CHAPTER 4:
Over the next few weeks, I couldn't get the story of Rick Donaldson out of my mind. I read dozens of news articles, trying to figure him out. The perspectives on his story changed depending on who was writing the article, but certain facts and details stood out the same across all of them.
Rick was the only son of a rather wealthy industrialist. By all rights, he should have been a businessman himself, preparing to run the family business so he could take over as President and CEO when his father eventually retired. Instead, he'd run away from home and joined the navy. There were several interviews with him where reporters asked what prompted him to leave behind his family and his wealth in order to serve his country. His answers varied, but he always said something about how he wanted to do something more with his life, something that would have a greater impact. It seemed that he'd caught a case of patriotism, and considered it more important than his heritage.
He was also known for using his money to help people in countries all around the world. When the U.S. military invaded Afghanistan, Rick had sent millions in relief funds to help the refugees in that country. When there was a terrorist attack at a U.S embassy, Rick sent money to the widows and families of the deceased to help support them in their time of need. He'd made the news dozens of times over the last ten years for his charitable donations, and whenever he was asked about it, he said it was simply his civic duty.
For a while I kept hoping that he would stop by the bar again, but as the weeks passed, he never did. I figured he probably felt guilty for what had happened the last time he was here. But he remained in my thoughts, and I had the feeling that we would run into each other again, sooner or later.
It was almost two months after the bar fight before Rick and I crossed paths again. A really bad storm passed over the east coast, tearing up trees, flooding the streets, and causing damage to hundreds of homes. Our neighborhood didn't get hit as hard as some did, though there was some flood damage to the bar and we were without power for two days.
I was out the day after the storm with a bunch of the other local business owners on my block. We all tried to help each other out in times of need, from the time a fire gutted several businesses in the strip mall down the street, to the time construction on the main road ruined business for all of us, since so much traffic had been diverted away from our area by the detours. We'd all worked together to make sure that no one went out of business, and after the storm we did the same, working as a team to clear away debris, board up windows, and cut down trees that had toppled during the storm.
The local coffee shop owners brought out thermoses of free coffee to keep all of us warm and refreshed as we worked, and the baker's shop down the corner brought everyone donuts. I was taking a coffee break, leaning against the back of a truck, when I spotted him. Rick and a group of men, presumably all from the navy base, were just up the road from me, hard at work. He was wearing a pair of thick work gloves and heavy black boots. He trudged through the puddles at the edge of the road, working to clear some large branches that were blocking the street. He and his men worked efficiently, no doubt due to the training they'd had in working as a team.
Looking for an excuse to go over and talk to him, I went to refill my coffee, and got several extra cups. I balanced them carefully, something I had a lot of experience with, being a bartender, and walked over to Rick and his men.
“Well,” I said, looking the SEALs over. “If it isn't Richy Rick.”
Several of the other men laughed. No doubt they were well aware of Rick's nickname. Rick smiled bashfully at me and said, “So, you've heard about that.”
“Wasn't exactly hard,” I said. I stepped closer and held out two of the paper coffee cups, one stacked on top of the other's plastic lid. “I thought you boys might like a warm drink.”
“Thank you, ma'am,” Rick said, taking the coffee. He handed the cups to his men, then helped relieve me of the others I was carrying.
“It's Chantelle,” I said. “I didn't expect to see you navy boys out here helping out. I didn't think this was part of your duties.”
“Not our official duty,” Rick said. He sipped at his coffee. “We're off-duty. Just lending a hand.”
“Awfully kind of you.” I took a sip of my coffee, looking him up and down. He didn't look rich. Didn't look like anything but a navy boy. I would have expected to see him in an Italian suit, wearing a gold watch and being driven around by a chauffeur. Not getting himself muddy hauling debris out of the streets.
There was a long silence as we stood there with our coffee. I had trouble making eye contact. He couldn't have known how much I'd been looking up about him over the last few weeks. I wondered if he would find it flattering, or creepy. I decided to avoid mentioning it.
“Thank you,” I said. “For the check, I mean. It helped out a lot. Might still need some of it to help pay for storm damage repairs.”
“I was happy to help out,” he said.
“You obviously aren't hurting for money.”
He smirked, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. He didn't say anything. Didn't have to. He held himself with a quiet confidence. He didn't seem to need to show off his wealth. He looked almost embarrassed to have it brought up.
“So how's your business going?” he asked me. “I hope the storm didn't hurt you too bad.”
“Nothing major.” I shrugged. “Insurance should cover most of it. Everything's been fine otherwise.”
“If there's anything I can do to help,” he offered.
I studied him for a moment. Part of me, the prideful part, didn't want to take any more help from him. The more practical part wanted me to milk him for whatever I could get out of him. If he was willing to throw his money around, there was no reason I couldn't take advantage of that.
But I felt guilty at the idea of taking advantage. So instead I said, “The mom and pop grocer's on the corner, they got hit the hardest. I don't think they've got enough insurance to cover it. If you could do anything...”
He looked down the street at the grocer's. A huge tree had smashed in their roof, and once the roof had collapsed, the store had been flooded. The building was in horrible shape, and they'd lost a lot of their inventory when the grocery shelves were flooded, ruining most of the food.
