Kissing a Fool

by Gwen Hayes

  “Most do. Apparently they couldn’t. They were childhood sweethearts, so the story goes. They grew up as next door neighbors on the East Coast, actually. Very much in love. He had the house you’re living in built before he asked her to marry him. He brought her all the way across the country and proposed on the front porch.” Charlie poured more cream in her cup. “They planned a huge wedding, went on a fantastic honeymoon, and then they came back to live in the house he’d built for her.”

  Watching her talk, it was as if she’d forgotten she didn’t like him, so he didn’t dare interrupt.

  “Except all they did was fight from that moment forward. Publicly, privately, loudly, sometimes without words. They just could not get along. So, he figured he’d save their marriage and build her a new house. She moved next door to him and they were happily married until the day they died. No more fights. People say their romance was the stuff of epic love stories.”

  “Maybe we should get married and honor the town tradition,” he said.

  “You’ve been in town less than fifteen minutes, and you’ve proposed to two different women. How is it that you’ve earned your confirmed bachelor title?”

  “Nobody ever says yes.”

  She choked on her coffee. Which brought his attention to her breasts and then he wondered how he’d missed them before. They were fabulous. Well, most breasts were. This particular set he liked because they were big.

  When she had her breathing back under control, he asked her more questions about the town. It was obvious she loved Silver Pines. The more she talked, the less pinched her face became. Her lips were really gorgeous. She wasn’t the kind that wore make-up, so they were a natural shade of pink—a creamy color.

  “What do people do for fun around here—at night?” he asked.

  “Oh,” she answered. “Silver Pines has a very exciting nightlife. On any given night, there might be a school band concert in the auditorium or a bridge tournament at the VFW.”

  “Sounds intriguing.”

  She smiled. Her creamy pink lips reminded him of bubble gum. Why did everything about her circle back to food in his mind?

  “Mel’s Tavern has a jukebox.” Charlie raised her brows in mock excitement.

  “A real live jukebox?” he answered.

  “If you wanted excitement, you picked the right town to flee to from boring old Los Angeles.”

  And he had. Jeeves had known the second he reached city limits he’d done the right thing. This place, assuming he could keep his neighbor soft and sweet like she was now, was exactly what he needed.

  Myrtle returned with a warm-up for their cups. She might be another good reason for the move, this Myrtle.

  “Jeeves wants to know about the nightlife,” Charlie told her friend.

  Myrtle pursed her lips. “Did you tell him about bingo at the Masons’ lodge?”

  Jeeves relaxed into the back of his chair, crossing his arms. “I can’t believe you were withholding bingo from me.”

  Charlie shrugged. “I can’t believe you were going to steal my muffin.”

  Myrtle rested the carafe on her hip. “Autumn Festival brings out some nighttime adventures too.”

  “Right,” Charlie agreed. “Hay rides.”

  “Corn maze,” Myrtle offered.

  “The Sweetheart Dance.”

  “Cake walk.”

  “I’m going to fit in just fine around here, I can tell already,” he said.

  Charlie lost her softness when he said that. She sat up straight and looked at her wrist. “Time for me to go.”

  “You aren’t even wearing a watch,” he said. What was her problem? “You just looked at your empty wrist.”

  “Thanks for the meal, Myrtle.” She stood. “It was…meeting you.”

  She left out the nice. What a piece of work.

  “The…was all mine,” Jeeves answered. He didn’t know if she heard him or not, since the door jingled right after he said it.

  Chapter Two

  CHARLIE TOOK A LONG pull from her beer and pretended not to care how everyone in the tavern was crowding around Jeeves as if he was some kind of celebrity. Okay, so he was some kind of celebrity. But still.

  He’d never have to buy a beer again. Even Cheapskate Chuck, who hadn’t watched television since Howdy Doody went off the air, told Mel to add one to his tab for Jeeves.

  Myrtle returned from the bathroom and took her seat. “You didn’t roofie my wine while I was gone, did you?”

  “You wish.” Charlie nodded toward the star. “You not going over there to welcome him like everyone else?”

