TEN

An innocent smile hides the suggestive twists of her mind.

Leelo

“We’ll need them for two nights. We’ll be heading home on Sunday.”

“No problem.” I smile at the man as I hand over the keys for units seven and eight. The only units with a connecting door, plus unit eight is slightly larger than the rest with a small kitchenette. “If you don’t mind my asking...how did you find us?”

“We were sent here,” he says, pointing at his family, hiding from the steady rain, in the truck outside. “The wife and kids wanted to come up for the festival, and I was hoping to get some fishing done. The fellow at the lodge up the road said he had no vacancies and suggested we try here. Said you were the only other place with water access.”

I smile at the mention of Roar. Not that he hadn’t been on my mind, but it’s nice to find out he’s thinking about me too.

“I do, but I have to tell you that I haven’t had a chance to put in a proper boat ramp yet, and the dock is in need of repairs.”

“No worries,” he says, lifting a hand to his face and scratching the stubble on his jaw. “Fellow over at Jackson’s Point already mentioned that. Told me I could drop the boat in the water there. I just wanted to get the rooms sorted before I head out.”

“Feel free to have a look out back,” I offer. “You’re more than welcome to tie off your boat here during your stay, but I’ll leave that decision to you. Next time you stop by, we’ll have both the dining room up and running and a place for you to launch your boat.”

“Sounds good. Thanks,” he replies, grinning as he pulls his baseball cap down over his eyes and heads out the door and into the rain.

Not bad for my first week.

It started raining hard late last night, and I kept my fingers crossed while checking the units this morning to look for potential leaks. Roar must’ve done a good job on the roof, because there was no sign of moisture in any of the rooms, not even unit seven. I spent a few hours touching up the fresh painting here and there, but by the end of the morning, I was able to put clean linens and fresh towels in the last of the rooms. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face as I looked in the bathroom.

I found a small local business that offered organic soaps and shampoos in small, reusable, customized containers. I even ordered a box of small handmade bath bombs to put in each of the bathrooms, and the lemon and thyme scent of the bombs and soap leave a fresh and unobtrusive lingering scent.

I love the idea of doing my bit to minimize waste and reduce my environmental footprint, and it fits with the sparse and rustic decor of the rooms.

Officially open for business.

-

The bar, of course, is still a work in progress, although I managed to bring some of the casual, rustic feel in there as well. Uncle Sam had quite a collection of deer sheds in one of the empty bedrooms upstairs that I scrubbed in the bathtub. I put one on each of the eight small dining tables, and added an eclectic collection of salt and pepper shakers I found here and there.

The space has been otherwise decluttered and stripped, except for the floor. A grey, industrial carpet, which turns out to be even dingier than I first thought now that the grime is off the windows, needs a solution. My preference is to strip it before I even consider opening the kitchen, but I don’t know what I’ll find underneath.

With my weekend open, I decide there is no time like the present, and grab a claw hammer from the house. Picking the furthest corner, mostly hidden from view by the bar, I drop to my knees. The baseboard easily comes away in one piece, and I slip the claws of the hammer under the edge of the carpet. Pulling back, evidence of old, wide floorboards underneath becomes visible.

“Yes!” My voice bounces through the empty space as I sit back, staring at what I’d picked as my best case scenario.

I didn’t hear anyone come in, but a soft chuckle from behind alerts me I’m not alone, and I swing my head around.

“Jesus, Roar...” I gasp, grabbing for my chest. Second time this week that man has me jump from my skin, and the second time he does so with a big grin showing through his beard. “Stop doing that!”

His response is silent, but his gaze is intense, the grey beanie pulled low over his eyes.

Turning my back on his big body looming over me, I start tugging at the carpet with my hands.

“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask, as I reveal more of the beautiful old wood underneath.

“Well...” He draws the word out. “I may be a bit early. Still—the floor? Now?”

“Early for what?” I abandon my task, wipe my hands on my old cargos and push myself off the floor. When I look up in his face, his eyebrows are raised high.

“Music festival. Opening night dinner ring a bell?”

I recall the incident with Kyle and Matt outside last week, but I figured Roar just jumped in to save me from dealing with Kyle. I never took that as an invite. Hell, he just barked something about taking me to get that asshole to back off. Didn’t look at me once, let alone asked me.

Well and truly steamed, I plant my hands on my hips and take a step closer. Of course, now I have to tilt my head even further back to look him in the eye.

“Well, if that’s your idea of asking someone out, you can’t be getting around much. No woman in her right mind would’ve taken that as an invitation.”

“I do all right.”

His answer, like the man himself, is cocky and provocative, and I don’t know whether to laugh or punch him in the nuts. I compromise by shaking my head in exasperation. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Riordan Doyle is not exactly the kind of man to lay on the charm and show up with flowers or anything. More the type to knock you out and silently drag you back to his cave by the hair.

