Daddy's Best Friend: An Older Man Younger Woman Box Set

by Charlize Starr

  I hadn’t seen this coming. We hadn’t even moved in together yet, even though we had talked about it. We had decided a couple of months ago that we would seriously think about moving in together after my graduation; after I had decided what I was going to do with my life after school. Carl didn’t want to discourage me from the idea that I might have to move to a different city for graduate school, even though I had already decided that I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I’ve already spoken to your parents, Virginia, and they had graciously given me their blessings. All you have to do now is say yes,” Carl said and I stared at his handsome, happy face. This was the same man who my mom used to joke about being a confirmed bachelor when I was a kid. This was the same man who had awakened the woman in me when I was a thirteen-year-old gangly teen.

  I had always fantasized about being in a relationship with him, about sleeping with him, but never even in my wildest dreams had I imagined that we could be married.

  “Virginia . . . ” he began to say and I jumped out of my chair and hurled myself at him.

  “Yes, Carl, yes, a thousand times yes! There is no other man I would rather marry than you!” I was laughing and crying at the same time. It felt surreal to be proposed to by him; to see him on a bended knee asking for my hand.

  Carl kissed me, even though he usually shied from kissing me in front of my parents. How did it matter anymore? He was going to be their son-in-law soon!

  I kissed him back fiercely, and I could hear cheers and claps around us. It wasn’t just my parents who were cheering for us, it was the whole restaurant.

  When we broke away from our kiss, Carl was still holding me, and with his free hand, he was slipping the ring onto my finger. It was a perfect fit, exactly the way he was for me. The diamond sparkled on my finger as I wrapped my arms around him again.

  “You have no idea how happy you just made me, Virginia,” he whispered into my ear as we hugged each other again. I was smiling, my soul was soaring, all my dreams were coming true, and then some!

  “You have no idea how I wish I could go back to my teenage self and tell her that everything is going to be all right,” I said, just as Carl leaned in to kiss me again.

  *****

  THE END

  Story 6: Daddy's Wild Friend

  Description

  He’s always been trouble, with his wild ways and string of girlfriends.

  But he’s dad’s best friend and I can’t avoid him.

  And do I really want to?

  He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

  I can see that he wants me. That he wants to show me how it’s done.

  And I’ve grown up.

  I want to kiss him under the Mistletoe.

  I want to be his date to the Navy Ball.

  I want to…

  Stop! What am I thinking?

  He’s way too hot. And waaay too close to daddy.

  There’s no way I’m ending up in his bed.

  Except I already have…

  And I want more…

  Chapter One - Charlotte

  The patient in room 217b keeps shifting onto their call bell.

  I’ve checked on him several times tonight and attempted to move the bell to a more secure place, but somehow, no matter where it ends up in his bed, he manages to shift it back under him several minutes later. It’s been an otherwise quiet night—almost too quiet for my liking, with the usual pace of things around here—so the constant ringing of a bell for no reason feels fitting, somehow.

  “Gotta keep you on your toes on your last night,” my fellow nurse, Sydney, says, laughing as I get up to answer the light. I laugh too and shake my head. I wonder just how many times I’ve walked down these halls now, how many times I’ve run down them, exactly how many steps I’ve taken on these floors. I’ve grown up making these rounds, going from a nervous nursing student to a seasoned and confident nurse. I’ve spent more time in this hospital than in any apartment I’ve lived in, seen more of my co-workers than anyone I’ve dated.

  This place has been my life—maybe too much of it, if I’m being honest.

  The patient is fast asleep with his knee wedged into the bell when I get there. I shake my head and move the bell, trying to leave it within reach for any actual needs but far enough away that it won’t be rolled on again. I have a feeling it’s a futile attempt, but I try anyway. I start the rest of my rounds while I’m up, thinking again about just how much of my life I’ve spent here over the past decade. I’ve made some wonderful friends and wonderful memories here, but honestly, I’m glad to be leaving. Between the long shifts, the overnights, and the constant stress that can come from a busy city hospital like this one, I think I may be on the edge of burning out. I’ve known so many people who were fantastic nurses who quietly crumpled under the stress and left medicine altogether. I don’t want to lose my passion for nursing, so I hope a transition away from a hospital setting will be just what I need.