  “Nah. I like musicians.” Myrtle’s gaze lingered on the salt-and-pepper guitarist tuning his instrument on the makeshift stage. Well, he was a guitarist when he wasn’t fixing cars at the service station. Or fixing the pipes at Myrtle’s Muffins. Or mowing the lawn of Myrtle’s house.

  “He’s married, Myrt,” Charlie chastised.

  Myrtle blew him a kiss. “Oh, I know.”

  “He’s never going to leave his wife.”

  “Not if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t.” Myrtle glanced at her wedding ring. “He wouldn’t get far. I am an excellent shot.”

  “Ladies,” came the trying-too-hard drawl from her new neighbor. “How serendipitous to run into you both. May I join you?”

  Charlie rolled her eyes when Myrtle welcomed him to the empty chair. She knew she wasn’t being fair. He’d been a quiet neighbor so far, and he’d been pleasant at the muffin shop. She just really didn’t like him.

  “This place has atmosphere,” Jeeves said dryly as he settled in.

  “Yes, it certainly does.” Charlie looked around in mock admiration. The dim lighting provided just enough illumination to get across the room without bumping into much, but not enough to notice the well-worn condition of the furniture. “The beer lights alone—”

  Jeeves interrupted her. “Those beer lights are vintage. They’d pick up a pretty penny at auction.”

  It was disturbing how he cut her off like that. She didn’t want him to be the one defending her town. She took a long drink to hide her displeasure.

  “What I want to know is why neither of you mentioned live music.” Jeeves pointed the neck of his bottle toward the stage. “Is he any good?”

  “He can tune a car like a god,” Charlie answered. She turned to her friend and asked in a saccharin voice, “What else is he good at, Myrt?”

  “Sometimes when he cuts the grass, he does it in diamond shapes,” Myrtle answered, being purposely obtuse.

  Jeeves knit his brows together. “Okay.”

  Mel, the tavern owner, turned off the jukebox in the middle of Whitesnake, and Sam adjusted the microphone. For the hundredth time that day, Charlie wondered again why she didn’t hate Myrtle for having everything. If there were such a thing as a perfect man, Sam Malloy was him. And as always, before he began his first song, he sought out his wife’s gaze and settled a slight wink on her so she knew every note of every song was for her.

  He began with Dylan’s “Make You Feel My Love.” An involuntary sigh escaped Charlie. Sam’s voice was low and a little gravelly, pouring over every pleasure center in a woman’s body like thick maple syrup.

  She felt Jeeves’ eyes on her and glanced up at him quickly. “What?”

  “Just enjoying the show,” he replied, his eyes not leaving hers.

  “The show is on the stage.” She pointed to Sam. “Up thataway.”

  “This show is more interesting.”

  She crinkled her nose in confusion, and he barked a sharp laugh. He was so weird.

  Jeeves picked up Myrtle’s left hand and inspected her wedding ring. “You were not wearing this last month. Fellas work fast around here, huh?” There it was again, a little twang. Maybe his drawl wasn’t artificial.

  “I don’t wear my ring when I bake.” Sam didn’t wear his when he fixed cars either.

  “My heart is broken, you know.”

  “I know.” Myrtle flipped
her bouncy curtain of blonde expertly. “I shouldn’t have played so reckless with your feelings the day we met.”

  Couples were shuffling to the well-worn parquet floor to dance. Charlie enjoyed watching the Hammersmiths most of all. They were spry for their age. Dancing with the grace of fifty years together, they made her feel all melty inside. She sighed again and realized as soon as she did it that he was watching her.

  “What?” she asked, exasperated.

  “You’re kind of pretty when you get all soft like that, Cleaver.”

  “Don’t call me Cleaver. And don’t call me pretty, either.”

  He held his arms up. “I said kind of. Don’t get all pissy.”

  Something about him made her want to stomp her foot and push him down. It was all that fake charm, she supposed. Men like Sam, up on the stage wearing old jeans and an older denim shirt, were real. Sam always put Myrtle first. He didn’t say flowery things, well not in front of Charlie he didn’t, but he showed her in a million ways every day that he loved her. And when he sang, it was about sharing what was inside him, not getting attention and paparazzi pictures taken.

  Guys like Jeeves were about pretend.

  “I suppose you want to dance,” Jeeves said after she ignored him and watched the Hammersmiths some more.

  “Not particularly,” she answered without looking at him.

  “Well, I want to dance.”

  Charlie gestured to the room. “Have at it. I have a feeling even Cheapskate Chuck would be amenable to a turn around the floor with you.”

  Jeeves stood and came around the table with his hand out. He was far too good looking and he knew it. All smug and square-jawed. Too tall and dressed like a guy playing the role of a small-town hero.

  “I said no,” she protested.

  “No, you said ‘not particularly’ which is not no.”

  “It means no.”

  “Miss…hey what is your last name?”

  Charlie pressed her lips together firmly, and Myrtle, the goddess bitch, took great pleasure in answering, “Jeeves. Her last name is Jeeves.”

  Surprise washed over his pretty face. “Well, what do you know about that? Jeeves and Jeeves. Now you have to dance with me.”

  “I don’t want to dance with you,” she said, putting her hand in his and getting up, resigned to it.

  He led her to the floor just as Sam finished the song. Charlie swung around to leave, thinking it was her lucky night. “Not so fast, Jeeves.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Okay, not so fast, Cleaver.”

  He had his hand on her hip, and she tried to get exasperated, but instead she felt extremely self-conscious.

  Sam began singing again. Tom Waits this time.

  Jeeves pulled her closer. He was light on his feet, of course. Because he was good at everything he did, most likely. “This will be our song.”

  “‘I Hope That I Don’t Fall in Love With You’? I guess if we were going to have a song, which we aren’t, this would be a good one.”

  “How long have they been married?”

  “Sam and Myrtle?” He nodded. “Twenty years.”

  He made a whistling sound through his teeth. “Wow.”

  She wished he would stop pulling her closer. “They were high school sweethearts.”

  “Did you grow up here?”

  “No, I wish. I moved here ten years ago.”

  “From where?”

  Charlie didn’t even like saying it out loud. “Milwaukee.”

  “What made you move—”

  She cut him off. “Are you planning on mowing your lawn?”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s getting pretty long. It looks bad. You’re making the whole neighborhood look bad.”

  “The neighborhood is us. We’re the only two houses on the bluff.”

  She couldn’t think of what to say. His grass was a little long, but not even really that bad. “This isn’t our song.” She hated this flusterstorm gathering in her stomach.

  “Well, technically, when a couple dances to a song, their first is called ‘our song’.”

  “We’re not a couple.”

  “We’re a couple of something.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  She didn’t like being this close to him. He didn’t smell right. He was supposed to smell like rich-guy cologne or something fake. She inhaled deeply. He smelled like he’d just come off the clothesline after a day in the sunshine. Charlie looked up in time to see him avert his eyes. “You were looking down my top.”

  He shook his head no but answered, “Yes.”

  She sputtered on a response. “Of all the…what kind of…why?”

  “Why?” Jeeves jerked his head back a bit. “Well, because there are breasts in there.”

  “Does this work on women? I mean, I’ve seen pictures of you with really attractive, talented women. And this is how you get them?” Models and actresses wearing size two and four-inch heels.

  He looked up as if he was trying to remember. “No. This isn’t how I usually go about things.” Jeeves pushed her away a step and turned her in a circle, slowly bringing her back into his arms. “I’m actually quite charming. And most of the time, I don’t get caught looking. I look—I just usually employ more stealth.”

  “So, I’m not worth the stealth?”

  “You aren’t going to date me. You hate me. I figure I have more wiggle room since you already think I’m a jerk.” He turned her in another circle. “I figure I can be my true self with you.”

  “I feel so blessed.”

  “I’m probably still going to try to get you to sleep with me. It’s the principle.”

  She sighed. “Everyone in this bar knows you don’t want to sleep with me.”

