Mai Tai'd Up Page 9

  It was cozy.

  And speaking of cozy, Lucas was standing on a stepladder in the stall next to mine, looking down on me from above as he tackled his own last corner. Lucky corner, I mused.

  But wait, he asked me something? Oh, yeah. “Ended what?”

  “You and your guy. How close did you get to the big day?”

  I almost dropped my brush into the pail. “Oh, please, like I’m going to tell you that,” I scoffed, staring up at him. As he reached for the highest rafter his T-shirt slipped up, revealing an inch or so of tanned skin. I licked my lips without thinking, then grimaced at the taste of paint. Gross.

  “Come on, I thought we agreed last night that we could talk to each other about this stuff. Swapping our sad stories?”

  “Oh, story this, you nosy veterinarian,” I replied, slapping the last bit of paint on and throwing my brush into the pan. “Done!” I laid down on the floor, feeling the muscles in my back stretching out gratefully.

  “Great! You can entertain with me while I finish this last part. Talk, woman.” he instructed, and I shamelessly watched him work.

  Could I tell him? Could I talk around the part where I ran out on my wedding hours before it happened? I could give it a shot.

  “So you want to know why my fiancé and I broke up?”

  “Yup.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I assumed.”

  “Hmm, okay. Well, I guess for me, it all boiled down to a feeling I—er, we had. I’d been feeling like something was off for a month or so before the wedding; I think we both felt it. But it didn’t all bubble up and become clear until that last . . . week or so.” So far, so good. We. Stress the we. “And we just knew it wasn’t the right thing to do.” Whew.

  But like an idiot, I pressed on. “The funny thing is, I think he’d still have gone through with it. I mean, if we didn’t talk about it ahead of time. He wasn’t in love with me, and I wasn’t in love with him, but somehow I don’t think he felt that was necessary for a good marriage.”

  “And you?”

  “I want it all. I want all-encompassing, knock-your-socks-off, can’t-live-without-you, can’t-be-in-a-room-without-wanting-you-naked love,” I said, closing my eyes and smiling as I said the words. When I opened them, there he was. “I can’t believe I just told you that,” I said, wanting to disappear. But he wouldn’t let me. He stared me down, his eyes searching and strong. I could barely breathe. His body now full of tension, his knuckles whitening on the brush he was holding, he licked his lips.

  “Well, that’s what everyone wants, right?” he asked, finally returning to his whitewashing.

  I returned to my regularly scheduled breathing. “Is that what you had with Julie?” I asked, my voice unsteady.

  He stopped for a second, then continued painting. “We did at one point. And if you’d asked me that question the day before we were supposed to get married, I’d probably have said we still did. But in reality?” He finished up his corner with a resounding smack, then tossed his brush into the bucket. “We didn’t have that. Not anymore.”

  He came down the ladder, disappearing from sight while he was on the other side of the stall, but then coming over to sit next to me. We both looked at our handiwork in silence. Then he asked, “What was his name?”

  “Charles. Charles Preston Sappington.”

  “Yuck.”

  “Yuck? You don’t even know anything about him!” I protested, sitting up in a huff.

  “Rich guy, right?” he asked, a knowing look on his face.

  “Yes.”

  “Country club? Well connected? Shirt never untucked?”

  “Yes. Yes,” I said, then thought for a moment. “Yes,” I admitted to the last with a sheepish grin.

  “I stand by my yuck. Yuck to Chuck.”

  “Who was never untucked,” I added and he nodded seriously, as though that explained it all. We sat there another moment or so, looking at the work we’d done. “Thanks for helping me finish this up, by the way. Especially on a Sunday.”

  “It’s in my contract, right?” he replied. “Nights and weekends.”

  “Oh, yeah. Nights and weekends.”

  A patch of sunlight had been working its way across the barn floor through a window high up in the rafters. It had finally reached us, and the day immediately felt lazy and unhurried. Like a sunflower, my head turned to follow the warmth, and I felt content for the first time in a long while. Warm, safe, and altogether gooey. When I turned to share this little bit of nonsense with Lucas, it felt perfectly natural to instead lean in and press my lips to his.