“Was hoping you could give me a hand,” he says, pulling off the knit hat and revealing hair that looks like someone went at it with hedge shears.

The glorious copper and silver waves are now cropped close to the skull over his right ear, but still long in the back. A ditch runs from front to back in the center and on the left side it looks like he tried—and failed—to match the trim on the right. I clap my hand over my mouth to stop the giggle that threatens to escape.

With his lips pressed tight, he produces electric clippers he’d been holding in his hand. Not quite ready to go without the security of my hand pressed against my lips, I reach out with my other hand and take it from him.

“Upstairs bathroom,” I mumble from behind my fingers, stepping back to let him pass and lead the way up the stairs.

“What were you thinking?” I finally trust myself to whisper, once I have him seated on the edge of the bathtub with a towel around his shoulders. The question earns me another glare that is now almost at eye level. The hazel is even more pronounced this close by, contrasting with the darker freckles on his suntanned face.

“Thinking I’d get myself cleaned up for dinner.” The sardonic tone makes it hard to keep composure. I press my lips together so hard, trying to keep in the snicker, that I inadvertently blow a raspberry, straight at him.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I ramble, mortified, while he calmly covers his face with a corner of the towel.

I can’t recall many times when I wished this hard for the ground to swallow me up. I want to puke and step back, when one of his hands grabs me by the hip and holds me firmly in place.

Then I hear it, at first a low rumble growing in his chest, and finally he lets the towel drop, throws his head back, and his loud, booming laugh makes the walls of my little bathroom vibrate. All I can do is stare at the sheer perfection of the man in front of me. I’m already a sucker for a good smile, but a good boisterous laugh filled with a joy, which comes from the very pit of the belly is a thing of beauty.

At some point while he laughs and I stare, his other hand has found its way to my hip and I can feel the tips of his fingers leave indentations in my flesh. A corner of my mouth lifts when he finally lifts his head and his eyes, now dancing in amusement, find mine.

“Come here,” he says in an almost whisper.

“I am here,” I answer in kind.

“Closer,” he orders, spreading his legs wider and pulling me in. “Now bend down.”

My eyes don’t waver from his. Not even when my mouth finds his. I’m tentative: testing the firmness of his lips with light pressure from mine. He doesn’t force, he simply returns the rhythm I give him. The only evidence of a struggle for control is in the flex of his fingers on my hips, and the low rumble of appreciation when I let the tip of my tongue taste him.

It’s not until my hands find their way into his hair that I remember where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Your hair,” I mumble against his lips, before straightening up.

“Right,” he says, a smirk slowly forming on his mouth. “And just so you know? Anytime you want to swap spit, you just have to ask.”

Roar

I’m leaning against the passenger side of the truck, still smiling, when Leelo walks out, closing the door behind her. She made me wait for her to have a quick shower after she cleaned up the massacre I made of my hair, and true to her word, here she is only twenty minutes later. The pretty short-sleeved blouse with the wide scoop neck, leaving her colourful arms and a good amount of creamy cleavage visible, draws my attention first. Obviously. Oh, I don’t miss the touch of makeup she put on her face, or the fitted jeans and familiar pink Converse shoes she has on. But the one thing that holds my attention is the softly tousled hair.

“I like this,” I tell her, reaching out to tug on a soft curl. A subtle smile forms on her lips.

“A calculated risk,” she offers. “It may last a few hours if the next downpour holds off, but the slightest hint of rain will wash those curls right out.”

“I see. Guess I’ll have to make sure to get you home at a decent time and keep you dry until then.”

Leelo’s mouth slowly falls open, but I don’t clue in until she suddenly bursts out laughing as I help her into the cab of my truck.

“You know you have the worst lines, right?” she chuckles, letting me buckle her in.

“Didn’t know it was a line until you pointed it out, just now,” I counter, my torso still leaning into the truck. “What I do know is that you have a dirty mind.” In case she feels she has to protest, I cup her jaw in my hand and kiss her hard. Before I let her go, with my nose almost touching hers, I quietly add; “I like that.”

-

The parking lot at the community centre is already pretty packed when we get there.

The centre allows for both an indoor and outdoor venue, since the sports fields are right behind the main building. Dinner will most likely be inside this year because of today’s forecast of rain, and just in case, a large tent is covering the main stage outside.

We’re barely in the door, when I see Charlie waving frantically from a table in the far corner. I’d offered to pick her up, but she’d waved me off, insisting she’d already arranged for a ride. She must’ve kept an eye on the door for us. The woman doesn’t miss much. I put my hand in the small of Leelo’s back to try and guide her around the hall, but the woman apparently has different plans.

“Wait,” she says, stopping in her tracks. “I see Charlotte. Let’s go say hello.” Without giving me a chance to say anything, she grabs my hand and starts dragging me in the direction I was planning to go anyway.

“Hey!” She waves at everyone assembled at the table, and I hold back a chuckle at her somewhat clumsy antics. It’s cute as fuck.

“Let go, you big lug,” Charlie barks at me, pulling Leelo’s hand from mine. “Let me give the girl a hug.”

A heavy wind could blow Charlie over, but that frail exterior holds a powerful punch—as witnessed when she proceeds to smother Leelo in her spindly arms.

“She can’t breathe, Charlie,” I warn her, earning me a sharp look, but when she reluctantly lets go and Leelo turns to face me, I’m surprised to see shock on her face.

“Charlie? This is your Charlie?” she stage whispers, leaning in to me.

“Yeah,” I point out. “How did you not know that?” She stares at me in disbelief.

“Maybe because the one time you mentioned a Charlie, it was some lewd comment about cleaning her pipes,” she hisses in my ear, when I reach around her to pull out a chair. It’s loud enough to draw the attention of a few people at the table.

“Oh my,” Charlie giggles coquettish, most likely for the benefit of her ride, Bob Duran, former commander of the Wawa OPP detachment, and the most sought after bachelor on the local seniors’ scene.

I push down gently on Leelo’s rigid shoulders, forcing her to sit as I lean down to whisper in her ear.

“There’s that dirty mind again.”

Taking my own chair beside her, I shoot a quick glance at the deep red blush on her face. When I try to put my hand on her knee under the table a second later, she forcefully shoves it away.

“Never mind that boy, Leelo. Communication was never his strong suit.” Charlie, sitting on my other side, leans over my plate to talk to her. “Chip off the old block,” she adds, causing me to roll my eyes, because I know the story that follows well. I’ve heard it often enough. “My Patrick used as few words as humanly possible, and those he did use, mostly came out as grunts.” She takes a quick sip of her wine before continuing. “In fact, as the priest at our wedding was reciting the vows for us to repeat, he had to make Patrick do it three times before he got it right. Every time he’d recite; I, Patrick Fergus Doyle, take thee, Charlotte Mae Stephens to be my lawfully wedded wife, Patrick would say; I take thee, Charlie.” I chuckle, along with everyone else, at her attempt to match Dad’s thick Irish brogue I remember so well, but notice Leelo is not even smiling. Her mouth is slack and her startled eyes find mine. “Anyway,” my mother says with a soft smile. “When Father James stopped him the third time, Patrick barked loudly that anyone who didn’t know our names by now had no place being in that church. The crowd took some time to settle down, but he finally got it right after that. He never called me by any other name than Charlie, so it’s not a surprise Riordan here—when he started talking—called me that as well. Exactly like his dad.”

This time, when I slip my hand under the tablecloth and cover Leelo’s knee, she doesn’t even budge. Instead she turns her face to me and whispers, “Your mother?”

I shrug. It honestly didn’t occur to me to tell her. Other than my time in the military, Wawa has always been my home. Everyone here knows me—knows my family. It’s never really required explanation before.

“I’m sorry,” Leelo directs at Charlie. “I guess the last name threw me a bit.” My mother chuckles a little before turning serious.

“I’m sure,” she says, patting Leelo’s arm. “For all the years I had with Patrick, I was known simply as Charlie Doyle—names Patrick gave me. When he passed away, that part of me died with him, so I reverted back to my maiden name. I helped me cope with the loss, reminding me I was a person in my own right.”

It’s clear Leelo is affected by her words, as she covers Charlie’s hand on her arm with her own.

The loud squeal of the sound system startles everyone into silence, as the chair of the music festival committee clears his throat to announce the official start of the evening’s program, and servers appear at every table with trays of soup.

By the time dessert is served, Leelo is engaged in a rather passionate discussion about recycling with one of the town’s councilman on her other side, and my mother taps me on the shoulder.

“I like her,” she says, smiling sweetly.

“I got that.” I nod sternly, trying to divert the direction I can see this conversation taking. Charlie, as always, is undeterred.

“No, you don’t get it,” she insists, putting a hand on my arm. Little does she know, that although I play dumb anytime I think it benefits me, I get it all too well. “I like her—for you.”

And there it is, folks. Date one, and my mother has me safely attached to the first unwitting female. Her favourite pastime of spinning romantic fantasies is usually limited to herself, perhaps one of her friends, but it’s been decades since I’ve given her opportunity to focus on me. The reason is simple; I don’t date.

Except, here I am; not only on a date, but on a double date with my mother.