. Dull overhead lights shone over a beaten pool table, chipped chairs, and benches carved from oak. A scratched bar stretched across the far wall, and every stool surrounding it was occupied. Gold, blue, and red beaded necklaces dangled from lights, swinging low over people’s heads. The exposed beams were decorated with bras.

  The smells of cigarette smoke and spilled liquor filled the air. Grunge music pumped through speakers and clashed with the 1980s love ballad moaning from a battered jukebox. The tables looked like overturned metal trash cans.

  Quirky as all hell, but Sofia didn’t hate it.

  Men in worn jeans and T-shirts hovered over the pool table, turning up bottles and glasses in between shouts of conversation. Couples tried to sway together on the scruffy dance floor, but there wasn’t room for anyone to do more than press close.

  A man with toffee-colored skin ended up in front of her, looked into her face from beneath the bill of a Red Sox ball cap, and pointed at her. “I fuckin’ know you!” When she hesitated, he laughed, yanking off his cap to reveal a smooth bald head. “Holy shit. You’re some kind of babe.”

  “Tariq,” she said, recognizing him now. She flung her arms around the guy, not caring that he was sweaty and smelled of beer. Somehow she had clung to the image of him as a gangly eight-year-old with a goofy grin and curly hair reined in to a springy puff. She’d babysat him off and on until she’d become too sick to manage her life and his.

  “I’m insulted you didn’t remember me,” he said, squeezing tight.

  “Sorry,” she said when he set her free and accepted a beer a young woman in a short skirt pushed under his nose. He gulped half before handing it back and sending her away with an open-handed pop on her ass. Not at all used to this ass-slapping version of the young boy she knew, Sofia blinked. “Was that your girlfriend?”

  Brows knit, he replied, “Naw.” He hooked an arm around Sofia’s waist and led her and Tish to the bar. She noticed a few stares and whispers as some of the patrons started to notice her. She perched on a stool as he moved behind the bar. “What’ll it be?”

  “Nothing, thanks. But I’m looking for someone. Javier Bautista. You seen him?”

  He paused. “Sure you don’t want a whiskey or something first? Bautista’s not doing so good today.”

  “Neither am I, Tariq. She was my family.”

  “Yeah, she was. Sorry, Sofia. Just that you haven’t been around in a while and, uh, anyway, let me find Bautista for you.”

  Tariq left the bar. A few moments later a woman with golden-brown skin and a mane of ringlets emerged. She rounded the bar, revealing herself to be dressed in a rum-colored halter top, tight jeans, and a Bottoms Up apron styled like a miniskirt.

  Sofia rose off the bar stool. “The dog and I aren’t staying. I’m searching for someone.”

  The woman silently lifted a hand. The silver bracelets on her wrist clinked together. She touched a man’s shoulder and smiled, and he gave up his stool. Sitting beside Sofia now, she said, “Tish, Tish, Tish. This gorgeous pain in the arse is an institution in this town. She’s welcome here. Especially today.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Tish and I are neighbors.”

  “Oh, this is your bar?”

  “No. I love this place and help out down here when I can, but I own the studio upstairs.”

  Then she was Caro Jayne. “Au Naturel. What’s that all about?”

  “Portrait photography. I use only natural light and most of my clients book nudes.”

  Nudes. “You’re a boudoir photographer?”

  “And bloody proud of it.”

  “Aren’t people nervous about posing in front of all those windows?”

  “Only the front lobby windows are clear. The rest of the glass and the skylights are energy efficient with mirror film. This way the sun won’t bake everyone inside and all the peepers on the street see are themselves trying to get a free show.”

  Sofia processed this with a nod, but her intrigue wasn’t enough to compel her to give more commentary beyond a neutral “Oh.”

  “I keep a jar of dog treats behind the counter here,” Caro said. “I’d quite like to spoil Tish.” The woman sprang off the stool, retrieved said jar, and fed Tish two bone-shaped treats.

  Stammering a thank-you, struck by the woman’s kindness and the musical charm of her British accent, Sofia put out her hand. “I’m Luz’s great-niece. Sofia Mercer.”

  “Assumed you were. Who else would be walking around obviously disoriented with Luz’s dog in hand?” She smiled. “I owe plenty of gratitude to your aunt. She did more than pimp my business cards at her cash register. So, are you in the sexy wares business, too?”

  “Um, no.”

  Caro shrugged as a patron waved her over to the end of the bar. “Pity. It’d be fucking awful to see the boutique die with Luz.”

