by K. A. Tucker
Really subtle, Mom.
They saunter down the hall and, twenty seconds later, with a lot of noise and theatrics about shoes and coats, they’re out the door, leaving Shane and me alone.
“They seem to be getting along well,” he says.
“Who? Dottie and Justine? Oh yeah, I knew they would. My mom’s really good at being that wild-and-fun girlfriend.” Being a reliable, responsible mother, not so much.
He shuts the cupboard door and leans against it. “I noticed their cars in the driveway every night. Are they both living here now?”
I haven’t talked to Shane since he called me that night about the fire. Is he checking my driveway for visitors as often as I’m checking his? My heart skips a beat with the thought that he still cares. “They are.” I settle into a kitchen chair. “My mom’s just here until her new place is ready, but I think Justine’s here for good.”
His eyebrows arch in question.
I tell him about Bill.
“Wow. What a dick.”
“Yeah. It’s going to be a long time before she gets over that. Selfishly, though, I’m happy she’s here.” She’s a good distraction.
He pulls himself off the floor and sets to washing the grime off his hands.
I can’t help but gape at his back—at his powerful shoulders and his cut arms, visible beneath the material of his shirt. It’s only been a few weeks since we broke up. It feels like it’s been forever.
An ache stirs in my chest.
Has he started thinking about dating again?
Is beautiful, uncomplicated Susie Teller suddenly not so boring?
She might still bore him, but she wouldn’t be talking while she gives him a blow job.
“How’s Cody doing in school?” he asks suddenly.
I push my dour thoughts aside. “He seems fine.”
Shane reaches for the hand towel by the oven to dry off as if still comfortable in my home. “He said a couple of kids at school have been bugging him about me and you being together.”
“Oh. I haven’t noticed anything.” I frown, picking through the days, searching for any hints of whispers or giggles or Cody appearing upset. “Is it really bothering him? If he tells me who it is, I can speak to them, or get Wendy to haul them in—”
“He doesn’t give a shit about any of that.”
“Oh. Good, I guess?”
“He said what bugs him is us not being together anymore. He thinks it’s his fault.”
I groan. “I hope you told him that’s not true.”
“Of course, I did, but he doesn’t believe me. And I don’t have a good enough answer for him to explain it.”
“I guess not.” To an eleven-year-old kid, trying to explain any of this would still come out sounding like he’s to blame. “Have Penelope talk to him. I promise, he’ll hate my guts by the end.” I cap that off with a smirk.
Shane’s responding chuckle is dark. “That’s the last thing I want to happen.” He begins collecting his tools. “Penelope’s in counseling now.”
“What?” I gasp. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Travis lost it after that night of the accident.”
“He definitely didn’t look happy.” I recall the glower on his brow as he paced along with me, and how it seemed to intensify whenever his focus landed on Penelope’s mother.
“He told her he was done dealing with her anger issues. Done listening to her bitch about me and you. Done dealing with Melissa altogether. Just done. He laid all his cards on the table. Told her that either she gets help or he’s out. He was serious too. Ready to put the house up and everything.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “So, she’s been going to a therapist.”
“And?”
He closes the lid on his toolbox. “And it’s only been a few weeks, but she seems to be coming around. I talked to her for a while last night when I went to drop off Cody.” He smirks. “She told me I was a good father.”
“You don’t need therapy to see that.”
His soft gaze flips to mine. “She also said you’re probably not the bad person she’s made you out to be in her head.”
My jaw hangs, and it’s partly for dramatic effect but mostly genuine. “Travis had the Red Devil lobotomized!”
He chuckles, and I feel the beautiful sound deep within my chest. “She’s still in there, just a bit tamer. For now.”
I quietly watch him, playing various scenarios in my head of what would happen if I reached out and touched him. All of them likely end with us in my bed.
All of them still end with the same complications.
I remember, again, why I’ve made myself so miserable.
My sad smile emerges. “Thank you for helping with whatever was wrong under there.” But you need to leave now. This is too hard.
“I think one of them hit the pipe with a hammer just to have an excuse to get me over here,” he says.
“What?” I laugh. “Why would you think that?”
“Because of the way the pipe was damaged. And because of that.” He points at the hammer on the counter.
I shake my head. They must have fished it out of my toolbox when they hatched their plan, if it was indeed a plan. “Justine’s going to start paying me rent, so I should have the money to hire a plumber early in the new year. If you can hook me up with your plumber, I’d appreciate it.”
“Yeah, I’ll send you his contact info.” He pauses. “You going to come to the charity auction next weekend?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Watching and listening to women drool over Shane does not sound appealing.
He nods slowly. “You should. It’s a fun night out.”
“Noted.” This polite conversation, this heavy awkwardness … it’s killing me.
He opens his mouth to say something but then seems to change his mind. “See you around, Scarlet.”
I stifle the urge to holler after him as I watch his retreating back. “Still too complicated,” I whisper to an empty room, letting my head fall back to thump against the wall.
