Sultry Sunset

by Mary Calmes

  “You should have talked to me!”

  I wanted to land all over him, but Sophia’s weirdly timed words hung in the air. Be nice to her father… so I stopped, took a breath, and changed direction. “I’m sorry I didn’t; I should have thought of that first. I should have called and asked permission,” I said gently, turning and walking a few feet away from her. “But she was crying and she was rambling about everything with her mom and her aunt and she just started her period and—”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Her period,” I repeated. “She’s a woman now.”

  “What?”

  Poor man, his voice went out on him and he sounded terrible. I rounded on her, pressing the phone to my chest. “You didn’t tell your father you started your period?”

  She was mortified. “Oh God, no, we don’t talk about that stuff.”

  “What do you talk about?”

  “As little as possible,” she groaned.

  “That’s not healthy,” I volleyed.

  “You want to give me advice right now?” She snickered.

  “Young lady,” I began. “You—”

  “My dad’s having a seizure at the moment, so could it wait?”

  I grunted.

  She smiled and gestured for the phone. When I passed it back, she took a breath. “He’s an angel straight from heaven, Dad, I swear to God.” She listened for a moment. “No. He’s as old as you, I think—” She put the phone over her heart. “What’re you, like, fifty?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She cackled. “Come on, Crowley, how old?”

  “I’m forty-four, you witch,” I retorted indignantly.

  Her laughter came bubbling out of her. “Oh, I wish I was a witch.” She cackled again and then told her father about wanting to be a Wiccan because they were peaceful and kind. She went on to tell him that I was, apparently, only a year younger than him. “And he’s hot for being old.”

  I threw up my hands as she started laughing again. “Gimme the phone,” I demanded, and when I had it again, I said kindly, “Mr. Dodd, I can assure you that I’m not any kind of path—psycho, socio, or otherwise. Your daughter is safe with me until you or her aunt—”

  “She’s laughing.”

  She was, mostly at me. “I’m sorry?”

  “She’s laughing,” he repeated hoarsely as I watched his daughter root around in the bag of supplies she had taken back from me.

  “Yes, sir, she is,” I agreed. “It took a bit, but she’s been doing that most of the day.”

  He took a breath. “It took you most of the day? It’s only a little after one, Mr. Crowley.”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “She hasn’t laughed since her mother died. Not once. I didn’t know when, or if, she ever would again.”

  “Oh.”

  “And one afternoon with you, and I can hear that husky giggle she’s been giving me since she was a baby.”

  I stayed quiet.

  “So,” he sighed. “Mr. Crowley.”

  “Yes?”

  “Please tell me… what are you doing for your next miracle?”

  It seemed like he was actually interested, and charmed, and I knew it was only because of his daughter, but his deep, sexy voice did weird, unexpected things to my stomach anyway, just the same way Mike’s did. I really needed to get laid.

  I coughed to hide my embarrassment. “I’m taking her to a construction site because I have people I need to talk to there, and then we’re going to take a tour of the high school and see if we can meet with the girls’ soccer coach, and finally, I was going to offer her my guest room until either you or her aunt shows up. Does that work?”

  He made a noise of disgust.

  “No?”

  “Oh, no,” he rumbled. “Your plan is good. I just hope I show up before my wife’s sister does. Genevieve will make a very big deal about me not being there and about my niece bailing on Ivy.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “The ‘unfit’ thing has been tossed around since I came out.”

  “That must be hard.”

  “Between being gay and being a fireman, I’m not sure which she hates more.”

  I had no idea what to say to that, except to make a joke. “Homosexual or death wish: must be hard for her to choose.”

  He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask to be involved.”

  “Of course I did,” I corrected him. “I went to her, not the other way around.”

  “She did tell you I was gay, didn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “And apparently that hasn’t alienated you, so I’m thankful, as you’re the only one close enough to take care of my child.”

  “Well,” I said, chuckling, “making you feel alienated for being gay would be awfully hypocritical of me since I am as well.”

  It was quiet on his end.

  “Mr. Dodd?”

  “I didn’t—she didn’t tell me you…. Jesus, I wouldn’t have been so blunt had I known.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I would have been less open.”

  “Less?”

  “I just—I promised myself I would focus on Ivy from now on, so I can’t date, and I thought that certainly you were straight and so perhaps I could have a friend.”

  “We can’t be friends since we’re both gay?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s the same premise that men and women can’t be friends unless one of them is gay. There’s always the potential for more.”

  “I disagree.” I snickered. “But if you don’t want to be my friend, Mr. Dodd, that’s okay. Neighbors will be enough.”

  “Now you think I’m a lunatic.”

  “No. Now I think you’re an egomaniac. I have a very specific type, Mr. Dodd, and I assure you, you’re not it.”

  “Oh? Don’t date black men?”

  “Firemen,” I teased.

  I finally heard where Ivy got her good laugh from.

  “Touché.”