  Even if Caro Jayne the au naturel photographer had stuck around to hear Sofia’s response, she didn’t have one prepared. And why should she? She was still digesting the fact that Luz had passed down her entire life. Sofia had inherited Luz’s everything, damn near. Her boutique, her pet, her friendships and grudges…

  Bautista carved a path through to the bar and took the stool Caro had vacated. Tobacco and leather scented his clothes; grief colored his eyes. In him she recognized her own need. She didn’t know if it was comfort or a way to forget or someone to blame, but they were both missing something vital.

  Except…

  Wait, Luz didn’t expect Sofia to inherit everything everything…did she?

  “Change your mind about that drink?” Bautista hit a fist against the bar and someone brought him a bottle of Jim Beam. Making the sign of the cross, he sa
id, “To Luz,” and turned up the drink.

  “You started without me anyway.” When he offered the bottle and got off the stool to crouch and scratch Tish under the chin, Sofia drank the straight bourbon. “How are you?”

  “Todo bien. No, that’s a lie.”

  “Figured.”

  “What about you?”

  “It turns out Tish doesn’t have a place to stay tonight, Bautista. Since she’s my responsibility now, that means I don’t have anywhere to stay, either.”

  “Where’s your friend?”

  “Shore Seasons.” Probably in a bathtub with her man groaning on speakerphone. “No dogs allowed.”

  “What about the White Anchor?” Caro suggested, going behind the bar to fill a glass with brandy. She grabbed her tip at the end of the bar, counted it, and stuffed the cash into her pocket. “Try them?”

  “Same policy.”

  “Sorry, love.” Caro was gone again, in a hip-swinging strut to customers. She moved fluidly, pouring in a dash of this, a drop of that, shaking concoctions while keeping a soft smile on her face, sliding beers across the bar, gathering empty bottles and glasses, and collecting her tips.

  “Bautista, I’m not leaving Luz’s dog—my dog—in the car all night. Honestly, as difficult as this day’s been for you, I promise it’s been twice as difficult for me. Tish and I need a place to stay.”

  “Meaning with me?”

  “Would it be all right? We can talk about whatever paperwork needs settling, then Tish and I’ll sleep and will be out first thing tomorrow.”

  “Got keys for you,” he said, tugging a ring from his pocket and putting it in her palm. “Stay as long as you want.”

  Sofia was aware of activity around her, but for the most part her brain was tripping over assumptions and scenarios. She was asking for only one night, not as long as you want.

  Did he think she wanted that? Did he think she could want that?

  “Keys?” She shoved the word from her lips.

  “To Blush.”

  Blush! “Good. I mean, thank you. Bautista, thanks.”

  “Apartment key’s there, too. I was going to surrender everything when we go over the papers. Let somebody walk you over, in case you need something.”

  “Are you volunteering?”

  Bautista crooked his fingers for her to hand over his bourbon. “I don’t think I should, Sofia.”

  At least they were on the same page there.

  “But him, over there—he needs to come up for air.”

  Sofia looked past a dozen or so people to see Burke Wolf at a table, alone, nursing a drink in a highball glass. She hoped it was a cold one, at least. Joss had shoved his bag of ice into the cottage’s freezer.

  “I don’t need a keeper, Bautista.”

  “Maybe he does.” Patting Tish’s head, he said, “Buenas noches. Find me mañana.”

  Sofia was aware of Bautista losing himself in the crowd, but she continued watching Burke. Clear liquid, ice, and slices of lime filled his glass. Vodka tonic? When she’d known him, he hit drugs and alcohol hard. Had he given up narcotics but remained faithful to what came from a bottle? How challenging was it for an addict to court that kind of temptation?

  Just as she was beginning to feel like a voyeur, someone charged toward Tish with fascinated shrieks and several people tossed their attention her way.

  Burke’s face lifted and his gaze met hers in a silent collision.

  “Burke.” Not that he could hear her. Not that she’d been able to get her voice to utter the damn syllable. Her lips shaped the word and, understanding her, the man got up and crossed the room to her.

  “You stole my ice.”

  “That’s true. But I don’t have it on me. Would you accept a bag of Chex Mix?”

  “Nah. Let’s just say you owe me.”

  “I thought we quit keeping score in high school.”

  “We did. Just screwing with you.”

  Any humor that might have been wrapped around the words was drowned in tension.

  “I’m parched,” she said, eyeing his glass. It wasn’t her business to pry or give a damn but she had to know. “A sip?”

  “Yeah.” Burke held it to her lips, and apparently noticing her failed attempt at a subtle sniff, he murmured close, “It’s tap water with lime.”

  The differences between lime-accented vodka and what he claimed was in his glass were practically indistinguishable through scent, so she boldly drank anyway. “Water with lime.” So he hadn’t lied.

  He set the glass on the bar. “You could’ve asked me, Sofia.”