Rick nodded. “I'll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled at me, and for a moment, I thought there was something in that smile. I caught his eye roaming when he thought I wasn't looking. I was a big girl, but I still had curves in all the right places, and I saw him eyeing my curves with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. My face started to grow warm and I hid my blush behind my coffee cup.
He finished his coffee and walked over to the wastebasket on the corner to toss it in. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said. “We should do this again sometime.”
“Cleaning up after a storm?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Coffee. If you're free, that is.”
I eyed him appraisingly. “I'm sure I could squeeze in some time,” I said. “As long as you're buying.”
He smirked and nodded. “Of course.”
“Stop by the bar sometime,” I said.
“Actually,” he said, “I was hoping for something a bit more...private.”
I arched an eyebrow, studying the look on his face. I couldn't tell if he was serious or not, but everything about him so far had seemed sincere. “All right. Give me a call sometime.”
I gave him my phone number and he programmed it into his phone, promising to call. Then he headed back to his men, who started hooting at him and teasing him for being a flirt.
I walked away, ignoring the burning in my cheeks. I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder to see if he was still looking at me. But there was an itch between my shoulder blades that told me his eyes were still on me the entire time.
* * *
CHAPTER 5:
Rick called me the very next day, while I was going over insurance forms for the damage to the bar. I set aside the paperwork and answered the call, trying not to let the butterflies take over my stomach. “Hey,” I said.
“Hello, Chantelle. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time.”
I looked over the messy pile of forms spread out all across my desk. “No, not a bad time at all. How's things?”
“Doing quite well,” he said. “I was hoping you might be free this afternoon, perhaps? I took quite a liking to the coffee from that shop on your street.”
“That sounds great,” I said. “And they offer a discount to the other shops on the street.”
He laughed, and I realized how foolish I sounded. This man was rich enough that saving 10% on a cup of coffee really didn't matter to him.
We picked a time to meet at the coffee shop. I hung up the phone and stared at my insurance forms, unable to focus on them.
I had a date. A date with a rich navy SEAL. I couldn't quite get that thought straight in my head.
I set aside the paperwork and grabbed my keys. I had to head home and change into something more presentable. I usually came to work in jeans and a t-shirt, since tending bar didn't exactly require me to look fancy. But for a date, even if it was just a coffee date, I needed to make myself look a bit nicer.
An hour later, I walked into the coffee shop wearing black slacks and a deep violet blouse. Rick was already there waiting for me. We ordered our drinks, then sat down at a private table in the corner. We chatted for a little bit about the storm and how things were going with the recovery efforts. I carefully avoided bringing up my insurance situation, since I didn't want to feel like I was trying to get something out of Rick.
Eventually, the conversation moved on to more personal topics.
“So, tell me,” Rick asked, “what's it like running a bar? Is it all drunken buffoons and people starting bar fights?”
I laughed and shook my head. “No, trouble like that tends to be few and far between. Most people keep to themselves, or come in in small groups, just there to have a good time. Sometimes I get guys who are a little too aggressive trying to pick up some of the single women at the bar, and I have to toss them out. But usually, it's quiet.”
“What made you get into the business?” he asked. He watched me as he sipped his coffee, and I felt my cheeks warming up at the look in his eyes.
“Originally, I got a job there when I was in school,” I said. “It seemed like a good way to pay my tuition. But I found I had a knack for it. I switched majors to business in my junior year so I could learn how to run a place of my own. Then, a few years ago, the owner decided to retire. I took out a loan so I could make him an offer, and now the place is mine.”
“That's great,” he said. “It takes a lot of gusto to run your own business. Especially one like that.”
“What about you?” I asked. “I mean, I read up on you a bit. You decided not to run the family business.”
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “I guess I didn't think it was a good use of my time. Even when my dad retires and I become primary shareholder, I can just appoint someone to run the day-to-day affairs for me. I have better things to do with my personal time.”
“Like helping out people in need,” I said, thinking of his volunteer work after the storm.
“Exactly.”
We made small talk for a bit longer, until it was time for me to go open the bar. Rick walked me to my car, and when we got there, he took my hand in his. He looked into my eyes, and I saw the spark of desire there. But I hesitated. I couldn't see myself having a place in this man's life. Could I?
“I'd enjoy seeing you again,” he said.
“I...I'd like that.” I blushed and lowered my eyes.
He reached up and touched his fingers under my chin, tilting my face up towards him. I held my breath. He leaned in and pressed his lips against mine. I slipped my hands around his neck, savoring the taste of his kiss. His stubble scratched my chin, delightfully masculine. He put an arm around my waist, holding me. His arms were strong. Safe.
I was breathless as we parted. I leaned back against my car, trying not to giggle like a little schoolgirl.
“Dinner, sometime soon?” Rick asked, caressing my cheek. “That is, if you ever have a night when you're not bartending.”
“I take Mondays off,” I said. “One of my workers runs the bar that night.”
“Monday night, then,” he said. “I'll pick you up at 6:00?”
“Sounds wonderful.”
He headed off, and I got into my car and drove back to the bar. For the rest of the night, I found myself thinking about his kiss, and looking forward to the dinner date next week.
* * *