by Juliette Poe
Peace out,
Larkin
CHAPTER 10
Deacon
I look around my room, wondering if I should do more to pick it up. I’ve always been a bit of a slob when traveling. I mean, they make it easy to be when they come in and make the bed and pick towels up off the bathroom floor every day.
Still, I grab the clothes I’d been wearing last night, which I’d discarded on the floor when I’d disrobed. Balling them up, I toss them in the corner to cover the top of my duffel bag, figuring that will at least make it easier for the maid to vacuum. I make a mental note I’ll have to do some laundry tomorrow.
From the small closet, I pull my leather off a hanger and put it on. It’s going to be another mild day, and I’m looking forward to the ride over to Milner. Snatching my wallet from the nightstand, I pocket it, then grab my keys and helmet. Wishing I had time for breakfast at Central Cafe, I resign myself to just grabbing one of the pastries from Larkin’s bakery on the way out of town. Maybe I’ll even run into her, which is way better than the eggs, country ham, grits, fried potatoes, and biscuits I’d get otherwise.
Larkin Mancinkus.
No shame in admitting that woman has turned my world upside down. Granted, I like this area and I’ve got some work, so I’m not in a hurry to leave. But after I finish this project in Milner, I’m supposed to head down toward the Keys. I’m not finding that an appealing option at all, despite the fact I’ll be staying with a buddy and we’ll be doing a lot of fishing.
With the sweet, pretty woman on my mind, it almost seems serendipitous when I open the door to my room to find Larkin herself standing there. Granted, she’s got her back to me and is preparing to knock on the door across the hall.
She hears me, then turns with a smile on her face. It’s freshly scrubbed without a lick of makeup on it. Her short hair is damp, and the front locks are pulled back off her forehead and held with a barrette. She’s got on a pair of navy-blue sweatpants with the word Nike running up the outside of one leg, and a gray T-shirt that says Peace College.
“Hey,” I say as I pull my door closed behind me.
Larkin tugs at the short hairs at the back of her neck, a sign of nervousness I’ve come to recognize. “Good morning.”
“How are you feeling?” I ask, wondering how someone her size feels after having had five beers the night before. I’ve known women who can pack a lot more away than that, but Larkin’s not much of a drinker.
“Pretty good,” she replies. I can tell it’s a lie, but I hold the teasing in. I well remember how much hangovers suck.
My brow furrows. “What are you doing here?”
Larkin rolls her eyes. “The girl who had morning cleaning duty called in sick. So here I am.”
“You don’t have anyone else to substitute in?”
Larkin shakes her head. “This business is new, so Mely, Lowe, and I are trying to keep the overhead low. Normally this would fall to them, but since they’re still frolicking in The Caribbean, I have to handle it.”
“Well, damn,” I say with a grin. “Was hoping to see you over a breakfast pastry at your bakery.”
She holds up a cleaning bucket filled with bottles and rags. “This is as good as it gets this morning.”
“Doesn’t need to get better. You’re gorgeous.”
Larkin blushes, just the way I’ve seen her do countless times since I’ve met her. It never gets old. “Is my invitation to dinner at your family’s house still good?”
“Of course it is. I’ll swing by and pick you up here around five-thirty if that’s okay with you?”
“Works for me,” I say, then glance at my watch. “Well, I need to get going. I’ve got to be in Milner soon.”
“Oh, yeah,” she replies with a smile. “You said you had some business there or something?”
“Yeah… you remember the bartender at Wolf’s yesterday? She had a leak in her laundry room, so she needs some drywall replaced. Promised her I’d come by to give her an estimate.”
Larkin’s pleasant smile fizzles before disappearing. Her interaction with Linda yesterday was nonexistent, but Larkin had a front-row seat to watch her flirt with me. Finding it adorable, I chuck Larkin under the chin. “Not jealous, are you?”
“Please,” she says with an offended eye roll. “Of what?”
“Exactly,” I agree.
Larkin’s eyes narrow, though. “Did you and her… you know… have a thing?”
No stopping the laugh that comes out of me. “You are jealous.”
“I can assure you I’m not jealous,” she sniffs. Turning her back on me, she sharply raps on the door across the hall. “Housekeeping,” she calls.
“I’m just teasing you, Larkin,” I point out.
“It’s wasted,” she mutters without sparing me a glance. “To tease me, there would have to be something mutually funny about the situation.”
No one answers from inside, so Larkin efficiently slides one of the old-fashioned keys in the locks. She still doesn’t give me her regard, just calls over her shoulder, “I’ll see you at five-thirty.”
“Okay,” I murmur as the door shuts behind her.
I hesitate a moment before leaving. Was Larkin upset? Had I offended her? Was she really jealous and worried about me going to Linda’s house? I mean… the woman dresses provocatively and made a bold comment about my ass in front of a woman I’d clearly brought to Wolf’s for a beer. She made it clear we’ve hung out before.
Does Larkin think I’m going to see her for something other than drywall? Because Linda is so not my thing. In fact, not sure anyone is my thing after meeting Larkin.
Shaking my head, I move down the hallway. I truly don’t have time to worry about it now. I still have a dinner invitation that assures me I’ll have more time with Larkin today, which she did not revoke, so she can’t be overly bent out of shape.
