Cabana Boy

by Jenny Gardiner

  Fletcher peered out the window at the nearby mountain peaks as his plane approached Kalispell City Airport. He’d still have an hour drive to get to Bristol from here, but the minute he saw the pristine lakes and jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains at 30,000 feet, a familiar warmth settled in that he realized had been missing from his life. He’d spent much of his upbringing wandering through Glacier National Park, hiking rugged trails to crystal blue icy lakes, following narrow footpaths in search of elusive bighorn sheep. This place could not have been more different than Los Angeles—so much so that he’d started to wonder what exactly drove him to the crowds and traffic of that sprawling metropolis when he felt a natural pull to this breathtaking wilderness right in his own backyard.

  The nice thing about small airports like Kalispell is you could touch down, get your bags and your rental car, and be on your way within half an hour. Before he knew it, he was already on the two-lane country road that would take him home to Bristol. Despite the early autumn chill, he powered his windows down and took in the fresh mountain air, and a smile spread across his face. This was almost perfect: not a perverted boss to be found and no wasted time scheduling Justine’s next vanity appointment to remove cellulite or inject poison into her face to fight wrinkles. Instead it was just him and his happy place, all to himself. This was going to be a great trip.

  Not fifteen miles before reaching town, he had to stop his car to wait for a moose to cross the road. He laughed out loud, imagining such a thing occurring on the freeway in LA. It was good to have this little moment of cheer before he arrived in town. His first order of business would be breaking it gently to the girl he left for his supposed glamorous Hollywood career that he needed her to pretend they were engaged to save him from being sexually harassed by his boss. His gut told him this was not going to go over well with her.

  Once he entered the commercial district of Bristol, he pulled his rented SUV into the first space he could find and got out, stretching his legs after all of the traveling. It would be a couple of blocks’ walk to Cricket’s shop—not that he’d been there, but his mother had told him where it was located. This way he could stroll down Main Street and muster his courage a bit before steeling himself for the confrontation. Not that it had to be a skirmish, though it likely would be.

  As Fletch wandered down Main Street, he waved at familiar faces, poking his head into Jackson’s Barber Shop and at the Great Outdoors Wilderness Shop where he’d spent more money than he cared to imagine over the years. He passed by Dr. Eliasson’s veterinary clinic, then by Harry’s, a rooftop bar he was known to frequent plenty. So much familiar territory here, yet he was removed from it right now. Everyone here had moved on without him, which made him a bit sad. Or had he moved on without them?

  He passed by Annie Bananie’s Pie Emporium and made a mental note to swing back later for a slice of Annie’s triple-berry pie with lattice crust. It was the kind of dessert that made you lick the plate, and what self-respecting person could resist that? Maybe he’d bring a whole pie home for his mom for dessert. She’d like that.

  He took a deep breath. Autumn had settled in here in Bristol—snow would be here soon. The smell in the air told him as much. He loved Bristol blanketed in snow and the locals all jazzed to get back up on the mountain to tackle the slopes. It was always the best between-tourists season—the summer

  thrill seekers and camper van tourists long gone, the skiers and snowboarders not yet invading the place. That’s why all the diehards lived here even when it became deathly cold or when the locals were snowed in. He struggled to find a similar charm about Los Angeles. Sure, the beaches and the Pacific Ocean were amazing. And a sunny, eighty-degree day in LA with low humidity was hard to beat, but it couldn’t hold a candle to a day on the mountains here even if it was sleeting. Returning to Bristol reminded him that this place was in his bones.

  Fletcher turned right off of Main Street onto Mulberry and looked up to see his old girlfriend’s pride and joy. He could hardly believe it—Pâtisserie Cricket painted above the storefront same as you’d see at a traditional Parisian boulangerie and pâtisserie, telling all the world that his girl had moved on, far away from him. From plain old Cricket to a gifted chef who had the balls and temerity to open up her own shop when others in their peer group were still putzing around with lackluster careers that seemed to be going nowhere fast. His included. He was Justine’s glorified manservant, no closer to a career in the film business than if he were working at a movie theater. The realization punched him hard, right in the solar plexus: Cricket had moved on to bigger and better things without him, and he was trapped as a lackey. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was starting to doubt his decision to end things with her after all.

