FOURTEEN

Peaches & cream; every rich and succulent inch.

Roar

“Whitefish Motel.”

I like her voice.

She has the kind of warm, expressive sound that belies everything she’s feeling. I could listen to her recite the phonebook and it wouldn’t be boring. Mind you, there’s little about her I find boring.

I’d been tempted earlier.

Hell, I even slowed down, ready to turn left into the motel lot, when I spotted a couple of cars outside two of the units. A loud honk behind me from an approaching truck made the decision for me, and I took off toward Jackson’s Point.

Patti’s car was already gone when I pulled into my parking spot, and I have to admit it was a bit of a relief. I hadn’t been in a hurry to get back. I figured if I was in town anyway, I might as well run a few errands, and ended up at Charlie’s. I took her for some pierogies at her favourite restaurant around the corner. Nothing fancy, the place looks more like a hospital cafeteria than a restaurant, but their food is great.

“How was your day, Sunshine?” I ask by way of introduction. Leaning back in my chair, I prop my feet on my desk and watch the sun go down over the lake. I smile at the sound of her soft chuckle on the other side.

“Productive,” she answers, as I listen to the clang of pots in the background. “How about yours?”

“Not sure you could call my day productive, but I stayed busy all the same. What are you up to?”

“Breakfast prep,” she says without hesitation, and my eyes shoot to the clock on my office wall.

“At nine thirty at night?”

This time I can feel her responding low chuckle hum through my body, and I shift slightly in my seat.

“I have guests,” she offers by way of explanation. “I promised them a full breakfast tomorrow, so I’m baking.”

“That’s great.”

“I figured I’d offer breakfast daily and a simple dinner only on the weekends. Home cooking, you know? No menu, just a big blackboard with a few daily choices. Stuff that’s easy to prep and can be set up buffet style. I’m not too keen on running a bar when I’m just by myself here, so I figure I could use the actual bar to set out the food. I’m still trying to work that out in my head.” The whole time she’s chattering, I can hear her move around her kitchen. She sounds happy. “Anyway, I’m sorry, I’m being rude. I’m sure you didn’t call to listen to the sound of me yammering on.”

“Actually, I did,” I admit. “I like listening to you talk.”

“Oh.”

“And for the record, I think it’s a good idea.”

“You do?”

“Sure.”

There’s complete silence on the other side of the line, and then I hear her take a deep breath in.

“So...breakfast is between seven and nine. If you’re interested,” she quickly adds.

“Oh, I’m interested,” I grin, hanging up the phone.

Leelo

“I’m stuffed.”

The woman who introduced herself as Lesley last night, shoves her plate toward the middle of the table. She and her travel companion, Jane, mentioned being on their way to a school reunion in Timmins.

“Would you like more coffee?” I lift the thermos I just refilled with fresh coffee. My other guest, a middle-aged gentleman in town for business, just left with the last of the previous pot in his travel mug.

“Please. We’re gonna need all the reinforcement we can get, right, Jane?” she says, smiling at the other woman across the table, who only nods in reply. Clearly the quieter one of the two.

“How so?” I can’t help ask, filling both their cups before setting the coffee pot in the middle of the table and gathering up their plates.

“I imagine we’ll be shocking quite a few old classmates tonight.” She reaches over to grab Jane’s hand off the table and entwines their fingers before turning to me. “We’ve been best friends since ninth grade,” she explains. “And lovers since grade eleven. Not something you would broadcast at sixteen in a predominantly Catholic small northern community. Our families had a hard enough time accepting it. This will be the first time in twenty years we’re going back as a couple.”

“A married couple,” Jane adds in a much softer voice, her eyes focused on her wife.

“Congratulations, that’s fantastic. I’m so happy for you,” I gush, moved by the obvious devotion between the two.

“Thank you. We are too,” Lesley replies, when her attention is drawn to something behind me. “But we should head out. We’re keeping you from your other customers.”

I turn around to find Roar walking in the door, his focus on me as he grabs a seat a few tables down. The smile, already on my face, only gets bigger when he pulls off his beanie with a wink and runs his hand over his head.

“Yes, we should,” Jane answers behind me and I hear the scrape of chairs on the floor.

I barely manage a half-assed “Good luck. Hope to see you back,” and small wave of my hand, before my attention is right back on him.

After he hung up last night, I hadn’t been able to get the sound of his voice out of my mind. That deep rumble calling me Sunshine did all sorts of things to me. I blush remembering the frantic search for two double A batteries, upon discovering I’d somehow managed to drain the ones in the discreet little toy I kept in a small bag in my nightstand. A toy that had seen little to no action until I moved here.

“I’d love to know what you’re thinking about right now.” The sound of his voice spurs me to action.

“Morning!” I chirp, sounding shrill, even to my own ears, as I turn toward the kitchen, completely ignoring his words. “Let me grab you some fresh coffee.” There is fresh coffee still in the pot, but I need a minute to compose myself.

Dropping the plates in the sink, I brace myself on the counter, leaning my head down. I take a few deep breaths and will my heart rate to slow down, when I sense him walking up behind me. Before I can turn around, two large hands land on my hips and do the turning for me. I don’t even have a chance to look at him before his mouth descends on mine, and he steals every single thought from my mind. I taste the mint of his toothpaste, with a heat that is all him, and all I can seem to do as my body becomes a slave to his force, is hang on to stay standing.

“That’s more like the good morning I was hoping for,” he says when he finally releases my lips.

“Amen...” is all I can manage.

-

“Hold this,” he instructs me, brushing Ace’s nose aside before handing me one end of the waterproof rope, while he starts fastening the other end to the outside frame.

We’ve been working on dry land, building the frame that holds the barrels we unloaded off of his truck this morning. Roar’s dog, who’d been patiently waiting in the cab of the truck earlier, is now romping around the property, and breakfast is a distant memory, as my stomach rumbles in loud protest.

“Can you hang on for twenty more minutes?” Roar smiles at me, having clearly heard my body’s loud plea for sustenance. “I just want to get this part done.”

“Absolutely,” I say with more conviction than I feel. “Let’s get this done.”

He’s already explained that once the barrels are strapped to the frame, it’ll need to be flipped over and moved into the water to start laying the top boards.

“Will we be able to get it in the water ourselves?” I ask a bit later, as we sit side by side on the porch steps, eating a quick sandwich, with Ace stretched out at our feet, waiting for crumbs to fall.

“I think so. I brought a heavy tarp we’ll flip it onto. The ground is pretty level, we should be able to slide it easily,” he explains. “Besides,” he adds, grinning as he looks me up and down. “You’re made of pretty sturdy stuff.”

Self-consciously, I put my sandwich down and start pulling at the men’s T-shirt plastered against my sweaty body. Not my first choice in this heat, but it hides my new ink nicely, and now I’m extra grateful for the added coverage.

“What I meant to say,” Roar clarifies as he plucks my hand away from my shirt. “Is that I’ve seen how strong you are. You’ve been hauling those beams around all morning.”

“Oh.”

“Hmmm,” he rumbles, before he shoves half his sandwich in his mouth, leaving a drop of mustard in his beard. I can’t help staring as it moves when he chews.

“You’ve got...uhh...” I mumble, unable to help myself as I finally lift my hand and wipe at it. “Mustard,” I explain, holding up my finger in evidence.

His gaze shoots from my finger up to my eyes. He grabs my wrist and excruciatingly slowly, brings my finger to his mouth.

“Good sandwich,” he says, after slipping my slick digit from his lips. “Back to work.”

I watch him walk off, Ace loping after him, while I wait until I’m sure my legs can hold me.

-

“I’m exhausted,” I moan, flopping on my back beside Roar, who is letting the sun dry him off. The new floating dock bobs gently on the water, safely tethered to the old fixed section. I close my eyes to avoid being tempted to check out his long body beside me, clad in only the swimming trunks he changed into at some point.

“Too bad.”

His deep rumble comes from above me, and I peek through squinted eyes to find him—leaning on an elbow with his head resting on his hand—looking down on me.

“How is that?” I whisper, my throat suddenly dry, making my voice sound raspy.

“Because I’ve been thinking up ways to get you out of those clothes,” he replies, his eyes drifting down my body and back up again. The close scrutiny has me suck in air, something that he doesn’t miss, as his gaze gets stuck somewhere in the vicinity of my boobs. “I’d love to see what you’re hiding...” I can’t seem to catch my next breath when he traces a finger from the hollow of my throat, straight down, taking my shirt with it. The rasp of his calluses tease the sensitive skin between my breasts. “...Right here,” he finishes, flicking the corner of the protective bandaging that covers my new tattoo.

“Oh fuck!” I scramble to my feet, causing the dock to pitch dangerously, but I’m already gone, hustling toward the house.

That dressing was supposed to have come off sometime this morning so I could clean the fresh ink and put some Tattoo Goop on. Instead I’ve been sweating buckets all day in the heat, letting God knows what kind of breeding ground for bacteria develop. I’m cursing myself under my breath, as I manage to step over Ace, who is lying on the porch, tear into the house, and strip off my shirt the moment I hear the storm door slam shut.

By the time I get upstairs, I’m out of breath. In the bathroom, I pull away the cup over my left breast and carefully peel the tape loose.

Dammit, dammit, dammit. The patch of skin surrounding the small innocuous tattoo is shaded a deep red and looks inflamed.

I turn on the cold tap and shove a clean washcloth underneath, when the door behind me opens. Covering myself with the wet cloth, I find a slightly concerned looking Roar looking at me in the mirror.

“How bad is it?” he wants to know.

“Not sure,” I mutter, surprised that I’m not more upset. At him at least. I’m upset enough with myself.

“Show me,” he says, stepping into the bathroom and I turn to face him.

“Look, Roar,” I protest weakly. “Maybe you should—”

“Show me,” he repeats more sternly. “It’s not the way I’d envisioned you getting naked, but it was gonna happen anyway. Now let me see.”

My hand still holds most of the washcloth in place, but I let him lift away the part that covers the red swollen skin. I feel more than a little exposed as he turns me into the light and bends down to take a closer look.

“Pretty,” he says, his breath brushing against my skin. The resulting goosebumps don’t go unnoticed as he leans in and presses a kiss on my collarbone, before he straightens up. “Did you get it done at that place town?”

“Yes. I forget the name, it’s on the instruction sheet I left on the coffee table.”

“Why don’t you have a quick shower while I give them a call,” he says, not waiting for confirmation as he turns and walks out.

I don’t think about protesting, I’m too busy watching him leave—still wearing only a pair of board shorts.

Roar

After talking to Ginnie at Slick Skin—who suggests marking or recording the inflamed area, but otherwise to follow regular aftercare—I head out to the porch to grab the clothes I left there earlier and give the dog a quick scratch behind the ears.

I’m still buttoning up my fly when I hear the bell over the bar entrance go off and quickly pull on my shirt.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. Would you happen to have a couple of rooms?” The older, bespectacled man, dressed head-to-toe in camo turns around from where he was looking out the window. “I’m afraid we don’t have a reservation,” he says, chuckling a little at himself. “My fault, my wife assures me. We’ve got our grandsons for a week and since it was my idea to take them fishing, I guess it was my responsibility to book, and it would appear I forgot. There is no reservation, or a vacancy, at Jackson’s Point. I was redirected here.”

I bark out a laugh and offer my hand in greeting.

“Peter—how are you? Was wondering when you’d be up this way again.” Peter Walters grabs my hand with a smile, giving it a firm pump.

“Mr. Doyle—good to see you, although I’m a little confused to find you here. Patti told me a woman had taken over Sam’s old place.”

“His niece, actually,” I clarify. “I’m giving her a hand with some repairs.”

“I noticed it looked much improved since I drove by here last year,” he says, looking around the bar when a car horn sounds outside. “Right, that’ll be the wife. So about those rooms?”

“Why don’t you put your wife’s mind at ease, I’m pretty sure she has rooms for you, let me just check which ones.”

“I’ll be outside then,” he says, smiling as he pulls the door open. “Oh and, Doyle? You may want to do something about your shirt—it’s inside out.”

I shake my head as the old man steps out, cackling as he lets the door fall shut behind him.

“Leelo?” I call up from the bottom of the stairs. I can still hear the shower going so I run up, two steps at a time. “Leelo?” I try again, knocking on the bathroom door.

I hear a wet thump, a muffled “Fucking hell,” and then the sound of the shower curtain being moved aside.

“What?” There’s a rattling I imagine being the towel bar and some shuffling. “Yes?” This time her voice is much closer to the door. Finally the door opens a crack, a single, clear blue eye staring at me through the opening.

“You’ve got guests,” I announce, biting my lip so I don’t laugh when that blue eye widens dramatically, and I refocus over her shoulder.

“Oh, oh, give me a minute,” she sputters, her fingers clasping the edge of the door. “I’ll be right there.”

“Just tell me if I can put them in seven and eight. It’s an older couple with their grandkids. I know them. They’re good people. You can take care of the paperwork after, I’ll vouch for them.”

“Sure. Okay, that’s fine,” she says, a little more of her face visible now as she smiles. “Thanks.”

“No problem.

During that entire exchange—and until she clicks the door shut—my gaze never once leaves the reflection I catch in the strip of mirror visible over her shoulder.