  I can’t wait to start my new hospice job—the slower pace and more regular hours are just what I need. Still, I can’t help but think it will feel strange to not come to this place anymore, to not hear these call bells in my sleep, to not leave exhausted after a 16-hour shift knowing I was due back in eight hours. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself, honestly, with the steady daytime hours my new job allows. I’m planning to use my evenings to help out in my father’s restaurant. It’s part of the reason I’m moving home, to help Dad and keep an eye on him.

  I adjust a patient’s IV tubing carefully and let my mind drift to the topic of my parents’ divorce. It had been a long time coming—even when I was a teenager there were serious cracks and strains—but still, I know it’s hit Dad hard. He hasn’t been on his own since he was practically a teenager himself, and I know he’s lonely in the house by himself. Mom’s moved down south to a condo with an ocean view she sends me pictures of at least twice a day. I’m happy for her. I am. But I do worry about Dad. It’s just felt like the right time to go back home, at least for a little while.

  Despite the teasing I’ve gotten from my coworkers, though, my hometown is not a small town by any means. It’s a large town on the bay—quaint, historic, and charming, but always filled with tourists, sailors, and activity. Even with the variety of stores and restaurants available here in the city, I’ve missed the bustling main street so much – its unique stores, fun boutiques, and award-winning restaurants, including my Dad’s newest venture. It’s only been open for three years, but he’s gotten rave reviews and won a handful of awards. I’m so proud of him and so excited to finally be able to be a part of it myself.

  Now that I’ve got that IV sorted out, all my patients are resting comfortably, and I don’t have any treatments or medications to give for an hour, so I sit down to do some charting, still thinking. I haven’t actually seen Dad’s restaurant yet. I haven’t been home at all in years. With my hectic schedule and with my parents wanting to avoid spending time with each other, it’s been easier for them to come see me than for me to go home. Even over the holidays, there haven't been many families celebrating lately. It’s something I hope to change for Dad this year, even if it’s just the two of us. I know he hasn’t had a real Christmas in a long time, and I think we could both use it. The restaurant is hosting the local Naval Academy’s Christmas Ball this year, too, which will make things even more special. It’s a huge honor to be selected as the venue, and it’s definitely something I’m glad I won’t be missing.

  I spin myself around in my favorite office chair, feeling a bit of sadness at realizing that it’s one of the last times I’ll ever sit in it. By this time next week, I’ll be sleeping in my new apartment, back in the cozy embrace of my hometown. It’s a strange thought, but an exciting one. Dad’s promised me a huge meal with several of their best dishes the first night I’m back, and I’m hungry just thinking about it. All the reviews I’ve read have praised the food, and praised Dad’s head chef, Danny, even more, calling him one of the most
promising chefs in the entire state.

  Now that I have some trouble imagining. Promising is the last word I’d use to describe Danny, from what I remember of him. Danny has been Dad’s best friend since I was a little girl, back when Dad was the shift manager at a local pizza place that’s been closed for years. Danny had been a line cook, a high school dropout with no plans for where to go from there. He and Dad had bonded back then and have remained friends for all this time – over two decades now. Apparently, Danny’s cleaned up his act a lot lately.

  But back when I was a kid? He’d been nothing but trouble. Mom had never liked him—in fact, he was one of the things she and Dad used to fight about, and often. She hated his womanizing habits, his sleazy demeanor, and his complete lack of ambition. She never understood what potential Dad saw in him. And I might have only been a kid at the time, but I was inclined to agree with her from what I’d seen. I can remember one night when I was twelve, sitting in one of the restaurants Dad had managed before opening his own, doing homework at a back booth and watching Danny, cigarette behind his ear and hair all greasy, kissing a woman in a low-cut shirt and high heels. There’d been another woman in to see him a few nights later, and then the first was back again, yelling at Danny until Dad made her leave. Then it was yet another woman, and Danny had just seemed unaffected, even bored, by the whole scene.

