Waiting for the One

by L. A. Fiore

  When I arrive, I notice George Ward’s boat is on its way out to sea in search of the mighty swordfish. Doug is already out checking on his lobster traps. Now the lobster festival I do enjoy. The activity at the docks is fairly slow, though, so I walk the rest of the way into town.

  Town seems a bit more active. There is no festival scheduled for quite a few weeks. What else could draw people to this little town? I grab a cup of coffee and take a seat along Main Street to people watch. I am not there long when Josh walks over to join me.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Just enjoying the day.”

  He studies my face for a minute. “What’s wrong?”

  “My mom called.”

  “You of the low morals. I bet she had a field day about Logan, the artist.”

  I’m not sure why it continually surprises me that Josh has grown into such an insightful man. Maybe because I still see him as the kid who ate dirt. “Better. Logan who is only interested in me for my paycheck.”

  Josh throws his head back and laughs. “At least they’re consistent.”

  A piercing noise practically makes my ears bleed. There is only one thing in this town that can make such a horrendous sound. Josh and I both turn to see Hattie and Hilde Fletcher driving down the street in their huge old beat-up Buick.

  We notice the parking spot at the curb at the same time. “You don’t think they’re going to attempt to parallel park that boat?” Josh asks.

  “Considering they can’t drive a straight line without hitting something, no. I couldn’t even parallel park that thing.”

  But as we sit there and watch Hattie pulls up just past the spot and stops. I groan out loud. “Oh no. That is an extraordinarily bad idea.”

  “Whose car is that?” Josh points to the car in front of the spot Hattie is attempting to park in. It’s a fancy car, one I haven’t seen before, and it probably costs more than I make in three years.

  “I don’t know but it’s about to become a hood ornament.”

  “We should stop them,” Josh says as he starts to stand. I’m getting up after him, but then I spot my new neighbor. I immediately grab Josh’s arm and pull him back down to the bench.

  “What are you doing?”

  “My new neighbor—hide me.”

  “What new neighbor? You don’t have any neighbors.”

  “The old Keller place sold.”

  “The Keller place, when?”

  “I don’t know, but I noticed the moving van earlier on my jog. I planned on stopping by later in the week to say hello, but she was on my front step when I got home.”

  “She moves fast. So you didn’t like her?”

  “In the ten minutes of our conversation she asked me what I did, if I was dating, and would I take her around town. Abrasive and pushy puts it mildly.”

  Josh turns to look at the woman in question. “I won’t like her either, then.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “She sure does dress nicely, though.”

  He isn’t wrong. She’s wearing Seven jeans and an Armani tweed jacket in Harrington, land of the swordfish.

  “Why, Josh? Why would someone who dresses like that move here?”

  “Good question. Looks like the car is hers.”

  Elise runs in her Manolos to get to her car before Hattie starts her parallel parking attempt.

  “Shouldn’t we help?” Josh asked.

  “We’re likely to only make it worse. If we startle Hattie, who knows what she’ll do.”

  Josh turns fully around so he can glare at me. “You’re hoping that Hattie hits your neighbor’s car.”

  “No, Josh, that’s an awful thing to say, but I do wish I’d thought to bring popcorn, because this is turning out to be one hell of a show.”

  Elise is now yelling at Hattie, Hilde is yelling at Elise, and all of that commotion is dangerous with Hattie’s foot so close to the accelerator. On a good day Hattie gets the two confused, but with someone yelling at her, it’s going to make her panic and then anything goes. I can hear the Jaws music playing in my head, Hattie’s car being the shark.

  “Oh no,” Josh whispers as Hattie does hit the accelerator too hard and the car lurches backward. The movement startles her and she moves the wheel any which way. She comes inches from slamming into the car behind her before her car comes to a jerky stop.

  “Let’s go help.” We’re about to move from our spot when Jake appears.

  As Jake handles the situation, my neighbor glares at him and even appears to glare into the car at Hattie and Hilde before she climbs into her own car and peels away.

  “For a woman looking for a man, she didn’t pay very much notice to our most eligible bachelor,” I comment mostly to myself.

  “Maybe he isn’t her type.”

  I start down the street with Josh but I don’t agree with his comment. For someone who specifically asked about eligible young men, her behavior wasn’t just rude, it was odd.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Standing behind the bar at Tucker’s, I study the few new faces that are becoming regulars. There are three women: two brunettes and a blonde. They stand out because their faces are so made up it has to take them at least an hour to apply their makeup. And the blonde’s hair is beautifully highlighted. She definitely didn’t get her color treatment here. So why all the glam to sit in a fisherman’s watering hole? My curiosity, which is much like a cat’s, finally gets the better of me and I saunter over to their table.

  “Can I get you another round?”

  “Yes, please,” the blonde, maybe in her late thirties, replies as she stops her conversation to look at me.

  I feel compelled to say something, since she’s continuing to stare at me rather intently. “Are you enjoying your stay in Harrington?”

  No answer except for a nonverbal one that passes between the ladies in reaction to my question.

  “Actually, are you familiar with David Cambre?” she asks.