  Chapter Three

  A WEEK later, Ivy and I had fallen into a routine. She normally got up first, fed Benny, turned on the Keurig, made herself a vanilla latte, and went out into my backyard and threw the ball for my dog while she sipped her coffee. I would come stumbling down, get my coffee, make breakfast, and we would get on our iPads and read the newspaper. The Mangrove Gazette was cute but not particularly informative unless you missed a town meeting. And even though I had, there was another one every Monday night at eight.

  “Why don’t more people come to this?” Ivy had asked, sounding bright and cheerful as we sat down together in the second row.

  I had grinned at her, and Sophia—who flopped down on the other side of her—and Arad Hadjian—the other police officer in town besides Coz—who also joined us, both rolled their eyes. Mike came in right before the meeting began and took the seat beside me that I always saved for him. After being there for twenty minutes listening to the mayor read the minutes from the last meeting, Ivy said Oh like she suddenly understood the meaning of life.

  “It’s a snoozefest,” she whispered.

  “Yep,” I yawned, getting as comfortable as I could in a metal folding chair and jostling Mike from his dozing.

  The town was simply too small to need a meeting every week. There was no “breaking news” that everyone didn’t already know. Eleven thousand people just didn’t generate that much news. There were high school football stadiums that held more people than lived in Mangrove.

  “Remind me to not come with my dad when he gets here.”

  Normally after breakfast she did the dishes while I took a shower, and then I called the store and checked in while she showered. Together we left my house, walked to hers, opened it up so it could air out during the day, and then she took Benny and did something, either met up with a new group of friends at the beach, went for a bike ride, went to Wick and Wand and visited Sophia, went to the movies—where Benny was
also allowed—or tagged along with me to the construction site. She would have done the latter most every day because, as she said, she enjoyed watching Leya and Oren “go at it.”

  The mayor of Mangrove and the owner of the only construction company in town were going to kill each other. Ivy was certain they were madly in love, but I did not actually live in a romantic comedy, so I knew that it was just a matter of time before their story would be on one of those true-crime shows on primetime.

  As the mayor, Oren Adler wanted to know what was going on with everything. Most people found his interest sometimes annoying but mostly benign. Leya Naidu found him insufferable, and because he was also the richest man in town, she refused, on principle, to do anything he asked. Ever.

  He asked if the community center could have more of a Shingle Style look when it was redone so it would match the buildings downtown, but she and I had agreed on a French Colonial style, and even if I had been fine with changing it, she was not. I just stood there watching them yell at each other, like it was a tennis match.

  That was the first of many battles that raged between them, from her having his car towed to him having her office rezoned so she needed all new paperwork refiled before she could even enter her building, from his parking lot repaved around his car to her house declared a biohazard area by the health inspector. I told both that they needed to be grownups. His priority was the total aesthetic of the downtown area. Her priority was to deliver on her promise to her customers. It was exhausting just being around them.

  “Seriously,” Ivy simpered, just besotted with them. “When they kiss, it’s gonna be epic.”

  I groaned and took her for ice cream at Sprinkles On Top. Her favorite flavor was chocolate swirled with macadamia nuts and fudge. Then after our midmorning ice-cream social, I went to the store to check in with Mike.

  “So how many pools will the new—is it a rec center or a community center?” Mike asked as we walked the store together.

  He had a point. It would be a place where seniors could take dance lessons and teenagers could cluster, and where mothers could bring their children for playdates. Classes would take place morning, noon, and night; there would be a dojo and two Olympic-size pools, plus rooms for dance like ballet with the barre installed and one with a stage where performances could be put on. I was excited about what the center would be once it was completed, and I looked forward to hiring a staff, but what I was actually going to call it was still sort of morphing in my head.

  “Hutch?”

  “I have to think about that.”

  He chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. You guys want burgers or chicken or kebabs tonight?”

  “Oh, are you grilling?”

  “Yeah. You and Ivy have to make sides, but I need to know what you want.”

  “Kebabs,” I answered, turning to actually look at him and not simply have a conversation as we walked.

  “Why am I being scrutinized?”

  “I just realized something.”

  “Which is?”

  “Since I met you, we’ve only had two dinners apart.”

  Mike stopped moving. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah. Once when your parents came to visit and once when I went out on that date with Coz,” I recounted.

  “You can’t count that as a date,” he instructed me quickly. “You were home like a half an hour later.”

  True. I had returned and was making myself a roast beef sandwich when Mike came through the back door and into my kitchen. He helped himself to a beer and then took a seat on one of my barstools and waited for me to explain.

  “Coz and Kelly finally got their shit together.”

  He smiled as he sipped the Corona in his hand. “That’s good.”

  “So it won’t be me and the officer.”

  Mike snorted out a laugh. “It was never going to be.”

  And he was right; I had just needed the diversion and had hoped to get laid. “Hey, did you see there’s a new lawyer in town?”

  He waggled his eyebrows before he asked me to make him a sandwich too.

  “Which?”

  I came back to the present and gave him all my attention. “What?”

  “I said, you should make either basmati rice or we can cook potatoes on the grill. Which one do you want?”

  “Potatoes,” I told him.

  He pointed. “Go to Produce and pick them up. I’ll be home around five thirty; I have to stop by and see Mia Renaldi about my wife’s life insurance policy.”