  He’d joined the Navy while I was in high school after getting his GED. I know some personal things happened to make him go, but it’s not anything I was ever told details of. And sure, I know people grow up, that they change and mature, but I still see Danny as that sleazy, greasy guy with a new girl on his arm every week. So, I can’t work out how he’s become a master chef who co-owns a hugely successful restaurant. The idea that someone could change that much is fascinating, if hard to believe.

  I’m in the middle of charting about the patient in 217b when his light goes off again, getting me up, shaking mine out of my own thoughts with a laugh.

  “How many is that now?” Sydney asks with a wink, looking up from her own charting.

  “Fourteen,” I laugh, shaking my head and looking at my watch. I’ve only got three hours left on shift. “Bet you a coffee it’s twenty before I leave.”

  “You’re on,” Sydney says, smirking. “But only because I was planning on buying you a going-away-coffee anyway.”

  “It’s a bet, then,” I say, headed for 217b, smiling to myself.

  The bell is under his hip this time, and he’s asleep so soundly he doesn’t even stir when I pull it out. I clip it to his pillow and think to myself that in the morning, I might just thank him for keeping my last night shift here so interesting.

  Chapter Two - Danny

  I consult my notes carefully as I fill out the food orders for the week, making adjustments and calculations. We can halve the turkey order since it’s not in any of the specials for the upcoming week, but it looks like we’re going to need more than three times our standard potato order for the soups I have lined up. I reread every recipe for every special and promotion this week, wanting to make sure everything is in perfect order. I hate having to make midweek orders, and running out of a dish halfway through a dinner rush once was more than enough to teach me I never want to do it again.

  I push the ledger aside on my desk, reaching for my laptop instead. I normally write things out longhand, sketching out recipe and menu ideas in ink and filling notebook after notebook. Planning for the Naval Christmas Ball feels too big, too important for that, though. So instead, I’ve got twenty-five different tabs open, trying to sort it all out. I never thought I’d have an opportunity like this. I could never have dreamed, almost five years ago now, when my closest friend, Hank, suggested we go in together on a restaurant that we’d end up so successful we’d be hosting events like this.

  I know it makes sense that we’d get this kind of attention, though. We’ve won the City Paper’s Best in Town award two years running, the Gazette’s Toast of the Bay award, the Restaurant Association’s Standout Newcomer award, and numerous other local accolades. We were recently featured on the news in Washington, D.C. as a Meal Worth A Road Trip, and we have one of the most beautifully restored spaces in downtown, with a huge, open dining room and views of the harbor. Plus, since I’m the executive chef and co-owner, we’re a Naval-veteran-owned business. We’re a logical choice for the event in a lot of ways, but still, it blows me away when I think about it.

  The event is going to get the most press and national coverage we’ve ever had, so I need it to be perfect. I’ve been planning and replanning my menus ever since we were awarded the event. Normally, the Ball serves traditional holiday foods, comforting classics. I don’t want to totally do away with that, but I want to find a way to put my own spin on things, too. I just haven’t figured out what that spin is yet.

  “This ready to go out?” Hank says, walking over to the corner of the kitchen that serves as my office, even if it’s just a desk pushed against a wall and a wooden shelf I’d refinished myself holding my notebooks and old menus. He picks up the food order ledger, scanning it quickly. Generally, Hank leaves food to me, and I leave operations to him.

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding and turning my eyes back to the Naval Ball planning.

  “Have you given more thought to us announcing a second location at the Navy event?” Hank asks. I frown, looking up at him.

  “I’m still not on board with that idea,” I say. Lately, Hank has been pushing us to open a second location in a nearby major city. I don’t hate the idea, but I’m concerned pursuing it now is entirely the wrong time. In addition to all the extra time preparing for the Naval Ball requires, we’ve been having some financial issues – some numbers not adding up in a way I can’t help but worry means someone might be changing them.