  And unleash what—the fact that she cared when she shouldn’t?

  “I have keys. To the boutique and the apartment.” She clutched the keys. Her boutique and her apartment. “I’m taking Tish over. We—You and me, Burke. Can we talk for a sec—”

  “Okay.” He took the leash from her hand, leaving her to do nothing but hold her purse to her chest.

  They didn’t speak as they left the congestion of the bar and climbed upstairs to meet the emptiness on the sidewalk. When they’d been tight there hadn’t always been a need to fill the space between them with conversation. Now awkwardness pushed them back as they walked forward.

  Tish hung her head and Burke bent toward her. “Hey, honey,” he said gently, squatting down and hooking an arm around the dog, bringing her in close. “C’mon, put your head up, because it’s not always going to feel like hell. You got my word on that.”

  The dog nuzzled his shoulder and he didn’t say anything for a moment. They seemed to understand each other. From one Wolf to the other, Sofia thought.

  “Thanks,” she told him as they resumed walking, telling herself the smile teasing her lips was because of his compassion toward an animal—not because she appreciated the amazing things his body did to flannel and denim. “For what you said to Tish.”

  “Same goes for you. It won’t always be tough like this.”

  “Uh…” she began at the same time that he said, “Yeah, um…”

  “Interesting,” she commented, “I thought our conversation skills would’ve improved in fourteen years.”

  “We didn’t give a damn about conversation skills back then. We didn’t care about anything but being us.”

  Sofia reached to touch his hand but instead grabbed the leash. “I’m going to take her upstairs. Let’s bring her around the back. Remember the stairwell near the door?”

  “I remember everything. If it’s all the same to you, I’m not going in Luz’s sex shop.”

  “What, dildos and cock rings make you nervous, Burke?”

  “Hold up. You were the one who didn’t know what to do with a condom.”

  Sofia came to a full stop. “I was fifteen and not expecting a guy to toss one on my lunch tray in the cafeteria. How was I supposed to know that was your stupid-ass way of asking me out?”

  “Yeah, fine. Anyway, you freaking out and reporting me to the principal got me a day of in-school suspension.” Burke leaned toward her, his shirt brushing her bare arm. “But what I did was stupid-ass. Shouldn’t have stayed mad at you as long as I did for that.”

  Sofia noticed his attention drift to something behind her. Shit, she’d stopped in front of the old Cape Foods building. Burke’s father, Deacon Wolf, had owned the place for decades and for a time Burke had bagged groceries after school.

  If not for his father’s market and her great-aunt’s boutique, would they have ever gotten past that condom-on-the-lunch-tray shitstorm? Would they have become friends? Would she have fallen in love with him?

  “The old man died a few years back.”

  “I know. I called Luz up, but she said you’d gotten the hell out of town. You’re a longshoreman, right?”

  He nodded as Tish began a determined trot toward the boutique and urged them along. “Started casual out of high school. While I was doing that, I checked off mariner qualifications and got some onboard experience. A maintenance crew let me learn on the job. Painting,
welding—I’m your man.” His smile was quick and it belied his casual tone. He was proud of his work. Good for him. “Some guys wait years to be brought in. I got lucky and the hall called me in right away. I get on the water for fishing and cargo gigs and emergency aid, but I’ve been permanent on the dock though for almost ten years. Been clean for about that long, too.”

  So he’d continued using years after she left town? “Why’d you wait?” she asked, though it wasn’t her right to pry.

  “I tried to kick that shit on my own a couple of times, even tried rehab. I relapsed. This time the sobriety stuck but I don’t take it for granted.”

  Questions flooded her mind, but she selected carefully. “So where do you live?”

  “Wherever there’s work. I keep myself on call, keep myself flexible. When there’s not much action, I work out of Boston.”

  It sounded as if being a permanent longshoreman made it possible to maintain temporary everything else, from living situation to relationships. No real personal commitments, no real roots. Something about the realization hurt.

  But equally troubling were the visions she had of tossed ships and hostage situations and other worst-case-scenario perils. “Burke, it’s…”

  “What?”

  Dangerous. So damn dangerous.

  “Nothing,” she said, pushing it all aside.

  Taking the stairs up to the apartment, they found a modest but efficient place that smelled of incense and herbs. A tiny kitchen covered in seaweed-colored wallpaper held a pantry, a stove, a refrigerator, and a white table and chairs. Sofia got a shock when she walked into the living room and discovered that Luz had kept it furnished with the pieces that’d been there during Sofia’s teen years—from the lumpy sofa stitched together with patches to Luz’s grandfather’s willow chair to the elegant animal figurines from their glassblower relatives in Argentina.