I’M LOUNGING ON the couch, catching baseball highlights on ESPN when my phone rings. Groaning, I try to ignore it, assuming it’s another family crisis. I check the screen to see Ashley’s number and almost drop the damn thing when I try to answer it.
I don’t give her the chance to speak first. “You really can’t follow rules, can you? I’m supposed to call you.”
“I’m going to tell you something, and I need for you not to get upset. All you need to know is I’m fine. Nothing happened.” Her voice is high and full of fake levity.
“What are you talking about?” My mind goes to her hooking up with another guy and I hate it—both the idea and my jealousy.
“I may have been followed home again.” She drops her voice.
“It wasn’t me.”
She laughs, but the sound is brittle like it’s made from dried grass. “No, I knew it wasn’t you.”
Dread settles in my stomach. “Same guy as before?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so. I didn’t recognize the car from the drive-thru and I have a pretty good memory.”
“From which hut?” I don’t like the worry in her voice.
“The one by the ferry.”
“So, it could’ve been a walk-up customer who parked down the street?”
“Maybe?”
“Did they trail you all the way home?” I stand and pace the living room.
“I pulled into the complex and they continued straight. I paused in the drive before opening my garage door, and saw them drive back the way we came.”
“Shit.” Nothing about this sounds legit.
“Yeah.”
“Did you get the plate numbers?”
“They didn’t have front plates, and I couldn’t see the rear end when the car left.”
“Where are you now?”
“At home.”
“Come over to the island. You’ll be safe at Dan’s with all his over the top security. Or better yet, I’ll come get you tonight.” I’m already searching for my wallet and keys.
“I thought about that, but I have a supplier meeting tomorrow morning here in town.” She sounds resigned.
“I’ll come with you.” I shut the door behind me, never bothering to lock it.
“What are you going to do? Are you going to play bodyguard? It’s probably a coincidence. Or some kid with a crush.”
I don’t know who she’s trying to convince. Me or her.
“John Hinkley was a kid with a crush.”
“Jesus, Carter. Way to make me feel better.” She exhales a shaky breath.
“I’m coming over.” In my driveway, I pull my phone away and look at the time, do a quick calculation of drive, ferry schedule, crossing, and getting to her house. “I’ll be there in an hour. Ninety minutes tops if I miss the boat.”
“You don’t have to come here.”
“I’m already out the door and in my truck.”
“So stubborn.”
“Want to stay on the phone with me? We can listen to each other breathe like old times.”
“Hang up.” I can hear the amusement in her voice.
“No, you hang up first.”
“We’re doing this?”
“You could end it at any time.” I grin to myself.
“So could you.”
“So stubborn.”
My phone goes dead and I burst into laughter. Pot, meet kettle.
I keep one eye in the rearview mirror as I break the speed limit on my way to the Clinton ferry dock. The last line of cars is being loaded as I hand over my ticket. At this rate, I’ll be at Ashley’s condo in under an hour.
Then it hits me.
I have no idea where she lives.
Some creeper knows her address, but I don’t. That’s messed up.
I text Ashley and admit I don’t know where to go.
Rather than go up to the passenger deck, I decide to wait in my truck. The ride seems to go faster this way. I’m parked on the outside near an opening, so I roll down my window to inhale the salt breeze off the water. Beneath me the engines roar to life and the ferry vibrates as it shifts into motion.
My phone pings with a text.
*If I don’t tell you, will you stay home?*
So stubborn. I smile despite my annoyance.
*I’m already on the ferry.*
The dots bounce as she types, then stop.
I hold my breath, waiting for her to refuse my request and make me turn around for home.
*You’re a pain in my ass. I’m a grown woman. I don’t need you to come over and protect me. Or babysit me.*
“Ha.” My thumbs fly across the screen as I respond.
*We can do this the hard way. Or you can make it easy on me.*
*What’s the hard way?*
*I’ll call Jonah and tell him what’s going on.*
*Bastard.*
I smirk and brush my thumb over my bottom lip before biting on the nail.
*And the easy way?*
*You give me your address and I pick up dinner on the way.*
She responds with the taco and prayer hands emojis.
