The Right Guy

by Kate O'Keeffe

  I need safe.

  After I’ve taken at least a hundred photos of the church I never intended to take, Jake suggests we go back to one of the marina’s bars for a cold drink. “I don’t know about you, but I could kill an ice-cold Coke right about now.”

  Even though I know it means sitting down with Jake, I agree. My mouth is like cotton wool, and I could use a drink and some shade. “Sure. Sounds good.”

  I sling my Canon around my neck, ready to leave.

  “Would you like me to take a photo of you two outside this pretty church?”

  I turn and see a middle-aged couple dressed in matching shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers, smiling at us.

  “We’ve seen how many photos you’ve taken. You really like this church, don’t you, honey?” the woman says.

  “Oh, I—” I glance at Jake.

  “Sure, a photo of us would be great.”

  The last thing I want is to have to stand close to Jake and pose for a photo. But saying no to this nice woman feels rude, so I acquiesce. With reluctance, I take the camera from my neck, flick it on, and hand it to the woman.

  “How about you two stand right here?” The woman points at the steps. “That way I can get you and the church.”

  Jake flashes me a grin and slips his arm around my shoulder, leading me to the spot. “This good?”

  She lines up the shot. “Perfect!” She lowers the camera. “Honey, do you think you could smile?”

  It wouldn’t take Einstein to work out she’s talking to me.

  I force a smile, trying not to think about Jake’s arm around my shoulders, his body pressed against my side. As if he’s enjoying toying with me, he slides his hand around my waist. My body tingles in response.

  I turn to look up at him to see his eyes on me, intense, piercing. My breath shortens as I drop my gaze to his lips.

  It’s then I know I’m lost.

  Against everything I’ve been telling myself, against everything I know is right, against everything I know I should be doing, I find myself reaching my hand up to touch his face, drawn in by the force of my need for him. We hold our gaze for a beat, then two. And then, slowly, he lowers his face, brushing his lips against mine, sending waves of want through me. My eyes close over, every part of me concentrating on him; breathing in his scent, tasting him, the touch of his sweet, sweet lips on mine.

  It is exquisite. The perfect kiss. Tender, soft, but with the promise of so much more.

  In the distance, I can hear the camera working. “Oh, you two are so photogenic. And so romantic. Aren’t they, Sydney?”

  The woman’s voice pulls me back—back to reality, back to where I need to be. It was a total moment of insanity, swept up in Jake. In a flash, I pull away, biting my lip. Jake shoots me a smile that has almost the same effect as the kiss, and I’m left breathless.

  He turns to our photographer. “Thank you for the photos, ma’am. I’m sure they’ll be great.”

  She steps forward, handing me my Canon. I take it dumbly in my hands, as though I’m in a fog.

  “Oh, don’t you ‘ma’am’ me,” she says, tapping Jake on the arm. “I’m Phyllis, and this is Sydney. We’re visiting from Cedarburg, Wisconsin.”

  “Great to meet you both. I’m Jake, and this is Taylor. San Francisco.”

  He’s acting as though we didn’t just have the most incredible kiss, as though we haven’t taken that step from friends to . . . what are we now? Crossing the line to something more?

  No. That can’t happen.

  “You are such a cute couple. Aren’t they, Sydney?”

  Sydney smiles and nods. He’s clearly not a man of many words.

  “Oh, we’re—” I begin only to be cut off by Jake.

  “Thanks.” He gives me a squeeze. He looks down at me, and I see that all-too-familiar twinkle in his eye. “She’s a keeper, this one.”

  And then it dawns on me. He’s messing around, and it feels comfortable, familiar. After all, it’s our M.O., the way we were before all this weirdness between us began.

  The twist in my belly tells me how much I miss the easy going, relaxed friendship we’ve lost. The friendship we’ve enjoyed since his parents welcomed me into their home all those years ago. I shoot Jake a look, a smile twitching at the edges of my mouth. He raises his eyebrows in response, his eyes dancing.

  He’s so enjoying this!

  And there it is, that old spark. The Jake I know, the me I know.

  “Yup, you’re a keeper, too.” I punch him playfully on the arm, slipping out of his embrace. As wonderful as it feels, being that close to him could lead to another one of those kisses—and if it’s anything like the one we’ve just shared, that’s simply too dangerous for me.

  Phyllis has her hand over her heart, her head tilted to the side, a goofy, sentimental smile on her face.

  I blush, suddenly self-conscious. “Well, enjoy your vacation!” I turn to leave.

  “Oh, you, too,” Phyllis says. She turns to Silent Sydney. “We’ve got that boat trip to catch, don’t we, honey? You see, we’re going up the coast in a glass-bottomed boat. Apparently, the fish life is amazing, and there’s this spot where they say . . .” She carries on, telling us all about their plans for the day.

  Eventually, after hearing about what factor sunscreen Sydney needs to wear and other tidbits of information I didn’t need to know, we manage to extricate ourselves from them.

  “Wow, she sure was a talker,” I say, as we finally slip away.

  “Oh, yes. It made me think of what you’ll be like when you’re older.”

  “Thanks!” I nudge him on his arm.

  He shoots me a smile that makes me want to pull him into my arms and do things to him, things that are very far from sisterly.

