by Sarah Gay
“I just offended you in every way I know how, and you sit there completely content.”
“Well, you also bought me a delicious, expensive meal, and now you have to find another girlfriend before the holidays.” Annie rose to her feet, kissed the confused man on the forehead, and began her five-minute walk home.
The sweet aroma of crush no longer swept through the air. The Russian River now wafted up the repugnant odor of unsuccessful river trolling, the decaying bait fish slapping against the muddy shoreline.
As she walked through the stale air, she congratulated herself for playing off her hurt so well. She knew better than to fall so hard for a hot guy. That wasn’t happening again.
Chapter 2
The signature knock at the door brought a smile to Annie’s face. Tanya had made it over in record time. Annie must have sounded desperate on the phone. All break-ups should be consoled, and mentally examined with a girl’s best friend.
“Thanks for coming so quickly. You’re amazing,” Annie said, wrapping her arms around Tanya.
“Did he really grab that waitress’ leg?”
Annie nodded. “I have some tea brewed. I’ll make you a cup.” She walked back through the white-washed house. She loved her 1200 square foot cottage. It had the standard 1950s red brick exterior. Inside, she had decorated it in a cottage style with natural wood floors and white fluffy pillows.
Stepping into the kitchen, she breathed in the citrus scent of freshly sliced lemons. Lemons, a gift from the gods, according to Annie. On the white marble, kitchen bar counter, a decorative glass pitcher always held a dozen or more thin skinned lemons. The thin skins meant slightly sweeter lemons. The cabinet under the counter was painted Tiffany blue, a robin egg blue color that Tiffany’s jewelry store claimed as their own.
Annie placed a slice of lemon and two spoons of raw honey at the bottom of the mugs. She slowly poured the freshly brewed ginger tea into the cups and made her way back to her devoted friend.
Tanya was snuggled into the deep cushioned couch in the living room, stroking Mr. Famous’ tummy and glancing through the pages of an archeology magazine.
“How do they know so much about a community by only studying the citizens’ poop? You should write a story about that. Two people fall in love while examining petrified poop.” Tanya sent herself into a laughing frenzy. Her frizzy red hair bounced to her laughter.
“Clever, but my dad already has me pegged to write one for him following his idol, Ernest Hemmingway. Have you ever read, The Old Man and The Sea?”
“No. I read, For Whom the Bell Tolls, in high school. So depressing. Graphic details depicting the atrocities of the Spanish Civil War.”
“I know. I guess Ernest had a difficult life, volunteering as an ambulance driver in Italy for the First World War, then serving in Spain during the Spanish Civil War. He must’ve been haunted by the memories, causing him to later take his own life. Why would my dad want me to write such sadness?”
“You mean Ward Cleaver? The sweetest sitcom dad, ever.”
“He is a picture-perfect dad. I don’t know why I lucked out the way I did. When I hear some horror stories of what people had to go through as children with crazy parents, I have to count my blessings.”
Annie looked over at Tanya. Her friend now sat motionless, staring at a shadow on the wall. Her normally charismatic, happy freckled face, was uncharacteristically sullen. “I’m so sorry, Tanya. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I just meant those people, that when they hear that I’m a writer and they give me a play by play of their entire drug-ridden past, their kids taken away from them, and boyfriends living off their meager wages. They all want me to write their depressing, self-inflicted stories.”
“No worries. At least I found a few good psycho-therapists to work me through my issues.” Tanya shifted in her seat.
“What does that mean?”
“What are we going to do about Kenneth? The dog of all dogs.” She waved to Mr. Famous. “Excuse me, pup, I fully exclude you from the despicableness.”
“He’s history, but you have a point. Some men are such dogs,” Annie interjected.
“Not your dad.”
“There has got to be someone out there like my dad. But he’s not without his faults. He’s putting on the pressure that I have Mr. Famous fully house trained. Do you think I can train him on my own?”
“Worth a try. Don’t you wish we could train men like we train dogs, to be loyal, cuddly…?”