Thirty-One
“Why are we doing this?” I whine, trailing Justine and Becca into Route Sixty-Six. The interior has been decked out for the holiday season, with garish green garland strung around the door and red-velvet bows decorating the booths. Oversized sprigs of mistletoe dangle across the length of the bar like a bad omen—to get a drink, you must first kiss.
“It’s for charity,” Justine throws her favorite line over her shoulder.
“You’re not charitable.”
She flashes her pearly whites at me. “Stop pretending you don’t want to see him.”
I won’t deny I’m eager to see the Hunky Heroes Auction headliner, but I dread watching a room full of thirsty women bid on him, especially when he’s no longer mine to take home.
Becca leads us to the back of the bar where an elaborate stage has been set up in front of the patio, complete with spotlights and thick black curtains. The place is packed with people. Mostly women.
Which one of them will win Shane tonight? What if it’s some beautiful vixen and they make an unexpected connection at their dinner? I’ve been plagued with these thoughts lately.
Do I believe Shane will remain celibate until maybe, at some point in the future, after Cody’s gone from my class and Penelope’s had copious therapy sessions to accept another woman in his life without wreaking havoc, we’ll have another shot?
I’m not an idiot.
The thought of Shane in bed with another woman makes me want to vomit.
“Front and center, Dot-tee!” Justine grips my mom’s shoulders in greeting. “How’d you manage such a good table?”
“That handsome bartender back there owed me a favor, and it was a huge one.” My mom winks. “Pull up a seat.”
Justine cackles at her lewd innuendo. Despite knowing what a terrible mother she was to me, Justine can’t help but find Dottie Reed highly entertaining, and I can’t blame her for that.
/> Still, I cringe, as is par for the course with most of what comes out of my mother’s mouth.
Becca leans in to kiss Ann Margaret on the cheek.
“Is someone else sitting with us?” I point at the sixth chair.
“That would be me,” a gray-haired man says, balancing two glasses of wine and a pint of beer. “That is, if you ladies don’t mind an old fool hanging around?” He’s looking at me when he asks that.
I frown. “Chief Cassidy?”
He chuckles. “Just Griffin to you.”
“Sorry, I didn’t recognize you out of uniform.” Tonight, he’s in a simple sky blue dress shirt and black jeans with no hat to cover his full head of wiry gray hair.
He sets the drinks down, placing his beer at the seat next to my mother, I note. “Can I head back to the bar for another round? It’ll be faster than ordering through the waitress.”
“I’ll never say no to a pint of Guinness, delivered by a distinguished gentleman.” Justine bats her curled eyelashes at him.
“Hey now, we got a Southie in here,” Griffin teases, imitating her thick accent with surprising precision.
She grins. “Born and raised.”
“Well, all right, then. This is going to be a fun night.”
We give him our drink orders and he sets off to the bar again, seemingly happy to do so.
Ann Margaret leans over to say, “He’s a very good man,” and I get the distinct impression she’s trying to sell him to me.
I take the other free seat next to my mother. “Isn’t he on the auction block?”
Mom shakes her head through a gulp of her wine. “That was just the one time, and it was only because three men canceled at the last minute and they needed bodies to raise enough money. He was nervous no one would bid on him. It was so adorable, I just had to scoop him up.”
I watch my mother closely. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her call any man adorable. “So, you guys are friends now?” Shane said Chief Cassidy wasn’t the type to have slept with my mom the night of their charity dinner. But what about since then?
“Yes. I guess you could call him that.” She glances over her shoulder to locate him by the bar. “He lost his wife four years ago. Cancer. He was very devoted to her. He’s had a hard time moving on.” There’s an odd, genuine affection in her voice.
“Well, I for one think he’s fabulous,” Justine drawls.
“That’s because he’s bringing you alcohol.” Though, between the night of the fire and so far tonight, he does seem decent.
“And your point is?”
“Ladies and … well, mostly ladies,” a male voice croons over the speaker system. The bartender has taken to the stage in a full tuxedo, complete with a red cummerbund and matching bow tie. “We are about to start the main event but calendar sales are now open, and let me tell you, next year’s calendar is hotter than the fires these men put out!”
I snort. “That is so cheesy.”
“Hush,” Justine scolds, her eyes twinkling.
“Just twenty-five dollars gets you twelve months of heroes on your wall, and all for a good cause. All proceeds go to the Santa Fund, a local charity that ensures no child is missed on Christmas morning. So, head on over to the table at the front to grab your copy now or before you leave. They’ll be there all night, but do not miss out!” This guy is clearly moonlighting as a bartender—this emcee role is his true calling. “Grab your drinks, grab a restroom break, do whatever you need to do, but be back and ready to wave those paddles in five minutes!”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll be back.” I excuse myself from the table and head to the restroom. I have the sudden urge to pee and it’s due to nerves. Is it because I’m excited to see Shane? Is it anxiety for him, because he has to get up on that stage with all these women hollering after him?
I finish my business and step out of the stall, still considering why I’m so nervous for this auction to begin.
And come face-to-face with Penelope.
Her sage-green eyes meet mine through the reflection in the mirror before she shifts back to touching up her lipstick, a deep crimson that accentuates her porcelain skin.