As planned, I stop at Sweet Cakes for a raspberry croissant and a small cup of coffee. I dispatch both sitting outside at an outdoor table. It’s a little brisk, but nothing I can’t handle on the bike, and the java is warming.
I discard my trash and straddle my bike. Just as I’m getting ready to crank my engine, my phone rings. I fish it out of my inside breast pocket of my leather, then stare blankly at the screen when I see it’s my dad calling. I consider ignoring it, but there’s no need to. It’s not like I mind talking to my dad. He doesn’t irritate me the way some parents do, and he doesn’t offer unsolicited advice. In fact, it will be a pleasant conversation. He’ll want to know where I am in my travels. He’ll update me on Keely and Dahlia, my two stepsisters, both younger, and the utter pride in his voice won’t even bother me, despite the fact I’ve never quite heard it for myself.
My dad is my dad, but he’s not. After he married Keely and Dahlia’s mom, MaryAnne, he stopped being mine. I had to share him. Frankly, he was struggling so badly with raising a son on his own I’m even able to understand why he latched so tightly onto MaryAnne. She’d stepped in and took over the household, and not in a domineering way. She was the best wife ever, taking supreme care of my dad—a man who had been faltering badly since my mom died. She kept an immaculate home, cooked amazing meals, and even organized and maintained the entire household. My dad went to work, brought home the bacon, and when he came home at night, she had his slippers ready for his feet so he could relax in his recliner until dinner was ready.
MaryAnne was not horrid to me at all. She was nice, caring, and interested. I sat right alongside Keely and Dahlia after school, where she’d help all of us with our homework.
It was a nice life, and I would never say otherwise.
But my dad was no longer mine. I’d had him alone for seven years after my mom died, but after he married MaryAnne, his time had to be split among four people. I hadn’t gotten preference over the others. MaryAnne had, but in my older and wiser days, I can look back and understand he was terrified of losing something so good. So he gave most of his attention to her, then to m
ake sure he’d never lose what he had, he gave extra to the girls too.
Any psychologist would insist I was emotionally abandoned at that point. And yes, that has everything to do with the reason I am not close to my family the way I should be. But it’s not out of animosity or anger, and I do love all of them. I had a nice life growing up.
But the main reason I’m not closer to them is because they never made me need them. I got kindness and attention, but it never went much further. As the last to get attention, I learned to fend for myself. I was dependent on no one. I didn’t attach the way most would, so when it came time to leave my family and home, I was not sad.
When I landed in the Marine Corps, I was not homesick.
When I decided to travel and see the world, thus limiting my visits back home, I didn’t feel anything was lacking in my life.
And that’s just the way it is.
So, it’s certainly not anything distasteful to talk to my dad, and I answer the phone and forgo cranking my bike.
“Hey,” I say cheerfully into the phone. “You keeping that driveway plowed or need my strong muscles to come help?”
It’s a running joke. Even at sixty, he’s still as strong an ox. Although he’s a retired lineman for the phone company, he’s still out there blowing snow every winter on his own.
I’m stunned by the response because it’s not from my dad. It’s MaryAnne. “Hey, Deac.” She’s the only one who calls me that, and it’s the nickname she bestowed on me early on.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately alarmed. I sit straighter on my bike, prepared to hear the absolute worst news a man could get when his stepmom calls on his dad’s phone.
“Your dad is fine,” she rushes to reassure me. “I’m just calling on his phone to make sure you’d answer.”
A flash of guilt hits me. Although MaryAnne did a fine job of keeping me clothed, fed, and focused on my school, we don’t have much of a mother-son bond. It just never developed—not with her focus on my dad and her two blood daughters.
“Listen,” she says quietly, and I can hear utter fatigue in her voice. “Your dad has been having some issues. Forgetfulness, mood swings. It wasn’t anything that had been causing a lot of disruption, but when it started consistently occurring, I got worried. So I took him to a doctor.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly, needing the rest of the information but not really wanting to hear it. I always knew there could come a time when my dad and stepmom would run into health issues, but I wasn’t prepared for it to happen now. My dad’s only sixty, which isn’t that old at all.
“He’s been referred to a specialist, but his primary doctor thinks he’s showing signs of dementia.”
I utter a curse word, harsh enough MaryAnne “tut-tuts” me in admonishment before she continues.
“I don’t know if this is something that will progress fast or not. In fact, I really don’t know much. I’m not calling for you to do anything. I’ve got it handled, but I do want you to know… if you could manage some trips home in your travels, it might be a good time to spend some time with him when you can.”
“When will you know more details?” I ask.
“Probably after the next appointment. Week after next because of the holidays.”
“Okay, and please call on your phone. I’ll answer,” I reassure her, feeling like crap I even have to do that. “Plus… I’ll talk to you all in just a few days on Christmas.”
“No chance you can come visit?” she asks hesitantly.
“Maybe after,” I say vaguely. Because no matter how disturbing this news is, going home for the holidays has never been a pleasant experience. My dad will watch TV and ignore me. My stepmom will try to make up for it, but there’s only so much she can do. I like my stepsisters, but their husbands are kind of tools. One is an accountant who seems to think I want to talk about his business all the time, while the other is sort of a drunken slob who will just sit in the living room and drink beer and watch TV with Dad.
I dutifully ask how she’s holding up and how Keely and Dahlia are. We wrap the remainder of the conversation up in less than two minutes.
My mind is occupied with thoughts of my dad as I crank the bike and head out of town toward Milner.
But before long, I’m thinking about Larkin. Man, she’s awesome and I really like her a lot. Admittedly, another reason I don’t want to head home for the holidays is because I don’t want to miss time with her. If I head to Idaho for Christmas, I might as well just stay there for a while and work out my next destination. Our time together would be over.
But if I stay here for the holidays, with no expectations from my family—which is a perk to the way our familial unit operates—I could stay here for as long as I want.
At least until the shine of Larkin Mancinkus wears off.
Something deep inside of me wonders when that might possibly occur. Every single part of her interests me on superficial and subterranean levels. She’s incredibly smart and ambitious, a woman who by all outward appearances doesn’t need anything from anyone. Completely self-sufficient, strong, and independent.
And yet… she has some insecurities, mostly ones I find charming and play to my baser alpha personality of being in control and wanting to take care of and protect those weaker than me.
She’s not weak. Then again, at times she is.
Like this morning.
When she had a moment of jealously at me going to Linda’s house to give her an estimate for some remodeling work. It’s a job that could easily keep me in the area for the next few weeks.
Near Larkin.
But Larkin got a little put out over it, which is a perfect example of her insecurities. She was doubtful of her standing with me, and I know it has a lot to do with the fact I didn’t come inside with her last night. She doesn’t really know me well enough to realize it was a purely gentlemanly act. Not that I wouldn’t have taken that offer by another woman at another time in my life. I’m not a saint by any means.
But Larkin is different. So very damn different from any other woman who has been put in my path. Because of that, the way in which I treat her will be different. She’s the type of woman who deserves nothing but the best, for as long as I can give it to her.
Which brings about an interesting thought as I pass a road sign indicating Milner is three miles away. I shouldn’t have left her this morning with doubts and insecurities to brew over today. Not for one minute do I want her to think Linda would ever have a chance with me, not when she falls in the shadow of Larkin. And I could have easily remedied that with just a simple kiss.
A quick touching of my mouth to hers to let her know she’s still the most important thing holding me in these parts would have been the right thing to do, and I kick myself for not doing so.
CHAPTER 11
Larkin
I decide to skip the room I was going to clean before Deacon headed out to Milner, choosing to start with his room instead. Not because I’m nosy.
Not overly anyway.
But because he’s on my mind after that overly embarrassing exchange this morning, so the sooner I finish his room, the sooner I can move on with my day and shove him into the far recesses of my mind.
Something deep inside of me—the bitchy part of my self-conscious—laughs. It says, Fat chance of you ever putting Deacon Locke out of your mind.
Shut up, I say as I unlock his room. Faintly, I can still hear the rumble of his bike as he heads out of town.
This is the first time I’ve been in his room. Like I told Deacon, I’m not ordinarily on maid duty. However, I am part owner of this establishment, which means there isn’t any duty or job here I can’t perform myself if I’m out of options. Besides, I’ve never been above cleaning toilets.
When I step in, the mainly tidy room shows Deacon isn’t a complete slob like most single men. I can attest to that just by mere observation of my brothers, Lowe and Colt. They’re pretty much pigs, but since they have women in their lives now
, I wonder if that will change.
I chuckle as I set the cleaning bucket down, thinking there’s no way in hell Mely and Darby are going to let my brothers be slobs. Ducking into the hall, I unlock the linen closet and pull out a set of fresh sheets.
Back in Deacon’s room, I disregard the rumpled mess of his bed that suggests he’s a restless sleeper or a sprawler because if I don’t, I might wonder where my spot would be in said bed.
Pulling the old sheets off, I try to hold my breath so I don’t smell his shampoo and aftershave remnants left behind, then toss them near the door. After, I make the bed, pulling up the green-and-blue quilt and fluffing the pillows.
My next move would be to dust, but Deacon’s duffel bag in the corner catches my attention, along with a small pile of clothing on top. I’m going to be washing all the sheets after I finish the rooms, so I could easily throw in his laundry. Otherwise, he’s going to have to go to Milner to do it as we don’t have a laundry mat. It could save him a trip.
I could also offer to let him use the washer and dryer at my house, but I immediately put that out of my head. No way in hell am I inviting him over to my house for something that could be considered intimate in nature. Not that I think laundry equates to sex, but I’m terrified he’ll think I’m insinuating that.
Last night was a learning lesson. I’ve decided I’m going to let Deacon make the first move. I’m not put out he didn’t think last night was the time to stay over, because, in hindsight, having sex for the first time while drunk is just opening up a can of “too many issues and doubts” later.
Snagging the pile of clothes from the duffel bag, I’m surprised to find the top fully unzipped. I do a quick peek to see if I can identify any other clothes that might need washing, getting a glimpse of something that’s both shiny and soft at the same time.