“Yes! You’re brilliant.”
Tanya shook her head violently. “No, no, no. That is not what I meant. Put it out of your little head right now.”
“My agent has been begging me for a synopsis. I was thinking of a turn of the century romance set here in Healdsburg, but a memoir of training a cute, dopey male to be the man of my dreams…perfect. I met just the guy today at the plaza.” Annie pulled the white business card from her pocket, and held it into the air.
“Perfectly insane. No one wants to be manipulated. Don’t do this, Annie. Besides, it’s already been attempted. Old news. And you want to train some dopey guy you wouldn’t have gone out with anyway?” She took Annie by the shoulders, “Why do you insist on dating guys you really aren’t that interested in?”
“Stop trying to dissuade me. I can’t believe that I hadn’t thought of this before. Mr. Famous, you and Mr. Right are going to doggy training.”
Annie lifted the worn book off her nightstand. She rested her head back against the king-sized, down pillow.
Thoughts of Kenneth grabbing the waitress’ leg, kept Annie from drifting off into a calm slumber. Tanya had been a miracle worker, up until the point where she disagreed with Annie about training a man to be the perfect husband. What a fabulous idea.
Her bed was only a double, but monopolized nearly the entire space of her bedroom. The only area remaining held an antique white bedside table, with a bouquet of fresh yellow daisies. Mr. Famous jumped up onto the down comforter, and snuggled in at Annie’s feet.
Annie rubbed the thin book between her fingers. The short story, at only 27,000 words, had won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, and was a catalyst in winning Hemingway the Nobel Prize in Literature.
“I just don’t care for fishing. I’ve read you several times to please my father. But to tell you the truth, I don’t get his fascination. Help me dream of lions on the beach, not an old man wrestling a marlin.” Annie tucked the book under her pillow, a nightly ritual she did every evening for the past year, and closed her eyes with thoughts of a wrinkly man, and a compassionate boy.
Chapter 3
Annie and Mr. Famous finished their mile speed-walk at the corner bakery café off the plaza. It was known for its buttery croissants and artisan coffee.
At seven-thirty in the morning, the sun was still pushing pink and violet mist across the horizon. Cold mist. Annie untied the long-sleeved running top from her waist, and began shimmying it on.
“Why are these things so dang tight,” she said, with irritation.
Growing up in Wisconsin, Annie was a pro at layers. She would don five layers during the harshest winters, but all her layers were loose enough to get on and off with ease.
“Yes,” she proclaimed to herself as she won the battle with her shirt.
Her head, now free to scan the lay of the land, noticed that she was no longer alone on the patio. Mr. Famous tugged at his leash, attempting to advance on an unperturbed German Shepard. Mr. Famous, unhappy with his unproductive effort, began barking ferociously, and gnawing at his leash.
“Settle down, big guy,” she said, scooping him up in her arms, and resting him in her lap with a piece of croissant.
“You may not want to reward him for that.”
Annie looked toward the perfectly poised German Shepard.
“Did your dog just talk to me? ‘Cause you don’t look that rude.” Annie playfully wiggled her fingers at the dog.
His owner gave a hearty laugh that shook his well-defined frame. Now
, this was a guy she could fall for. He had a natural ease about him. And that smile? Annie rested her chin in her hand as she took him in. Why was he so confident and cheerful? Not someone that Annie could trust to keep his hands to himself.
“It’s called being straight forward. I have some experience with dogs. This is Charlie,” He stood to pat his dog on the head, then extended his other hand to Annie. “Paxton.”
“Annie,” she said, inhaling sharply. Her lungs refused to function properly. Was it chemistry at work? His sapphire blue eyes shimmered in the morning sunlight.
When her breath finally returned to normal, he was seated back at his table, eating a breakfast burrito.
“He looks more like a Rambo to me,” she said, opening her laptop. Benefits of having a small dog you can only speed-walk with, you can still carry your lightweight laptop bag with ease.