“Hi,” I finally offer as I step up to wash my hands.
It’s a long moment before she responds. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.” There’s no hint of the usual bitchiness in her tone.
“I didn’t want to. They made me come.” I hesitate. “Do you normally come to this thing?” I should probably stop referring to it with such disdain.
“Yeah. I bid on behalf of our accounting firm. It’s a tax write-off.” She doesn’t sound any more enthusiastic about being here than I am.
“That’s … smart.” This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had that doesn’t involve tossing barbed shots at each other. I don’t know what else to say.
Do not bring up the lobotomy.
I settle on, “Cody’s doing well in school.”
A tiny, genuine smile touches her lips. “Yeah, he is.” There’s a long pause and then, “Thanks for putting all that work together for him while he was away.”
“Of course. I’d do anything for that kid.” It comes out without a thought.
Her brow pulls together and I’m instantly panicked I’ve said the wrong thing. “Shane told me you broke up with him because you thought it was what was best for my son.” A muscle ticks in her jaw. “And I know how much you care about Shane. How much you’ve always cared about him. I get it. It’s hard not to fall for him. So … I believe you when you say you’d do anything for Cody.”
I swallow and nod. This feels like part of a twelve-step program, the step where she has to make amends.
She turns on the tap to wash the smear of red lipstick off her finger. “I saw your mom out there with Chief Cassidy.”
“Yeah. He seems nice.”
“He is.”
I hesitate. “Dottie will probably eat him alive.”
A few beats pass and then Penelope’s face splits wide with a bellowing laugh.
Not wanting to push it, I hurry to dry my hands. “Best of luck with your bidding tonight.”
“You too.”
“Oh, I’m not bidding. I’m just here to mock and gawk.” And drool over a man I’m not allowed to have. I reach for the door handle.
“Have you seen the calendar yet?”
“No. Is it as painfully cheesy as last year’s?”
She smirks. “Worse.”
I feel like I’m stumbling back to the table. Justine has gone somewhere, but our drinks and bidding paddles have arrived. Griffin is seated next to my mother, the two of them deep in conversation. She seems to be hanging on his every word and I honestly can’t tell if that’s genuine interest or part of her act. Maybe Mom really is into this guy.
Becca leans across the table, wearing a deep frown. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure,” I say truthfully. “I just ran into Penelope in the restroom.”
“And?”
“It was pleasant,” I say, baffled.
The bartender appears from behind the curtains and adjusts the microphone stand. I presume the auction is about to begin.
“Where’s Justine?”
“Right here.” She drops her calendar onto the table.
“You are not hanging that up in my kitchen.” Curiosity begs me to flip through it to find Shane’s month, but I refrain.
“Our kitchen.”
“You’re a squatter!”
“Are you ready?” The bartender’s voice blasts through the bar. The responding roar makes me wince, it’s so loud within these walls. “Welcome to Polson Falls’ annual Own a Hunky Hero for a Night auction! I’m Mike and I’ll be your host for this evening’s festivities.” A blast of dance music reverberates through the place and then Mike spends a few minutes running through the process in a smooth, practiced speech.
“Okay, let’s get this party started! Your first gentleman of the evening is none other than one of our favorite cale
ndar boys … Dean Fanshaw!”
Dean strolls out, looking drop-dead gorgeous in head-to-toe black.
“He’s a—”
“I’ll give you five bucks for him!” Justine belts out, standing up to wave her paddle in the air.
The place erupts with laughter as Dean shakes his head and chuckles, his cheeks flushing. The minimum bid set is fifty, and there is no way he doesn’t remember Justine.
I tug her back down into her seat. “You are cut off!”
She grins, unfazed.
I wish I had her brash, don’t-give-a-fuck attitude.
“We’ve got some eager ladies here tonight. But just hold on there …” Mike chuckles. “Let me say my little spiel first.”
He gives a thirty-second introduction to Dean that paints him a saint and definitely does not mention that he shagged his schoolmate’s mom, the infamous Dottie Reed, five years ago. And then the bidding begins. “Do I hear fifty dollars?”
The paddles start waving.
My eyes are glued on Griffin’s hand cradling my mother’s on top of the table as he leans over to ask Justine, “So, what do you think about our little charity event?”
“This is exhausting. I’m exhausted,” Justine declares, flopping into her chair with dramatic flair.
Griffin turns to me. “What about you, Scarlet?”
“Oh, I don’t think you want to ask her. She does not approve,” my mother warns.
“Actually, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” I admit. The entire place buzzes with energy and laughter. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. “And it’s for charity.” A lot of charity. The nine men who’ve made their way to the stage thus far have earned a staggering amount for the Santa Fund.
And there’s still one left to go.
My nerves are a mess as Mike appears from behind the heavy curtain, chugging back a gulp of water. He’s been nothing short of brilliant all night. “Are we ready for our last hero on the auction block?” A loud chorus cheers.
Shane steps out and my jaw drops at the sight of him standing there onstage in a black-on-black tux, his wavy hair styled, and that devilish smirk, complete with dimples.
He’s utter perfection. He knows it. I know it.