  Geez. I need some neutral ground here. I settle on work. “How’s your restaurant doing?”

  “It’s going great. We’re booked way ahead, and get celebrities and sports stars turning up.”

  “Met anyone I’d be impressed by?”

  “That depends on who impresses you.”

  “I don’t know. Famous actors, rock stars.”

  Jake shoots me a sideways glance. “I didn’t know you were impressed by famous people.”

  “I’m not really.”

  We walk through the streets, retracing our steps back to the marina. Once we arrive, I breathe in the smell of the ocean, mingling with delicious food and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  “Let’s get a drink there.” I point at the closest restaurant.

  We find a table outside in the shade and order a couple of Cokes.

  “So, with you not being interested in famous people, I shouldn’t bother telling you we had Robert de Niro in a couple weeks ago, right?”

  My eyes widen. “No way. Seriously?”

  “Ordered the salmon and a glass of Napa Valley Chardonnay. But you’re not impressed by famous people like him. Right?” He smiles his characteristic cheeky grin, the one I know so well. The one where his smile is only half formed, his eyes dancing with mischief.

  This. This is who we are. This is natural. Shooting the breeze with my buddy. Not thinking about riding him into next week.

  “Right. Not impressed at all.” I pull an as serious, nonchalant expression as I can muster.

  Jake’s laugh is low and rumbling. I can feel it’s warmth deep down in my belly.

  “Okay, now you have to tell me about you and Chloe. Is it love?”

  “Definitely,” he replies without blinking. “We’re going to crash Ash and Tim’s wedding next weekend. Make it a double.”

  I laugh as the waiter delivers our drinks. We thank him, and I take a long, grateful sip through my straw as Jake discards his, instead choosing to drink it straight from the bottle.

  “I don’t think a Coke has ever tasted as good as this one,” he says, holding his bottle up.

  “I know, right?” I take another sip, the liquid slipping down my throat, cooling me down. I spy a waiter walking past us wi
th some delicious looking ice cream sundaes on a tray.

  Jake notices, too. “Let’s get one to share.”

  I hesitate. Sharing a dessert is so intimate. I’m not sure I should be doing that with Jake right now. “How about one each? I’m super hungry.” Actually, I’m still full from lunch, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “Sure. If you like.” He gets the waiter’s attention, and I order a chocolate ice cream sundae, and Jake orders a salted caramel one.

  “How’s your boss these days? Frederick, right?” I’d met the owner of Jake’s restaurant at Manger’s opening night.

  He nods. “Same old douchebag he always is.”

  “Oh?”

  “I dunno.” He rubs his forehead. “I guess I’m over it, you now?”

  “Over Manger?”

  “I love Manger, don’t get me wrong. I get to set the menu, cook whatever I want—”

  “Boss everyone around,” I interrupt.

  He laughs. “That too, I guess. It’s just, well, I’d like to be my own boss. Isabella wants us to go out on our own, start a new place. And I’m tempted. Sorely tempted.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  He shakes his head. “No money.”

  “Which is where Frederick comes in.”

  “Exactly.” He takes another slug of his Coke. “And anyway, it’s a big risk.”

  A waiter delivers our sundaes. We don’t hold back as we both dig in.

  “Oh, my God,” I say after my first mouthful.

  “Good, right?” Jake grins at me.

  “Totally.”

  “You know, if you don’t sell those photos you took today for large sums of money, I’ll be suing for heat damage,” Jake says before he licks a glob of caramel sauce from his top lip.

  He’s purposefully changing the subject, but I let it slide. I know how much he wants his own restaurant. I knew it when he tried to go out on his own a while back, when all his dreams came crashing down a short time later. Although he didn’t talk to me about it at the time, Ash told me it had almost broken him.

  “I’m not exactly sure how any of my photos could get sold, considering all they ever do is sit on my computer,” I reply.

  “You see, that’s where you’re going wrong, Tay Tay. You forget I’ve seen your work. You’re amazing.”

  It’s true that Jake and Ashley have seen my photos in the past. But that’s different from putting myself out there and selling them. Ash and Jake are like family, and I’m comfortable with them. Even if I was the amazing photographer Jake claims I am—and the jury is definitely out on that—selling them would be a whole other ball game. A ball game I’m not willing to play.

  I shrug. “I’m only okay. Nothing special.”

  He reaches across the table. “Hand it over.”

  I pull my camera out of my beach bag, remove it from its protective case, and pass it to Jake. He switches it on and begins to click through the day’s shots. I watch him closely for a reaction, feeling self-conscious as he concentrates on what he’s doing.

  After a while, he looks up at me. “These are really good.”

  “They’re not. They’re just holiday snaps.”

  “No, I’m serious. There might be maybe a few too many of the church, though.” He grins at me.

  I grin back, the memory of what we did on the steps of that church making my toes curl in my sandals. “In my defense, it was a lovely church.”

  “Seriously, though, these are great. You’ve got a real good eye.” He turns the camera around to show me one of my photos.

  It’s of a shell in the frothing water I took at Lover’s Beach this morning. I’d gotten down on my belly to take that shot and was nearly wiped out by a rogue wave a second or two after. I had to hold my camera aloft to keep it from getting wet.

  He turns the camera back and continues to flick through my photos. I focus my attention on eating my ice cream and try not to feel awkward. