by Ellie Hall
Piper laughs. “Girlfriend, I don’t know how to break it to you, but it’s a known fact that we eat anywhere from one to two pounds of bug parts per person, per year.”
I gasp as goosebumps form along my arms. The cashmere stole wrapped around my shoulders does nothing to ward away the chill running through me. “Known fact? Says who?”
“Reputed sources like the New York Times, Scientific American, and The Wall Street Journal.”
“It’s true,” Peter adds. “Coffee, nuts, flour, and fruits and vegetables have the most insect fragments per pound.”
My stomach lurches as I glance at my travel mug sitting on the counter. “You guys are awful friends! Why do you have to go and ruin coffee for me?”
“Sorry, Josie!” Piper answers, not sounding at all sorry. “Who knows, maybe the bug parts are what makes a cup of joe that much tastier?”
“Hm-hmm. You just tell yourself that.” I reach for my coffee, wondering if I’m brave enough to finish the rest of it. The rich aroma brings a smile to my face and calls for me to cast aside my fears. It seems possible, until an image of a six-footed, two-winged critter named Joe swimming in brown liquid pops into my mind. I quickly set the cup down an arm’s length away. “I’m going to try to forget everything I just heard and focus on the good stuff today. Like how relieved I am to be back on schedule now that the toilet’s fixed. And just in time, too. The final inspection’s this afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s great to hear, Josie. I knew it’d all come together. Thank God for Graham. He saved the day.”
“He really did. He even cleaned up the bathroom floor after he was done. All I had to do was light a scented candle to get the place smelling pretty again.”
“Smelling pretty? What does that even mean?” Peter questions sincerely. “Things can look pretty or sound pretty, but I don’t know that something can smell pretty. That’d be the same as saying something tastes pretty or feels pretty. It doesn’t make much sense.”
“Pretty just means the same as nice or good. Think of a guys’ locker room or a perfume shop. Which one would you say smells prettier?”
“The locker room. Too much perfume makes my eyes water.”
“Poor baby, it really does,” Piper coos. “There has to be a better example to use. Oh! How about chocolate?”
“Really? That’s more of a pleasant smell, not so much a pretty one.”
“You’re right. Pretty doesn’t quite cut it …”
I shake my head as I listen in on their exchange. It’s sickeningly sweet how happy they are, but it’s clear that the two of them are lost in their own world now. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation, guys, but I need to go check on the humidifier I bought for the bathroom. I had it running all night, so it’s likely out of water by now.”
“No prob,” Piper responds. “Call me later, okay? Peter and I want to arrange a double date with you and Graham sometime.”
“A double date? I don’t know. Like I said, I really don’t have time to see anyone. And if I did, I’m not sure it would be with Graham.”
“But Josie, why not? He’s a great guy.”
“I can vouch for that!” Peter throws in for good measure. “And he’s the last person I’d call cheap. He may get his meals at Lydia’s for free, but he always leaves a generous tip that covers the food and more.”
“He does?” I wince, hating the taste of humble pie on my lips. “I feel so bad I called him cheap.”
“You should!” Piper exclaims. “See what a good guy he is?”
“He does seem like a good guy, but … he’s a plumber.”
“And?”
“Yeah, and?” Peter echoes. “Do you have something against plumbers?”
“No—yes! Not against them personally. Just against everything they see, touch, and smell.”
“He won’t be a plumber forever, Josie.”
“That’s true,” Peter adds. “He’s talking about retiring soon.”
“That’s great!” Piper declares. “You can take plumbing out of the equation then. What matters is that you like him, and he likes you.”
“You don’t know for sure that he likes me.” My heels—a fabulous pair of blue vegan suede ankle boot stilettos—click across the floor as I make my way to the back of the shop. “I’m not completely sure that I like him—romantically speaking.”
“He does,” Peter declares.
“You do,” Piper touts at the same time.
I have to laugh. “You guys are too cute for your own good and mine. I’m hanging up now. You two stay out of trouble, you hear?”