  “He’s that famous guy, an artist or something.”

  “A sculptor. We were just discussing him and his work. He’s a genius.”

  I have to take their word for it, since I have never seen a David Cambre sculpture.

  “He would feel at home here, all the inspiration and the solitude.” The woman hesitates a moment before she takes out a black-and-white photo of a man. My God, he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen: short, spiky hair and a face that even Adonis would envy. But the eyes hold my attention—there’s an arrogance about them that is both wickedly sexy and oddly familiar.

  “Wait, isn’t he the one who modeled that line for Armani a few years back?” How could I forget that face or body? Not only was he splashed over all the fashion magazines but every tabloid wanted a piece of him. A bit of a playboy, that one. I think I taped one of his spreads on my wall for a time.

  “Yeah, have you seen him?”

  “Here, in Harrington? No. Believe me, if that man was here, we would know.”

  The woman’s shoulders slump, which I understand completely, before she slips the photo back in her bag. “That’s what I thought. Oh well. We’ll take the next round and then the check.”

  “Sure. Can I ask why you’re looking for him?"

  She regards me as if I’ve started to drool as I speak. “Well, he’s gorgeous, single, and aloof, and the combination is too great a challenge for us.”

  I’m tempted to point out that they are acting very much like stalkers—having tested my feet in the waters as a stalker that night at Logan’s house, I know what I’m talking about—but instead I smile despite my disgust. Poor David.

  A few hours later the door opens, and in walks Logan. I haven’t seen him in over a week and, I have to say, he is a sight for sore eyes. I’ve missed him, my Bigfoot. His facial hair is shaggy again, which means that while he paints, he clearly doesn’t groom. He walks to his spot at the bar, catches my eye, and winks. Tommy is there to take his order and calls to me from down the bar, “Saffron
, can you get Logan a Guinness?”

  “Sure thing.” I build the Guinness and bring it to him. He isn’t chatting with anyone. His focus is solely on me. After I place his beer down, he reaches for my hand to press a kiss in my palm.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispers. My hand tingles where his lips touched.

  “I’ve missed you. How’s the painting?”

  “I finished it.”

  “That’s exciting. Are you happy with it?”

  “I am, but it’s the opinion of the one I painted it for that matters to me.”

  “Oh. Like a special order?”

  “Something like that. Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll pick you up around half past six?”

  “Okay.” Before we can continue our conversation someone calls an order to me.

  “I better get back to work. Enjoy your beer.”

  “I’ll enjoy watching you more.” In response, I nearly fumble over my own feet as I turn to walk down the bar, the sound of his chuckle following me.

  As I fix the drink, my thoughts remain on Logan. I love his grin and how the subtle movement of his lips transforms his face and causes that sparkle to flash in his emerald eyes. I love how he can do something as casual as glance at me from over the rim of his glass and it causes my pulse to soar. I love how incredibly sexy he looks in his flannel and faded jeans and how my name rolls off his tongue with that deep intonation that is so Logan. Standing there thinking about the man that stirs these reflections has me realizing that I am dangerously close to falling in love with him. The bottle of gin I’m holding slips from my fingers and crashes to the floor.

  “Ah hell.”

  “Saffron, are you all right?” Tommy’s at my side in an instant. “You’re as pale as a sheet.”

  It takes me a minute to find my voice because I’m still in mild shock. It’s too soon, I know very little about Logan, but my heart doesn’t seem to care. “I’m fine, I just think I need a bit of air.”

  Before he can object, I move from around the bar and step outside into the cool night. I’m not alone for long when Logan appears before me. “What happened in there?”

  No way I am sharing. “Nothing.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing.” There’s curiosity in his expression, but there’s also tenderness. He touches a lock of my hair before his finger brushes lightly against my cheek. His voice is very soft when he asks, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Oh, how easy it would be to fall completely for him. I answer almost without thought, “I’ve missed you.”

  Sitting on my front step the following night, I’m waiting for Logan. My thoughts are on Frank’s request that I make myself happy. He’ll be happy to learn that I am happy, happier than I’ve been in a long time. Logan makes me happy. I’ve a bit of regret that we wasted six months, but then our six months of observing is probably why we’re so comfortable with each other now.

  The sound of a motorcycle coming down the street catches my attention seconds before Logan appears. Logan straddling a motorcycle; that is a picture. He shuts off the engine and climbs off to greet me as I walk down the path.

  His perusal is both thorough and arousing because I know exactly what’s going on in his head. He likes the dress on me, would like it even more off me.

  “Beautiful.”

  Hearing that word from him about me makes me feel beautiful.

  Logan is taking me to dinner at The Harbor, which is where Mitch works. When we arrive, a quiet table in a corner has been reserved for us. Wine is served, meals are ordered, and then Logan’s focus narrows to me.

  “The chef here is married to your friend?”

  I don’t remember mentioning that. “Yeah, how did you know?”

  “When I called to make the reservations, the receptionist turned very chatty.”

  “More so because it was you on the line, I’m sure.”

  His grin is his only response.

  “Mitch is the chef and, yes, he’s married to Gwen.”