  And I very nearly did. I looked at his mouth, those soft lips smiling back at me curiously. I tilted my head just enough to the left, and actually began the leaning in . . . but then stopped myself. He raised an eyebrow—he knew what I’d been thinking. Horrified, I leaned back, shaking my head.

  “Did you just—”

  “No!” I replied, hiding my face.

  “Pretty sure you just tried to—”

  “No!” I yelled at my knees.

  “I think you almost—”

  “No!” I repeated once more, thoroughly embarrassed. And then he was tugging at my arms and unfolding me and pulling me across the floor toward him. “Oh, God, I could just die.”

  “Oh, would you quit.” He chuckled, and suddenly I was tucked against his side, his arm around me. “I’ve been thinking about this nights and weekends thing.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, holding my hands over my face so he couldn’t see my flaming cheeks.

  “My friends are all married, and most already have kids, so they’re usually pretty busy.”

  “That’s great,” I said, monotone.

  “So, since I’ve been back from Guatemala, I’ve spent most of my nights and weekends alone. I take extra shifts when I can, but mostly I’ve been . . . well . . .”

  “Been what?” I asked, peeking through my fingers at him. He was chewing his lip. His thumb was also absently stroking my hip where he held me close. I let him stroke. It was soothing.

  “Moping, I guess. Julie and I were together so long, almost everything I did was as part of a couple. And alone, it’s just . . . I don’t know.”

  “I know what you mean,” I offered. “I miss certain things—not just with Charles, but just . . .”

  “Having someone else there?”

  “Yeah.” I sighed, leaning against him. He smelled so very good. Equal parts pine and salt air and a hint of sunscreen. Beach rat.

  “So I was thinking, let’s just hang out a bit. Run around town, drive up the coast, go do some stuff. How much time have you spent exploring Monterey?”

  “Zero,” I admitted. “I’ve been so busy, which is a good thing.”

  “It is a good thing, but this is a fantastic town and you should see it.”

  “Nights and weekends, huh?”

  “Nights and weekends. I’ve been bored out of my mind, and it’ll be nice to hang out with someone again.”

  “Just hanging out, right? That’s it?” I asked.

  His eyes darkened slightly. “That’s it.”

  But there was an undercurrent now, something intangible in the air. He knew it, I knew it, but we were both going to ignore it. Because . . .

  “Because it’s just . . . it’s too soon . . . you know?” I said, and he nodded.

  “I get it,” he replied, and planted a kiss on my forehead. “I actually do.”

  And so we sat, in the sunshine on the floor of the barn, until it moved on. Just me and my kryptonite. Who’d be filling my nights and weekends.

  Mm-hmm.

  chapter seven

  Turns out that nights and weekends had to wait a bit, as I had work to do out of town. I spent a few days at Our Gang in Long Beach, working with Lou and his team on the day-to-day operations of running an organization like this. The amount of fund-raising required was astonishing; just the phone calls to sympathetic ears was staggering. As a satellite operation we recei
ved funding mostly through the mother ship, but I’d be responsible for doing some of my own outreach in Monterey. I was already thinking of ways I could not only generate donations, but get the community involved with the placement of the animals by partnering with the local scout troops.

  And I got to spend time with the dogs at Our Gang Long Beach. I learned how to socialize the newer dogs, how to work one-on-one with those that came out of more aggressive households, and how to approach a dog that wasn’t used to humans who were actually kind. So many of these animals had been mistreated, tied up, left alone on chains in empty lots and backyards, they’d never known that anyone cared about them.

  But when they realized that someone did care, and someone would let them just be dogs again, to run and jump and play, they could have the same personality that anyone would want in a family pet. Friendly, eager to please, and loving, they’d run with you all day and sleep by your side all night. And that was the image I was taking back with me to Monterey; that was the image I was determined to show anyone who questioned why we were running a rescue for these amazing creatures.

  When I got back from my training, I was floating high above the clouds and eager to get our operation open for business. And I came back to a place nearly ready to do just that. I was amazed at how much work had been done; we were in the homestretch. I walked the grounds with the head contractor, checking out the final punch list of things to be completed, but it was pretty close.