  “Why is that?” He moved her in a combination of some sort that ended with him behind her and her wrapped snug in both his arms.

  They continued to sway. She was not going to get starstruck. She just was not. “Well, for one thing, I’ve been a total shrew to you. Don’t think that didn’t get around town eight minutes after you stole my muffin.”

  “So you’re a challenge,” Jeeves said, low in her ear. She fought the shivers that wanted to shimmy with the sound waves from his voice. “Why else?”

  “I outweigh your usual girlfriends by at least fifty pounds.”

  He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Is that how we do things in the country? I guess I need to rig up some kind of fish scale on the deck or something, so I can properly weigh and measure my women.”

  “I’m not your woman.”

  “Yet.”

  Charlie rolled her eyes. “Wait. What’s that?” She wriggled her bottom and laughed at the small poke. “You really do want to sleep with me.”

  “That’s a roll of breath mints, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” Jeeves rolled her back out then back into his arms. “You’re going to be tough on my ego.”

  “I’m not going to be anything to you but the person who lives on the same street.”

  “There’s a powerful attraction to the-girl-next-door for a man.”

  No reply for that came to mind, so instead, she let him draw her flush against the length of him and rested her head on his shoulder. He was so annoying, but he smelled good, and it had been too long since she’d been held by a man. Knowing nothing would happen made it safe, pleasant even. Jeeves Allencaster was a temporary condition. She might as well enjoy the attention. She could verbally eviscerate him a different day.

  She was completely safe.

  Except that roll of breath mints had switched pockets and was most assuredly not a roll of breath mints.

  Chapter Three

  THROUGH THE WINDOW OF the pet shop, Jeeves saw Charlie cycle by and ran out to flag her down. She was at the corner, wearing another damned dress with thick tights and a wool coat, leaning the bike against the bricks when she looked up at the sound of her name. It was November. Why did she wear dresses in November?

/>   She put her hands on her hips. “I have asked you to please stop calling me Cleaver.”

  “I need your help. Can you come here please?”

  He didn’t wait for her answer, just pulled her down the block and into the pet store past the scratch posts, then the aquariums, and finally into the back where the problem that plagued him stared up with soulful brown eyes and dreadlocks.

  “What is that?” Charlie asked.

  “I think it’s a poodle.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. Not really.”

  She scrunched her face. “Why are you showing me this?” she asked finally.

  “I need you to tell her that she is not coming home with me.”

  Charlie tilted her head and studied the dog, and then her devil’s food chocolate gaze transferred to him. “You want me to tell the…um…dog…that you aren’t bringing her home.”

  He nodded. This wasn’t going well. “I came in for a fish. I don’t want a dog.” Jeeves swallowed hard and avoided looking the poodle in the face. “I don’t have time for a dog. Dogs need things, and they chew things. This dog looks like she needs a lot of things.”

  “This dog looks like she’s the thing that was chewed on.”

  “And there’s that. If I were going to get a dog, it would be a different kind. No offense, Medusa,” he added, hoping not to hurt her feelings.

  Charlie peered at the sign. “Her name is Lady. I thought poodles were smaller. Are you sure she’s a poodle?”

  “Her name is Medusa.” Stupid pet store. “Why do they have a dog here anyway?”

  Charlie wrinkled her nose and looked back at the poodle. “Don’t most pet stores have dogs?” She shook her head. “Actually, Linda doesn’t sell dogs or cats. She does foster some for the county shelter, though, on occasion.”

  “But why this occasion?”

  Charlie turned around to face him, her back against the glass. Her cheeks were still rosy from the bracing chill outside. Next to her, behind the same glass, Medusa sat up in a regal position looking like a ridiculous Muppet from Sesame Street. Jeeves got a very uneasy feeling looking at them together, the world’s surliest woman and the world’s ugliest dog staring at him as if he were the crazy one. Foreboding gathered in the base of his spine. Something told him this wasn’t going to be the last time the two of them ganged up on him like this. He realized he was likely looking at the rest of his life.