  “You, Gwen, and Tommy have been friends a long time.”

  “And Josh, you can’t forget Josh. We’re all only children, and found what we didn’t have from siblings with each other. What about you? Any longtime childhood friends you left when you moved here?”

  “No, but I have two brothers who live in Manhattan.”

  “Are you close?”

  “Very.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “One of each.”

  “Are they like you?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Hot.”

  Speaking of hot, I’m nearly scorched from the heat of his pointed stare. “I’m hardly the judge as to whether my brothers are hot, but we all look very much alike.”

  “So that’s a yes. Your poor parents. Do they live in Manhattan too?”

  “No, they’re in Scotland.”

  “Really? Moved there or are they from there originally?”

  “Originally, lived here for a time, but they prefer home.”

  “And you, when did you come here?”

  “A long time ago. What about you? You never mention your parents.”

  The change of subject isn’t lost on me, but I move on. “We aren’t close. That sounds so generic. The truth is my parents didn’t want kids. I happened and they dealt, but not well. For the longest time I thought there was something wrong with me that kept them at a distance. It was Frank who finally got through to me that my parents’ indifference stems from something missing in them.

  “I’d watch my friends with their families, the closeness, the desire to be together and I can’t lie, it hurt that I never had that until Frank. And even with Frank, there were just some things I didn’t get to experience.”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s silly but I always wanted to go on a family vacation. I didn’t need Europe or South America, but somewhere that wasn’t home, where we could be tourists together. Even watching movies in our room, in a place that wasn’t home, would have been fun.”

  “Did you ever tell them that?”

  “I did, once. Halloween was coming up and as it was my favorite holiday, I had this wonderful idea that we could go to Salem. What better place to experience Halloween than Salem, Massachusetts? I even did some research, finding bed-and-breakfasts, attractions we could see. I had the whole trip planned.”

  “What happened?” The tenderness I had heard only minutes before had an edge to it, a hardness.

  My gaze met his. “Nothing. They said Halloween was a school night and that we couldn’t afford to take a vacation. And that was the last time I asked about taking a vacation.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Seven.”

  The mood definitely takes a nosedive. The waiter arrives at that moment with our food, Mitch following behind him.

  “Hi, Mitch. Logan, do you remember Mitch from our funtastic time cleaning up dead swordfish on Main?”

  Logan stands to shake Mitch’s hand. “Yes, nice to see you again.”

  “Likewise. I hope you enjoy your meal.”

  The crab imperial smells divine. “Always do.”

  Logan had ordered the surf and turf. The smell of his steak gives me a temporary case of ordering envy.

  Mitch presses a kiss to my head. “Have fun.”

  “Thanks, Mitch.” But my eyes stay on Logan’s dinner, because, damn, that really looks good.

  “Would you like some?” This question catches me by surprise.

  “Seriously? You’re okay with sharing? Most of my dates hate when I ask to taste their food.”

  “Saffron.” His tone has grown rather severe.

  “Yes?”

  “First, I don’t want to hear about your other dates, it’ll only piss me off. You are here with me.”

  Possessive much? And yet that declaration has my tummy flip-flopping in pleasure.

  “Fair. What’s two?”

 
“If I don’t share then I won’t be getting any of that and I really want to try that.”

  “Oh, Logan, yes you do. This is like crack.”

  His smile comes in a flash. “Then hand me your bread plate.”

  It’s Wednesday, so I’m getting ready for my date with Frank. Thinking about turning thirty next week has me questioning my life choices. I’m not suddenly agreeing with my parents regarding my choice of vocations, but after my dinner with Logan, I haven’t been able to get it from my head that I have never traveled outside of Harrington, except for school. But even then I was still in Maine. That’s crazy.

  There’s a great big world out there and it’s time for me to get out there and see some of it. New York City isn’t that far, and though I’d love nothing more than to see it with Logan, he seems to want to keep that part of his life separate from the life he’s making in Maine. I say this because though he knows I’m now dying to see New York City, dying to travel, he has never offered to take me. I’m forced to accept that for whatever reason, he doesn’t want his two worlds colliding. Josh and Gwen would go to New York with me. We could take Josh’s car so Derek and Mitch could join us. Gwen’s parents would be thrilled to have the kids for a few days. I’ll have to ask them if we can swing it.

  After getting dressed, I hurry out the door. I’m about to climb into my car when I notice the one tire is flat. Hunching down, I see it isn’t just flat. It looks like I tore it up on something. I don’t have a spare. My cell is once again dead, so I head back inside and call Logan’s cell.

  “Saffron, hey. I thought you had dinner with Frank tonight.”

  “I do, but I’ve got a flat. Any chance you could give me a lift?”

  “I’ll be there in ten.”

  I’m waiting on my porch, looking at my pretty flowers, when the sexiest black car pulls up in front of my house. It’s a Porsche; I know this only because I see the unmistakable emblem on the front. The driver’s side door opens and Logan unfolds himself from it. Starving artist, he is not. I thought I’d be riding on his motorcycle, but I have to say, getting a chance to ride in a Porsche is sweet.