  His heart raced a bit as he followed the brick walkway to the entrance. On one side near the large bay windows, stood a display of bread with Halloween images stenciled in flour on top of each loaf: a cat with its back arched, a jack-o’-lantern, a ghost. But beyond the bread were rows of brightly colored pastries that made his mouth water in an instant. He was tempted to turn around and leave, ashamed at how far Cricket had come and how low he’d sunk. But he had no choice; like it or not, he needed her help to save his ass.

  A bell jangled loudly as he opened the beveled glass and wood door, which didn’t help matters. The last thing he wanted was for attention to be instantly focused on him before he had a chance to get the lay of the land. He entered to see three wide cases filled with vibrantly colored pastries, tarts, and cakes, with the wall behind the counter stocked with bread in varying shapes and sizes. Incredible.

  “Can I help you?”

  Fletch looked up to see a familiar-looking woman with long red hair and bright blue eyes squinting at him.

  “Darby?” He furrowed his brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She crossed her arms and arched a brow at him. “Fletcher Campbell? I’d say that question is reserved for you.”

  Fletch scrubbed his hand over his face. Little did he know Cricket would have reinforcements in the form of Darby Cunningham, her best friend from childhood. He hoped pastry shops, unlike butcher shops, were short on knives as he was fairly certain Darcy had figuratively thrown a slew of daggers his way in the process of helping her friend heal over the breakup.

  Pursing his lips, he tried to figure out what to say. He needed to save his hard-core apologies for Cricket. As he toed the ground along the base of one of the pastry cases, he spoke quietly. “Any chance Crick’s around?”

  She glared at him. “So you can say or do something super shitty that I’ll be stuck having to mend? Thanks but no thanks, Fletch.”

  He shook his head. “Look, I know you don’t think too highly of me—”

  She scoffed at him.

  He held his palm up and moved it back and forth as if erasing his words. “Okay, I know you think I’m a flaming asshole.”

  She nodded. “That’s a start.”

  “And you’re certainly entitled to that belief.” He avoided eye contact with her and instead stared at the pastries that looked pretty fucking amazing. A fantasy of Cricket toiling away over each perfect little gem of a dessert ran through his head. He had no idea she was so gifted.

  “Ding ding ding,” she said. “Now what is it you want?”

  “I need to talk to Cricket.”

  “Are you planning to mess with her head? Because if you are, I am so not going to let you know where she is. And I will personally see to it that you don’t step foot in this shop ever again.”

  He rolled his eyes. Was this the police interrogation before the real police interrogation from Cricket herself? He held up his hands. “It’s all good. I’m not here to undermine Cricket or cause problems, but I need to talk with her. Please.” Cocking his head, he widened his eyes.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Fletcher lifted his head to see Cricket standing across from him, not two feet away, even more beautiful than he remembered her if that was p
ossible. She wore a white apron, but it didn’t obscure that gorgeous figure he remembered well—those round, firm breasts, that narrow waist, and that scrumptious ass he once so loved to squeeze. She wasn’t the girl he’d remembered but had grown into a woman he’d not soon forget. Her long hair was pulled into a side braid that draped over her shoulder. Her sea green eyes were still stunning, even if they did glower at him.

  “Uh, yeah, there’s a big problem,” Darby said, pointing at him with excessive dramatic flair. “Begins with an F, followed by L, E, T, C, H, E, and R.”

  Fletch frowned. “Your guard dog has been doing a fine job of protecting you.”

  Cricket lifted a brow. “Great. Then I chose wisely. Unlike the last time I trusted someone to care for me. We all know how that panned out.”

  Fletch raised his hands as if he was about to be arrested. “Okay, okay. I deserve all of your barbs. From both of you. I admit it. I’m an asshole. I’ve done hurtful things. I suck. I don’t deserve empathy or kindness from either of you.” He looked from one to the other and placed his hands on the glass case separating him from the two women. “But I’m going to tell you why I’d be super hugely extremely massively grateful if you might consider extending me the courtesy, even if it goes against every grain in your body. I need your help. Badly.”

  Chapter Six

  Cricket stared into Fletch’s blue eyes and a pang of sadness washed over her. Those were the eyes she’d stared into so lovingly for so long, yet they were gone in the blink of, well, an eye. And here they were as though no time had elapsed. As if nothing had changed. Even though of course it had. So very much. And here he was, almost groveling. She couldn’t imagine what would compel him to show up after all this time and beg like this.

  The bell rang and Mrs. Rendleman, the school’s band director, walked in.

  “Hi ladies!” she said, turning to see who they were talking to. “Why, Fletcher Campbell? What are you, of all people, doing here?” Her eyes opened wide as she stared at Cricket trying to convey some sister power thing to her or something.

  “Oh, hey Mrs. R,” Fletch said. “Great to see you. Hope your eighth-period study hall is going well these days.”

  Which almost made Cricket laugh. The two of them used to slip out of study hall during eighth period and make out in the janitor’s closet on the third floor. She threw him the side-eye instead.

  “Darby, would you mind helping Mrs. Rendleman while I see what Mr. Campbell wants?”

  She knew that was a caustic swipe referring to him that way, but oh well, it was the least she could do. She crooked her finger at him, indicating he should follow her back to her office. They walked through a set of double doors into the kitchen, then off to the right back corner, where she had a small office that consisted of a desk piled with papers and a folding chair next to the desk, also piled high with papers. Dingo, who’d been curled up in a ball on her bed, stood up and snarled at Fletch. What a good girl she was, warning her enemies to steer clear!

  “Um—” He nodded to her.

  “Looks like Dingo can distinguish friend from foe.” She reached into a bag on her desk and pulled out a dog cookie. “Good girl.” The dog came right up to her and wagged her tail as Cricket fed her the treat.

  “You got a dog,” he said.

  “Astute observation.” She curled up the side of her mouth in a “no duh” gesture.

  “Okay to pet her?”

  “At your own risk.” Cricket was rather enjoying making him uncomfortable. The dog growled quietly. “Dingo, no. I know your gut is telling you otherwise, but this man is okay. For now, at least.” She motioned to Fletch. “Go ahead, pet her.”

  “With that ringing endorsement—”

  “Oh don’t be a pussy,” she said. “When has a growling dog ever made you scared?”

  “When said dog belongs to a woman I jilted a long time ago.”

  She nodded. “Jilted, indeed. But I don’t as a rule encourage my dog to maim people. Hold out your hand, keep your fingers tucked in, and let her sniff you.”

  He did as he was told and after about ten seconds, Dingo stopped growling and let him scratch her head. But like her owner, she didn’t seem particularly receptive about it—not a tail wag to be seen. Good girl.

  Cricket nodded for Fletcher to sit on the folding chair, so he bent down and lifted the stack before plopping down onto it, then rested her pile of paperwork on his lap. All things considered, it was good to make him a little uncomfortable.

  She took off her apron, hanging it on a hook behind her desk, opened her laptop, and checked a few messages while he began to talk. She wanted to send the message that he was not a priority in her life.

  “So. To what do I owe this, dare I say ‘pleasure’?” She snarled a lip at the notion as she air quoted the word.

  Fletcher’s jaw muscle flexed and he was no doubt clenching his teeth. He had a little scruff on his face that looked impossibly sexy. Cricket hated herself for thinking that too. She also hated herself for thinking about the razor burn that would cause if say, he reached over and pulled her in for a kiss—one of those kisses like they did back then, where you can’t help but merge your mouths and your breathing becomes one and you aren’t quite sure where one of you begins and the other one ends.

  Taking a deep breath, Fletch paused. “I understand you’ve been communicating with my boss,” he said with a frown.

  Cricket gave a tight smile. “Would that be a woman named Justine?”

  He nodded slowly. “One and the same.”

  “The very Justine who referred to me as your fiancée?”

  He rolled his eyes this time, and that ticked her off. Like that was such a far-fetched notion he had to punctuate it with that gesture? Jerk.

  “I’m truly sorry about that. It’s a funny story—”

  Cricket steepled her hands and rested her chin on her fingertips. “Oh, goodie. I love a funny story. Do tell.”

  She couldn’t help the sarcasm bleeding from her like a sucking chest wound. It was time for him to pay—for something, somehow.

  “Justine is, well, she’s... actually she’s, uh, creepy.”

  Cricket furrowed her brow. This wasn’t what she expected to hear. “Huh?”

  “I spend the better part of my workday fending off sexual advances from her,” he said. “To be perfectly honest, I had to concoct a lie to keep her away from my johnson.”

  “Look, Fletcher, if you are having sex with your boss, I would appreciate you taking this elsewhere and not embroiling me in your weird stuff, ’kay? It was hard enough getting over you, but to think about you sleeping with women in LA, particularly your boss, well, it’s so not cool to come here and drive the nail in deeper.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “This isn’t to make you upset or angry or anything,” he said. “I need you to know I didn’t make things up out of nothing. I mean seriously, this woman makes me wear bathing suits to meetings and schedules them when we’ll be all alone at her private swimming pool, and then she dismisses the waitstaff and it’s just me and she’ll make me put sunscreen on her and then when I’m up close she slides her fingers up my swim trunk leg and—”

  Cricket made a mimicking gesture with her hands. “And then she stroked her hand along my hard length and spread my seed across the head of my cock and that’s when I told her I had to have her right then and there.” She continued. “Blah blah blah, I couldn’t control myself, I mean what man could turn down a woman who is seducing you like that, blah blah blah, so I fucked her because that’s the type of guy I am.”

  Fletch paused and stared at her. “Do you honestly think I’m that much of a prick?”

  Cricket paused. She wasn’t sure what she thought. She’d spent such a long time vilifying him in a vague way, who Fletcher actually was had gotten lost in the midst of it all. He’d become lore, only not in a good way.

  “Well? Do you? If you do, then you sure as hell don’t know me, and clearly you never did. Though I made dec
isions that hurt you, I did what I thought was best for both of us at the time, and I didn’t do it to be a huge dick to you. I was trying to make a clean break so that neither of us had regrets. But simply because I might have handled that in a less-than-stellar manner doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. Right now I am dealing with a boss who doesn’t understand what the word ‘no’ means and I’m trying desperately to keep what little dignity I have remaining, but it’s even harder to do that when you think I’m here with some agenda or ulterior motive.”

  Cricket heaved a sigh and rested her chin on her hand. “All right. Fine. So, to get this straight: you’re telling me that basically your boss is sexually assaulting you on a regular basis and the only way you could think of to get her off your back was to lie and tell her you had a fiancée, who unfortunately became me.”

  He nodded slowly. “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

  “Gee, ya think?” She pursed her lips. “And exactly how did it go from this little fake storyline to Justine arranging for me to cater a film premiere?”

  He shrugged. “She’s manipulative, that’s how. She started doing her due diligence and found out about you—about us—and I’m guessing this was a way for her to dig her claws in and find out more about my life and how to maybe double-cross you for being engaged to me—I know, even though that was a complete lie—and, well, she’s an even better liar. Maybe she knows when others are lying?”

  “So what does this mean for me, right here and now?”

  He glanced up at her, looking like a sheepish kid who got caught having broken the window with his baseball, then rifled around in his pocket, pulling out a ring.

  “I don’t suppose you’d agree to wear this for a couple of days while Justine is in town? Maybe save me from her roving hands and allow me to keep my dignity?”

  Cricket glared at him. “You have got to be kidding me.” She stared at the stupid ring. “I mean, really, Fletcher?” She never ever called him by his full name—he was always Fletch to her. And she knew he would read the negative vibes in her wording. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get over you? And now you want me to pretend we’re something we’re not? What about everyone in town? They’ll all be asking me about this idiotic ring and it’s bad enough I have to share the air with you in Bristol while you’re here, but now I have to share a life with you?”