I stuff my phone in the pocket of my black slacks as my steps slow down. The banquette where Graham and I sat the other day catches my eye. My body immediately warms as I remember how commanding he’d looked with his large frame taking up half the seat and his long legs stretched out in front of him. I can still recall the feel of his chest under my palm—strong and firm, like the rest of him.
Who’d think a plumber could be so sexy?
And who’d think I’d actually consider dating one?
Wait, what am I thinking? I’ll likely never see Graham again. His work here is done. I paid my bill in full, and we said our goodbyes. If he’d wanted to ask me out, he had plenty of opportunities to do so yesterday. He has both my personal number and the shop’s number.
Then why hasn’t the guy called me up yet?
And why am I still thinking about him?!
Argh! My shoulders tighten from the internal “he loves me, he loves me not” monologue running through my head. I shouldn’t be thinking about Graham like this. I’m a grown woman with my own business and a good head on my shoulders. Not a preteen pulling petals off a daisy and pining after a man she can’t have.
Get a grip, Josie. Focus.
But what if this is your second chance at romance? What if God let your and Graham’s paths cross again because he’s your one true love?
Oh bother. It’s never a good thing when I start talking to myself. Especially about men. I end up going around in circles, trying to weigh all the pros and cons. It’s like a workout for my brain, only without the endorphin high. The irony of it all is that firstborns are supposed to be headstrong, independent, and take-charge kind of people. I’ve always been the one to tell my siblings what to do, when to do things, and how. For once, it sure would be nice to have someone else tell me what to do.
Naw. Who am I kidding? That sounds like a complete nightmare!
I chuckle to myself as I pick up my pace and head down the hall. The sweet scent of apples and cinnamon greets me when I step into the bathroom. With pretty pink wallpaper, a pedestal sink, and an antique mirror with intricate etchings, this isn’t an ordinary rest stop. Nope, I designed it to be bright, colorful, and elegant. A powder room like no other, with the perfect lighting, temperature, and humidity for my clientele.
Which is why I splurged on a sand-blasted glass ultrasonic aromatherapy humidifier that looks like a million bucks (and takes about as many syllables to pronounce). I refill the water tank on the fancy doodad and plug it back in. I’m about to turn off the light when I hear a plink plink plink. The sound’s coming from behind me. In the direction of the toilet.
Seriously?!
Dread fills me, but I force myself to turn around. As soon as I do, I see it. A small puddle of water around the base of the toilet.
Noooo! He was supposed to have fixed it!
It looks like I’m making the first move, after all. I pull out my phone and dial Graham’s number.
Hello, you’ve reached Dooty Calls Plumbing. We’re professional, affordable, and we always leave the seat down. Please leave a message about your leak and we’ll call you back about takin’ a peek. Thank you and have a great day!
Great day, my stiletto!
I can’t wait to give Graham a piece of my mind.
6
Graham
Graham, this is Josie. The toilet you claimed to have fixed is still leaking! Call me b
ack ASAP. Better yet, I’d appreciate you coming down here to check it out. Now, please! The inspector’s coming at four-thirty!
Lord, have mercy.
My jaw clenches as I check the time on my phone. Eleven-forty. The time of Josie’s voicemail was eight-twenty this morning. Three hours and twenty minutes ago. Soon to be three hours and twenty-one minutes. From the snarl in her voice, I’m surprised she hasn’t hunted me down yet. But knowing Josie, an animal shelter would be the last place she’d go to look for me.
The woman can’t even handle a fly.
I knew she was squeamish, but her sensitivity is out of this world. Maybe even from another galaxy. I’d bet my bike that the smells in this place alone would turn her face Hulk green. Which would be a shame because she has the prettiest rosy-pink complexion I’ve ever seen.
I sigh loudly. It’s also a shame that I’ve lost my chance to go out with Josie again. I’ve surely fallen out of her good graces, whatever little I’d been in to begin with. She’s no longer the starry-eyed twelve-year-old who thought I was the coolest thing since the Walkman.