The bouncing dots return before her address appears on my screen.
In reply, I send a series of hallelujah hands along with an octopus.
The ferry bumps into the pilings and I’m jolted side to side as the rubber squeaks against the boat. Rough docking for a calm night. I send one more text asking for her taco order before I’m waved off the boat by Chester in his orange vest. I give him a return wave as I drive past.
I follow the line of cars up the hill to the Mukilteo Speedway, which sounds pretty exciting for a plain old four-lane surface road. The irony is the Speedway is full of lights and traffic, which means it’s typically stop and go its whole length.
At least the taco joint isn’t jam packed. Once I have a bag of amazing smelling dinner, with a container of pickled carrots and jalapeños for me, I stop for a six-pack of beer. Dinner and drinks set, I plug her address into my phone. I don’t recognize the street, but when the female maps voice guides me back toward the water, I know the area. Ashley must be doing well to afford to live in this neighborhood.
When the lady of the maps tells me I’ve arrived at my destination, I pull over to the curb for a minute.
Based on the outside, this complex is pretty swank. The cedar shingle buildings and impeccable landscaping scream expensive. A few cars are parked outside and they’re all high end. My red Dodge truck hasn’t been washed in who knows how long and it shows. Pretty sure I have goat feed and hay in the back.
Not sure I could be more of a redneck islander stereotype unless I stick some straw between my teeth. Hell, I didn’t put on clean jeans or a fresh shirt before I ran out of the house. Giving myself a quick once over and sniff, I realize I smell like the outdoors and sweat. Jesus, I’m a mess.
If I didn’t have tacos getting cold on the passenger seat, I’d be half tempted to run up the road and buy some clean clothes. At least I don’t smell like goats. I lift my shirt again and sniff. No goat cologne. I smell a little like fresh cut grass. That’s good, right?
I suppose I should probably park on the street. Not sure this kind of rig is allowed on the grounds. Someone might think Ashley’s shacking up with the landscape crew. Which, in a way, she kind of is.
Never in my years of pining did I really imagine the life she’s built for herself after she escaped the island. When we see each other around home, it’s easy to assume her life isn’t much different than mine. Now sitting here, I feel completely out of my element.
The lights from Possession Point glimmer across the water, reminding me how close the island is. It might as well be a thousand miles away. The ferry horn sounds muted in the distance.
Sitting in the idling truck, I give myself a pep talk.
For one thing, this isn’t a date.
Second, I think the window of making a first impression on Ashley closed a long time ago. She knows too much about me already. No point in pretending I’m something I’m not. Or my bank account has more zeros than it does.
I’m not an inexperienced virgin with sweaty palms and a condom in my wallet. I’m not sitting at the end of the road with my lights off, waiting for her to sneak out and meet me. We’re not semi-innocent teenagers, hopped up on forbidden hormones and only half a clue what to do.
Returning to the first point on my list: this isn’t a date. I invited myself and I’m bringing tacos as a bribe.
I shut off the engine and lights before I scan the street for any suspicious cars. Besides mine. A light rain dots the windshield. Of course it’s raining. I drag up my hoodie and then grab the bag of tacos along with the six-pack of beer. In the dark, the light from my phone guides me along the path to her building.
Tucking the beer under my arm, I hit her doorbell a couple of times with my free hand. Impatient, I knock on the door with the side of my fist. Bang, knock, same thing. Her porch light is off and a dog barks in the unit across the driveway. Turning my back to the door, I scope out the lit windows of her neighbors.
“Okay, creeper. I have a weapon.” A crack of light cuts across the wall next to me as she opens the door. “Leave the tacos and beer. Walk away and I won’t call the cops.”
I carefully set the bag and beer on the Go Away doormat. Hunching my shoulders and stuffing my balled hands into my front pockets, I take a few steps away from the light.
The light disappears as the door closes behind me.
“Hey.” I spin around when I hear the lock click. “Not cool! You can’t steal a man’s tacos. There are rules! What happened to human decency?”
I’m not exactly yelling, but my voice carries through the quiet complex. Lowering the volume to avoid one of her neighbors calling the police on the creepy guy in the hoodie yelling about tacos, I return to her door. She turns off the light inside.