  I instantly took hold of his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh yeah, fine,” he said softly, his copper-colored gaze meeting mine. “My wife had taken out a policy that I didn’t know about because she used a different lawyer than our regular one. Her folks want the money, but I want to give it in Janey’s name to the hospital where they did everything they could to save her.”

  “I don’t understand. Aren’t you the beneficiary?”

  He nodded. “I am unless I can be proven unfit, and they think that traveling around for two years after Janey died shows that I’m a nut job.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked hotly, suddenly angry. “How dare they question your grief for their daughter? That’s sick!”

  Mike shrugged.

  “No, really! How long did they grieve?” I yelled.

  Taking hold of my bicep, he tugged me close and put his hand on the side of my neck. “You never get upset.”

  He was right. I was normally very steady, but that was more a product of not caring about a lot of things than of being meditative. He was the difference here, and about Mike Rojas, I cared a great deal. He had become very important to me, very quickly. Even though we’d known each other only a year, it felt as though it had been a lifetime. I would find myself talking to him about things I was sure he knew about, only to have him remark that whatever it was had happened two years ago or ten or even longer. I recounted talking to other people and I’d be certain we’d both heard the same conversation. Mike would smile, shake his head, and prod me to tell him the story.

  “They—shouldn’t question your love,” I said, suddenly breathless.

  His gaze was warm as he looked at me before he pulled me into a hug. I inhaled deeply because he always smelled so good. There was mint in the soap he used, and somehow the mix on him, his skin specifically, clean, male, always caused the same reaction—I wanted to breathe him in.

  As usual, the second I felt the now-familiar yearning to keep him, I squashed down the feeling as fast as I could. Not only was he my friend, but he was my very straight friend, and that half second when my heart stopped because he was holding me was time I spent first scolding myself and then doing the gentle reminding of the gaping hole he’d leave behind in my life if I did anything to push him away. I’d never had a best friend before him; I certainly wasn’t going back to not having one, especially when it would be me trying to create something out of thin air.

  “I’ll be fine, but I appreciate the worry,” he rumbled into my hair. He let me go and I moved quickly, not wanting to ever make him uncomfortable with any kind of closeness.

  “Okay,” I responded.

  “I’ll see you at home later,” he said before he walked away, but somehow when he turned around, almost at the front door, I was still watching him.

  His wave made me self-conscious, like I was standing there staring as I would have if he was my lover. Correcting fast, I spun around to go grab what we needed for dinner.

  MIKE WAS outside at the grill, and Ivy and I had the music up in the house, so neither of us heard anything until I dipped her and we looked up. Her father stood there at the back door with a woman I assumed was her aunt.

  “What’s going on here?” the woman asked over The Spinners.

  Ivy cracked up, and I put her on her feet before she dashed across the kitchen to her father. I turned down the music with the remote.

  “Daddy!” she squealed, leaping at
him.

  He caught her in his arms and hugged her, his face down in her shoulder. They held each other so tight, and the woman who had come through my door ready to do battle visibly deflated.

  “Everybody ready to eat?” Mike announced as he walked in behind them, carrying a platter of kebabs. “We’ve got steak and chicken and lots of veggies.”

  Mr. Dodd put his daughter down, and she wiped her eyes quickly before grabbing her aunt, who was stunned at the reception as evidenced by her gasp and open mouth.

  Ivy hugged her too, kissed her cheek, and then took her hand and pulled her over to me. “This is Hutch and Mike.”

  Genevieve Davis was a tall, stately woman immaculately dressed in a white-and-silver overcoat, a sheer white T-shirt, and white palazzo pants. The jewelry was understated, as was her makeup. She was a stunning woman.

  “Hi,” I greeted her cheerfully, offering her my hand.

  She grabbed hold, clearly still overwhelmed by the reception from her niece.

  “And Hutch, this is my dad.”

  I turned to Mr. Dodd and was not surprised to find him even more handsome in real life than he was on Ivy’s phone. The man also was massive. He was at least six four, broad shouldered, narrow hipped, with muscular legs straining against the denim encasing them. His features were sharp, as was his square jaw, but what you noticed first was his eyes, a gorgeous dark bistre, so brown they were almost black.

  “Pleasure,” I said, smiling, holding out my hand. “It was a privilege to take care of your daughter. Thank you for trusting me and Mike.”

  “I didn’t do anything but cook,” Mike let me know, pressing in beside me, one hand on the small of my back as he offered his right to Mr. Dodd.

  He shook both our hands, and he, too, looked a bit flummoxed.

  “Sit down,” Ivy directed her father and aunt as my dog came in from outside and bolted over to her side. “Oh, Daddy, this is Benny. Isn’t he pretty?”

  Her father dutifully petted my dog before meeting her gaze. “We should go, honey,” he said. “We don’t want to intrude.”

  “Oh, you’re not intruding,” she said dismissively, giving him an imperious wave of her hand. “But you both probably want to wash your hands and stuff, so if you go down the hall to your left, it’s right through there.”