  After everyone left for the day, I was out on the patio, working on my to-do list, when my cousin Clark called. Smiling, I answered the phone.

  “What’s up, mister?”

  “Hey, how’s my favorite cousin?”

  “Good! Just got back in town, trying to get things finished up around here so we can start taking in some dogs. What’s up with you?” I asked, still working on my list. Get a hose for watering bowls: check. Tennis racket for exercising with balls: check.

  “Not much, I just have some news.” His voice sounded different, a little high pitched and breathless, and I looked up from my list.

  “Oh?” I asked, setting my pencil down. Something was up.

  “Remember the pickles? How Vivian was craving them?”

  “No,” I breathed, putting two and two together and coming up with pickles. “No way,” I squealed.

  “Vivian’s pregnant,” he said, his laughter ringing out across the line. “She’s pregnant! I’m having a baby! Well, she’s having a baby, we’re having a baby! Can you believe it? Ha!”

  I couldn’t believe it. They’d been dating, like, two minutes. But listening to him go on and on, babbling like a brook, his excitement was so contagious that I found myself laughing right along with him.

  “And we’re getting married! I mean, I already had the ring, so it was just a matter of time, really, and when she told me, I passed out—can you believe that?”

  I could, actually. Once when we were kids, he passed out from excitement when he got to go on the Jurassic Park ride at Universal. All those dinosaurs, it was just too much for him. I smiled just thinking about it.

  I came back from my memories to hear him say, “So when I came to, I just asked her to marry me and she said yes!”

  “Clark, breathe, honey, breathe,” I said. “That’s fantastic news, all of it. I’m so happy for you! Congratulations! So give me all the details.”

  And as he told me all about how far along she was (not far) and what their plans were (they’d get married after the baby came; she wanted a big wedding back home in Philadelphia) and how at first her brothers were planning to come out to kick his ass (all five of them) until she convinced them what a terrible idea that was, I listened and laughed along with him. After we got off the phone, I looked down at my to-do list and realized I’d doodled right over everything I’d been working on. And I’d doodled several versions of cribs, rattles, and a stick figure family.

  Christ, if I’d gotten married, I could have been pregnant already. Charles wanted a family right away. And I did too . . . I’m pretty sure I did. That was the plan, anyway, and I was all for the plan, right? Wait, I wanted kids, right? What the hell kind of a woman wasn’t sure she wanted kids but would probably have had them anyway?

  As I was contemplating my doodles, my phone rang again. It was the ginger vet this time.

  “Hey,” I said in greeting.

  “Hey to you too; how was your trip?”

  “Good, just got back this afternoon. They got so much done while I was gone; you should see the place.”

  “Great, when I pick you up in the morning you can show me what’s new.”

  “In the morning?” I asked, confused.

  “Yeah, nights and weekends, remember? Tomorrow I get to start showing you the best Monterey has to offer.”

  “The best Monterey has to offer? What are you, working for the tourism board?”

  “Yes, exactly that. So throw all your cares away and enjoy Monterey,” he said, game show voice style.

  “Well now, that’s just creepy,” I said with a laugh. “What are we doing?”

  “It’s a surprise, but you’ll get wet, so wear a bathing suit, please.”

  “A bathing suit?”

  “Notice I said please. Something really skimpy and preferably see through.”

  “Lucas!”

  “Kidding. Not kidding,” he deadpanned.

  “Lucas,” I warned once more.

  “Okay, suit is a definite, skimpy is optional.”

  “Uh-huh, thanks,” I said, wondering what he was up to.

  “Pick you up at eight. Bring a change of clothes too.”

  “Okay, bossy. And mysterious. You’re being bossy and mysterious,” I said.

  “And cute. You forgot cute,” he prompted.

  “I can’t see you. How do I know you’re cute?” I teased.

  “Oh, you know I am,” he insisted

  I blew him a raspberry, and hung up listening to him laugh.