“He’s a great soldier. Saved my life more than once, and quite the intimidator. Useful, when people thirst to see your head on a stick.”
“Sounds like a real hero.”
“He’s mellowed with age. Has the personality of a Charlie, not a Rambo. He’s currently a hospital therapy dog, among other things.”
Annie began clicking the keys of her computer.
“Has he seen any action?”
“Are you interviewing my dog?”
The handsome stranger asks, casting a glance at her computer.
Annie’s lips curled into a smile. “Just multi-tasking. I need to get something out this afternoon.” Annie looked up at Paxton. Could he be her test subject for training her Mr. Right, instead of dreamy eyes intruder? She was attracted to Paxton. No, too observant. He would see right through her.
She typed, “He wore the grief of a soldier, appearing stalwart to the novice observer. To the discerning, he walked with the shadow of death. A shadow that only a woman with the light of hope could dispel.” Annie’s fingers continued to click across the keyboard as she examined the shape of his ears, the cut of his jawline, the way his hand cupped the glass.
“Are you sure you aren’t interviewing me? Or are you multi-tasking again?” he said with a raised brow.
Dang it. She was caught staring again. My, he was cocky. Typical dog behavior. This project was promising.
She gave him a quick nod of her head. “I tend to zone out when I’m working.”
“What do you do?”
Her phone began playing a song from the 90s. Saved by the ring. Oh, how she loved her phone.
“Excuse me,” Annie said, raising her phone in the air. She stood and walked to the edge of the patio. “Carla, darling. I’ve missed you so.”
“Cut it. I need that synopsis today. New York doesn’t wait. This novel is slated for 2019, but if I don’t have at least something today, no advance for another year. You would be out of the pool for the next run and would have to wait for a 2020 release. You know the time it takes to prep a book for print.”
“In a New York minute. You’re going to love this one. Working on it right now.”
“Good, because the two novels you wrote in 2015 are just going to print. You’ve slacked this year with only the one so far. And I expect at least two more from you next year.”
“On it.”
“On what?”
“Training your run-of-the-mill guy to be your perfect match, utilizing standard dog training techniques. It’s guaranteed to knock your socks off.”
“Sounds interesting. Run with it. But Annie, I do need it by five o’clock today. My five o’clock, not yours. I really can’t wait any longer.”
“And you’ll have it. Promise.”
Annie pulled the white business card from her pocket and dialed the number.
“Hey, it’s Annie. We met at the park yesterday. Wondering if your offer still stands?”
Annie noticed Paxton eyeing the business card. She finished her call and placed it gently onto the table in front of her.
“What’s his name?” he asked.
“His name?”
“Your dog?”
“Mr. Famous.”
“As in Audrey Hepburn?”
Annie stopped packing her things and sat back in her chair, awestruck. “No one has ever made that connection. How did you know?”
“My grandmother loved Audrey, and her classic films— Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Roman Holiday, Sabrina, If a Man Answers, How to Steal a Million— to name a few. She made me watch all of her movies and raved about what a great role model she was.”
“I’ve seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“Great flick, but there’s more to her. She made a difference in her later years. She knew what it was to be a malnourished child, having lived in Nazi occupied Netherlands during World War II, and experiencing post-war starvation. Everyone remembers her as this beautiful actress and fashion icon, but I like to remember her as a humanitarian icon who brought the miracle of life to so many children around the world. In her UNICEF notes, she is quoted as saying, ‘Anyone who doesn’t believe in miracles is not a realist.’ She talks about having seen those miracles with her own eyes, the miracle of clean drinking water being brought into remote villages.”
“Don’t forget her affinity for little pooches.”
“Oh, yes, and Mr. Famous, her Yorkshire Terrier that starred in her film Funny Face. Overnight, Mr. Famous did exactly what his name suggested. He made lap dogs insanely popular.”
“Would she have been your Hollywood clause?”
“Hollywood clause?”