“This would be hysterical if it wasn’t raining. I’m starving,” I whine and rest my head on the door.
I stumble and brace my arm on the jamb to keep from face planting when she flings open the door. Seeing her standing there in a pair of black leggings and a loose gray top, I fight the urge to wrap my arms around her and hug her. Relief she’s okay fills my chest.
“Come inside.” She pauses for a beat. “Don’t make that dirty.”
“You set that up for a ‘that’s what she said joke’ perfectly. Lucky for you, even I’ve stopped saying those.” I follow behind her before closing and locking the door. “You should get another deadbolt.”
“Stop. You’re starting to freak me out.” She leads me through a short hall to an open living room and kitchen area. All the walls are painted a light gray. Everything looks new and expensive, including the long, brown leather sofa and giant matching arm chair. “No one is out there.”
“Now. The guy in the hoodie scared them away.”
“You’re all tall, dark, and creeper with your hood up. Are you going to keep that thing on all night?”
“If you want me naked, you could at least say please.”
“I would if I thought your offer was serious.”
I drop the hood and slide the zipper down. “Want me to hum some sexy music while I strip?”
“You’re . . . what’s the word? Starts with an i?”
“Irresistible?” I slip off the damp jacket and sling it over the wood seat of a metal stool.
“Incorrigible.”
“You can encourage me anytime. I respond well to praise and kindness.” I lift a beer out of the carrier. “Bottle opener?”
She moves around the bright kitchen, opening white drawers and cupboards, pulling out everything we need for dinner. Finally, she hands me a bottle opener shaped like a man. His dick is curved with a slot to remove bottle-caps.
I hold him up and wiggle him around in front of her face. “Really?”
“Bridal shower gift bag.” She bats him away.
She shows me another little man with a corkscrew dick. “But he does have a twin brother.”
“That looks painful.”
“Gets the job done.” She makes the little guys dance on the counter.
“Puts a whole new spin on getting screwed.”
“Much more practical than another set of penis straws. Who wants to suck on an itty-bitty wiener? I mean, other than cocktail franks. Those are adorable and delicious.”
I can’t argue with her. “Now I know what to get you for your birthday.”
“Little Smokies? Throw in some barbecue sauce and I’ll be a happy girl.”
“This is the ideal man?” Using the little bottle opener dude, I open two beers and hand her one.
“There’s no such thing.” She sounds resigned. “Plus, neither one of these guys can wear pants, so they’re not allowed out of the house.”
“Your swanky neighbors wouldn’t approve.”
“That’s the third time you’ve brought up my neighbors. What’s that about?”
I’m not sure if I should tell her the true reason or if it will make me sound like a petty hick. The last thing I want is for her to see me as less than or beneath her. Even if I am and always have been. Although I can imagine better ways to be beneath her, preferably naked.
“This is a nice place. Seems like the kind of complex where the neighbors might be a little,” I search for a word that isn’t judgmental, “uptight.”
She bites into a taco and watches me while she chews. Swallowing, she takes a sip of beer before speaking. “Are you saying I’m uptight?”
“No, not at all. How long have you lived here?”
“A year, a little less.” She licks guacamole off her fingers. “Why?”
“I realized I’m missing out on this side of your life.”
“Because you didn’t know where I live?”
“Or that you own a fancy condo.”
“I wish. What I own is a big mortgage and responsibility. Like an adult.”
Her dig hits one of my battleships. “Ouch.”
She sets down her taco al pastor and her hazel eyes widen. “I didn’t mean it as an insult to you.”
“If the hoodie fits.” I shrug and focus on squeezing lime on my carnitas. “Shit, I forgot extra hot sauce.”
“Got some.” She opens the fridge and sweeps her arm in front of the door, which is filled with about a dozen different bottles of hot sauces.
“Someone has a problem.” I wipe my hands on a napkin.
“I like variety. Why have the same thing every day? I like sriracha, but not for tacos. Cholula is my go to, but sometimes I like a mild green or Frank’s for wings.”
Standing beside her, I scan the shelf. “No Tabasco?”
She cringes and wrinkles her nose. “Never.”