“You all right?” The low raspy voice belongs to my dad, Graham Kendall Sr. We’re doing what we usually do on Wednesday mornings, volunteering together at Woof Animal Rescue. We usually spend a couple of hours socializing the cats or dogs, but today, we got tasked with organizing paperwork for an adoption event. Which, for my organizationally challenged father, means there’s a lot more chatting than work being done. With a stapler in hand, he cocks his newly dyed, Elvis-inspired head of black hair to one side. “Why the long face, son?”
“I missed a work call from someone pretty important.” Another glance at my phone reveals I’ve missed about a dozen texts from Josie, too. The latter half in all caps with almost as many exclamation points as the number of candles on my last birthday cake. I swallow hard, wondering how I’m going to salvage this situation. “Do you mind if we call it a day here? I need to swing by a job on Berryessa Road and check on a leak. A life-threatening kind of leak, from the sound of it.”
“Let’s go!” Dad jumps to his feet and grabs his leather jacket off the chairback. Given that he’s only twenty years older than me, people sometimes mistake us for brothers. Let me tell you that only one of us is pleased when that happens. He shoots me a cheeky grin. “Does this job happen to involve a woman?”
“Dad!” I shake my head in disapproval. Dad recently started spending time with a lady friend, who happens to be Peter’s mother. Who also happens to be the most sharp-tongued, laser-eyed grandmother I’ve ever met. I’m not kidding when I say I’d fear for my dad if he ever got on her bad side. “Aren’t you seeing someone?”
“I am! And I’m very happily committed to May. I’m asking for your sake.” He wiggles his caterpillar-like brows up and down. “So, does it?”
“Does it what?”
“Does the job involve a woman?”
I bristle loudly. My father still likes to poke his nose into my business, regardless of how much gray hair’s on my head. (For the record, it’s more than his.) I roll my eyes and answer, “Yes, the customer is female.”
“Ahh. Now we’re getting somewhere. Speaking of, when was the last time you got kissed?”
Dropping my gaze to the table, I start gathering the unstapled forms together into an envelope. My neck grows warm under the collar of my flannel shirt as I sense him waiting for an answer. Usually, I avoid this topic at all costs. It’s a sad reality when your dad can score a date easier than you. But that’s to be expected when your old man was practically a hometown hero. All-star quarterback and Prom King. Then one of the boys in blue for nearly fifty years. Meanwhile, my biggest accolade was having a membership with my local CPA (that’s California Psychological Association, not a Certified Public Accountant—not that the latter would get you very far with the ladies, except maybe during tax season). This is why I don’t talk about relationships with my dad. Instead, I deflect with humor. “I got kissed last week. Right down the hall, in fact.”
He scoffs and follows me out of the volunteer office. “Doggy kisses don’t count. I’m talking about some heart-pumpin’, lip-lockin’ action. With a woman.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” I mutter under my breath as I get busy typing a reply to Josie.
“I can hear you,” Dad calls out from behind.
Always the life of the party, he stops to say goodbye to the office ladies. Meanwhile, I send my text—Sorry for the delay. I’m on my way—into cyberspace and say a prayer that Josie is a forgiving woman. At the very least, maybe she’ll appreciate the rhyme. I then decide to look up the nearest flower shop. It wouldn’t hurt to bring something pleasant-smelling disguised as a “please don’t tank my perfect Yulp rating” peace offering.
When Dad catches up with me at the front door, he claps me on the back. “What’s wrong with me wanting you to find a good woman to settle down with? I won’t be around forever, you know. I want to be sure you have someone in your life who’ll keep an eye on you after I’m gone.”
I shake my head at his nonsense and hold the door open for him. “Dad, we both know you’re as healthy as a horse. You don’t even have high blood pressure.”