“Yeah, you know. Hasn’t your girlfriend given you her Hollywood clause? The exit-clause in your relationship if a Hollywood star falls madly in love with her and, well, no hard feelings but she would dump you like a sack of banana peels.”
“Banana peels?”
“I hate bananas. They make me gag. Is that all you got out of that?”
“My girlfriend has never brought that up?”
“I see. You should ask her,” she said, a touch of disappointment in her voice.
“No girlfriend. But when I do, I’ll ask her,” he said with a smile that made Annie sigh.
In an attempt to hide her relief, she shrugged, and said, “Hey, do you know of any caring dog trainers close by?”
He pulled the café’s pen out of the check sleeve and made an annotation. “There’s a little place down the road. By invitation only. The owner is extremely affectionate with the dogs.
“Sounds great. How do I sign up?”
“I can put a good word in for you. I’m there most days from about 1:00 to 2:00pm, working on my own thing with Charlie?”
“Your own thing?”
“Charlie has had extensive training since he was a pup, but to keep him on top of his game, he’ll always need a refresher course. A course I tailor to his needs.” Paxton handed her the receipt.
“Thanks. I may see you there. Excuse me, but I gotta run,” she said, giving him her backward wave. “I’m meeting someone in just a minute. Thanks again.”
She walked quickly out of the café. She hadn’t meant to chat that long. He was engaging, in an unsettling way. She had to hustle to her antique metal bench on the plaza to meet dreamy eyes.
Paxton pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit frequent contacts. He watched Annie walk down the sidewalk as she struggled to remove her outer shirt. With a tilt of his head, he strained his neck to keep her in his view. She was exactly how he had imagined her to be— insanely beautiful face with striking hazel eyes. She was perfect. His phone connected. Paxton cleared his throat. “Hey, how are your acting skills?”
Chapter 4
The sun warmed Annie’s arms. Thoughts of retiring her boa constrictor running shirt, now safely tied around her waist, kept her mind at ease. She had a nervous surge of energy pulse through her veins as she approached her little corner of the plaza. Her doubts resurfaced. Should she do this? Was it blatant manipulation?
“Annie!” Mr. Dreamy Eyes said with excitement, as he pocketed his phone. “W
e weren’t introduced yesterday.” He embraced her in an intimate, borderline awkward, hug.
She smiled. “Annie. Charmed.”
“Kai Terrence,” he said, looking at her with a sheepish grin.
His wide smile produced an adorable dimple in his cheek. His eyes were as dreamy as ever. The light green in his eyes accentuated his medium, olive skin. He had the right coloring, but not the facial features to be Polynesian.
“Thanks so much for meeting me this quickly, Kai. I love that name, sounds Hawaiian.”
“It is. My mom named me after the sea. She’s never far from the ocean.”
“Are you from a coastal town?”
“I was born in Hawaii, but have lived in California most of my life. Close to the bay, in the city. Do you sail?”
“Like, sail the seven seas?” she asked, unsure of the proper response to the unusual question.
“My family sails. You should come sometime.”
“Sounds fun. Are you close to your family?”
“Sure, we all get along.”
“And they live around here?” She tried to reword her question, to not sound demeaning.
“Just a cousin. My folks have retired to Costa Rica.
“How amazing, and I thought we had it good here.”
“Northern California is not warm enough for them in the winter.”
“Can’t say I don’t envy them, but just breathe in this autumn air. The crisp auburn and lemon-yellow leaves twirling to the earth. The scent of crush tickles the senses with the slight taste of sangria melting into your mouth, causing the tip of your tongue to rub against the back of your top teeth, suspending the sensation for a few more moments.” Annie raised her chin, and breathed in the seasonal harvest.
“You should write that down. You’re a natural. Makes sense, being a journalist for the paper.”
His voice was like her velvet curtains, soft and smooth. “Mmhm,” she hummed with a lilted inflection, puckering her lips slightly. “Kai?” she began, scooting herself closer to him on the bench, as she opened her torso to face him. “What are your goals? Relationship goals?”