  Smiling, I laid back in my lawn chair and looked up at the night sky. This high up in the hills, it was so clear that you could see thousands of stars. After mentally going through my bathing suits—which were mostly skimpy, let’s face it—I got up to head inside for a good night’s sleep. Eight o’clock would come early. As I picked up my doodled to-do list, I noticed that on the bottom I’d written Lucas. On my to-do list.

  “Yeah yeah yeah,” I muttered to myself. Still smiling.

  “Paddleboarding? This is why you wanted me to wear my bathing suit?” I exclaimed as he pulled up the next morning and I saw what was stowed in the back of his truck.

  “Hello to you too,” he said in response, jumping out of his side.

  “Sorry. Hello,” I allowed, then went back to my earlier greeting. “Paddleboarding?”

  “What’s wrong with paddleboarding?” he asking, walking around the front of the truck. Long black swim trunks, old surfing T-shirt, unzipped fleece—he was ready for a day on the water. With those legs of his that were tanned and oh so long. He really was a tall drink of water.

  “Nothing,” I said to his legs, then forced my eyes toward his face. What a hardship that was. “I’ve just never tried it. I thought we were going to spend the day lazing around a pool somewhere. Like the one I happen to have here . . . the water’s warm, drinks nearby . . .” I gulped nervously. “No sharks.”

  “Sharks! Is that what you’re worried about?” he laughed, taking my bag and throwing it into the bed of the truck. “You grew up in California. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of sharks.”

  “I have a healthy fear, yes. Not to mention the bottom of those paddleboards look just like a tasty seal.”

  “These boards are over ten feet long,” he said, pulling me toward the passenger side.

  “So?”

  “So how many seals are over ten feet long?”

  “The sharks will think they’ve hit the mother lode,” I muttered as he packed me in and shut the door. Peering through the side mirror, I looked at the
boards and paddles behind me. I caught sight of him running around to his side, shaking his head and grinning.

  “Besides, won’t the water be freezing?” I asked as he jumped in next to me.

  “I’ve got that covered, chickie baby,” he said, giving me two thumbs-ups. “Wet suits.”

  “Oh. Great,” I replied weakly, and settled against the passenger-side window. He just laughed, and we were off. It wasn’t that I was deathly afraid of sharks. Most of the guys I grew up with surfed. They all seen a fin or two, maybe even had a bump once in a while. And I loved going to the beach, loved going in the ocean. But I tended to stay pretty close to shore, and by tended, I mean I rarely went in past my waist. Paddleboarding? Definitely past my waist. Where sharks might be. Shudder.

  But as we drove toward his favorite beach, I watched him tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel, glancing over and smiling every so often, relaxed and happy as a clam.

  I decided nothing ventured, nothing gained, and when we pulled into Lovers Point Park in neighboring Pacific Grove, and saw that gorgeous beach, punctuated by wind-shaped cypress trees and rippling with craggy rocks and peaks, I realized that trying something new could be a very good thing. I took a moment to breathe in all that good salty air. Lucas climbed out of the truck and came around to my side while I hung out the open window like a Great Dane, just sniffing and smelling.

  Leaning on my window, he looked at me carefully. “If you don’t want to do this, that’s totally okay with me. We’ll hang on the beach, maybe take a drive—we can do whatever you want to do.”

  I looked past him at the beautiful water and the beautiful day, and said, “I want to do this.”

  “Great! Let’s get suited up,” he said, helping me out.

  “But if we see one mother-fudging fin, you’re the sacrificial seal.” I pointed at him, then grabbed the wet suit. “Now, how do I get into this thing?”

  Turns out wet suits are not easy to get into. There’s a fair amount of jiggling and jumping, especially if you’re not used to putting one on. And while I didn’t wear my skimpiest bikini, I did spend more than a few minutes picking it out. Black and white polka dots, tied tight in the back. Semiskimpy. Did I notice how his eyes bugged when I took off my shirt? Yes. Did I notice how he bit his lip when I took off my shorts? Yes. Did I notice how he tried so very hard, but failed so very miserably, to not look directly at my breasts when I jumped and jiggled my way into a second skin of rubber? Oh, yes.