“It’s because your mother—God bless her soul—took excellent care of me when she was alive. And these days May makes sure I take my vitamins every day and makes Chinese herbal soup for me every week.” He gives me a pointed look as we step outside into the overcast day. Not ten feet away sits his old Cadillac DeVille at the curb. He unlocks it and we both hop in. “You know what the Good Book says, don’t you? It’s not good for us men to be alone. And you, son, have been alone for a long, long—”
“Okay, Dad.”
“Long, long, long—”
“Are you done yet?”
“Long, long, long, long time.” His smirk grows wider. “Now I’m done.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine being on my own. I’m an only child, remember? I’m used to it.” I buckle myself in and sit back. “Can we get going, please?”
“Fine.”
The car rumbles to life under my dad’s hands. I roll down the window and prop my elbow on the worn-out arm rest. We’re about to pull onto the road when the shelter door swings open.
“Mr. Kendalls!” A young woman by the name of Janine runs toward us with both hands holding onto the end of a red leash. Attached to said leash is the largest dog I’ve ever seen. The Neapolitan Mastiff’s head rivals hers and appears to grow in size the closer they get to our car. When Janine reaches my window, she bends down and gives us a hopeful smile. “I hate to bother you guys, but would you mind taking Gus for the afternoon? His usual walker can’t make it today, and if he doesn’t get some lovin’, he becomes a real grump.”
“Sounds like someone I know,” my dad mutters loud enough for me to hear. He shoots me an innocent smile before waving to Janine. “Of course! We’d love to take him.”
“We would?” I normally have no qualms about taking a dog or cat home—I’ve fostered a litter of kittens before—but I’ve never handled an animal this big. And all I can think about right now is getting to Josie’s ASAP. “I don’t know if today’s the best—”
Dad’s out of his seat and opening the back passenger door before I can blink again. “Hop in, Gus!”
“Great, thank you!” Janine transfers the leash and the tote bag hanging from her shoulder over to Dad. “You guys are the best!”
I sigh and ask, “Is there anything we should know about him?”
“Oh, yes. He sometimes gets a little carsick, so it’s best to drive slow.”
Slow is not the word I want to hear right now. Or carsick. But the bright side is that we’re only fifteen minutes away from Josie’s shop, so by the time I get there, I’ll only be three hours and forty-two minutes late.
Argh! Forget bringing Josie flowers. A jewelry store would be a smarter choice.
“Thanks again!” Janine waves. “Have fun, Gus!”
Th
e car shifts as our furry passenger comes on board. He pokes his head between the two front seats, giving me an earful of loud panting. With one paw on the center console, he leans over to lick—er, douse—my face with his warm, wet tongue.
Dad laughs as he takes the driver’s seat again. “He likes you!”
I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. “I like him, too. I’d like him more if he weren’t making us late right now.”
“All right, all right. Don’t get your tighty-whities in a knot.”
“I wear boxers, Dad.”
“Do you? I always thought you were a briefs kinda guy. Although, I’d have to say that boxers are a much safer choice for your job. You already have enough leaks to deal with. You don’t need cracks, too!” He throws his head back with a laugh. “Get it?”
The dad jokes never stop with this one. I growl through gritted teeth, “Can we go?”
“Yep! Hold on tight!”
I grab onto the door handle as the car charges ahead. That’s when I feel a huge paw clamp down on my forearm. “Dad! Not so fast!”
“First you say go, now you say stop? Make up your mind!”
“Don’t stop, just slow down! Didn’t you hear Janine? She said Gus gets carsick!”
“I must’ve missed that part. No worries, I have a solution.” Dad eases off the gas pedal, then opens his window a few inches to match mine. “That’ll help to balance the air pressure inside the car with the pressure on the outside. I’ll crank up the AC, too. Ventilation is the key to curbing nausea. You’ll see.”
The only thing I do see are Gus’s nails digging into my sleeve as he holds on for dear life. He rests his muzzle on my shoulder, scorching my ear with his hot breath. I give his paw a reassuring pat. “Hang in there, buddy. It’s a short ride.”
Gus whimpers, the sound cutting through the air like a siren in the distance. With each passing mile we drive, it grows louder and louder until it’s a full-on howl.