“Everyone loves Tabasco.”
“Maybe they do. Doesn’t mean I have to love it.” She does the nose wrinkle I find adorable.
“Something happen between you and the T?”
“I had a bad experience. Can’t stand the stuff now.”
We were talking about hot sauce, but now I’m not sure. “I couldn’t give two fucks if you like what everyone else loves. Popularity is overrated.”
I’m totally talking about Tom Donnely now. If she understands, she doesn’t let on.
She only nods and changes the subject. “How’s business going?
Another neutral topic. Like hot sauce. She’s controlling the conversation and her guard is up. I let her lead, telling her about the goats and random clients on the island. Honestly, I can spend hours talking about goats, but for most people the average limit on interest is about ten minutes. Either she’s good at faking it, or she finds my stories interesting, because she manages to last for half an hour, asking questions and laughing at my stories.
Finished with dinner, she settles into the corner of the big couch. I remain on my barstool, unsure of where we go from here.
“I won’t bite. You don’t have to stay over there.” She playfully pats the cushion next to her.
“I wasn’t sure if I should leave now that dinner’s over.”
“I thought you were staying the night to play bodyguard,” she teases with an edge of sarcasm.
“Oh, right.” Closing the distance, I join her. “I guess I should test out my new bed.”
After several bounces and wiggles on the cushion, I lean my head against the back and close my eyes.
“Good enough?” she asks softly.
I open one eye to peek at her. “Best ever.”
“Are you really going to stay here all night and go to my meeting with me? Isn’t that a little extreme?” Worry creases her forehead and she twines a curl of hair around her finger.
The safe topics of conversation earlier make sense now. Beneath her pretend calm is a genuine nervousness.
“If it makes you feel safe, I’m in. I have nowhere else important I need to be.” I keep my voice soft, soothing.
“You always made me feel protected. Up until you didn’t.”
I’m wary to dive into our past. “Circumstances outside our control changed everything.”
She rests her head near mine, staring up at the ceiling. “Not everything was out of our hands. We have some responsibility, especially you. You broke my heart.”
Not in a comfort zone now. We’ve unbuckled the seatbelts and are speeding toward impact with no brakes.
“I never wanted to break your heart,” I whisper, my pulse a heavy drumbeat in my ears.
“You did.” She rolls her head to the side to stare at me. “You stood in my driveway by the hemlock tree and told me I was better off without you.”
I shift so I’m hovering over her, searching her eyes for old truths. “I believed every word, but I secretly wanted you to disagree with me and fight for us.”
She stares at a spot over my shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you were giving me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ break up speech.”
“It was me. I was going down in flames and didn’t want to drag you with me.” I rest my hand next to hers on the couch, feeling the warmth from her skin, but not making contact. “I was giving you space. As much as it tortured me, I had to stay away. Your dad had just left. My dad was circling the drain because of the missing money. Your mom had already banned me from the house.”
Dipping her head, she stares at the place where our hands almost touch. “She wouldn’t let me use the phone. But it didn’t matter because you didn’t call and avoided me at school all week.”
I lift her chin with two fingers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to handle what was going on. Both our families were in the middle of a shit storm, and the last thing you needed was me hanging around, making things worse.”
She finally meets my eyes, sad and resigned. “I hated you. For a long time.”
I run my fingers along her soft skin, tracing over her cheeks down to her jaw. “I deserved it. You were right to break up with me.”
“You were already gone. I broke up with your memory.”
In my shadow, her eyes are dark forest green rimmed in pale pink like she’s fighting not to cry.
“I’m sorry,” I say, softly. “I thought I was protecting you.”
“You underestimated me,” she whispers. “That was the worst part.”
“You’re stronger than I am. I was stupid to think otherwise. But I’m learning. It just takes me longer than most.” We can’t move forward until we fix what we broke, what I wrecked. I won’t make the same mistakes again.
My focus shifts to her mouth. Her deep rose pouty lips part as if she knows how desperate I am to kiss her.
I move to kiss her, slowly like pouring honey out of a jar. Her exhale tickles my lips the second before our mouths meet.
Kissing on a couch reminds me of high school and an idea forms in my mind on how to win her back.