  “But think of all the press,” Hank says, pressing on. Hank has always been prone to big ideas and idealistic thinking. It’s normally a good thing—the restaurant probably wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.

  “No, we need to figure out our money leak before we start looking into anything,” I say. Hank shakes his head.

  “It’s nothing, Danny, probably just a mistake,” Hank says. “I probably just wrote something down wrong, or someone might have miscounted cash at the bar one night, or had to destroy some wasted food and not marked it down.”

  “It’s a lot of money to just be spoiled lettuce,” I say. I hate to contradict Hank about business. I have to remind myself that if not for him, I’d probably be living in the same sort of rundown house I grew up in, living paycheck to paycheck, quitting jobs or getting fired from them after a few months, unhealthy and unhappy, a drink and a cigarette in hand at all times. I’d have grown up to be a man like my own father. Hank’s friendship turned my life around, and I’ll always feel a bit like I owe him, even if we’ve long been equal partners.

  “Depends on how much lettuce it was,” Hank says, frowning even though he’s making a joke.

  “I just think we should investigate it before we make any other plans,” I say. Something is wrong here, and it’s more than Hank is making it out to be. I’m certain of it. Money doesn’t just disappear, and we’ve recently let an employee go: my former assistant chef, Anthony, who had been incredibly angry about how everything went down. I don’t know if it’s connected, but it’s certainly possible, and so that’s enough to make me uneasy.

  “We’ll keep an eye on it,” Hank says, “but I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “I know, but let’s not make any decisions until we have our answer,” I say.

  “Okay,” Hank says, somewhat reluctantly. He turns, but then pauses and looks back over his shoulder. “Don’t mention it to Charlotte when she gets in, all right? She’s been worried enough about me as it is.”

  “I won’t,” I agree, nodding. I hadn’t even thought of mentioning it to Charlotte. I haven’t really thought much about her coming back into town at all, to be honest. Last time I saw Hank’s daughter, she was a skinny kid wi
th glasses and braces, bent over homework. We’d never had much reason to interact, and I don’t really think of her when Hank isn’t telling me about her apartment in the city or her nursing job. Still, I do think having her around will do Hank some good. His wife, Lana, and I had never really gotten along, and their marriage hadn’t been happy in all the years I’d known Hank. I know how much he loves his daughter and her being closer seems like a positive thing.

  Chapter Three - Charlotte

  My new apartment is beautiful. It’s bigger than anything I’ve ever been able to afford before, with bright, open lighting and windows I can see boats dance in the water from. There’s a sparkling kitchen, cozy living room, pastel-painted bedroom, and bathroom with amazing water pressure in the shower. It’s perfect, and it makes me so glad to be home. For a while, I push one of my chairs over by the windows and watch the boats, bright colors and sharp shapes on the open water. It’s comforting, relaxing – like it’s pulling the tension right from my shoulders and stomach that I didn’t even know I was carrying around with me.

  I think I’ll have to buy a bench for this exact spot, so I can sit here and read, drink tea, and think. The movers have placed all my furniture in the appropriate rooms for me, so I don’t have to do any lifting. I unpack all the important things from my boxes, leaving decorations and out-of-season clothes for a later time. I’m meeting Dad at the restaurant in an hour, and I want to walk through town first to get myself reacquainted.

  I’m delighted with how close I am to town with this apartment. There’s a quaint coffee shop down the block from me that I can’t wait to try, and a little market next to it selling food and housewares. A few blocks past that – not even a five-minute walk – puts me in the heart of the downtown business district. I’m suddenly surrounded by a lively crowd of people, talking happily, many with bags filled with holiday shopping in their hands. There are restaurants older than I am, and bars that are brand new. There are antique stores and shops displaying cell phones and electronics; there are boutiques with brand names and locally-produced clothes on the racks right next to each other.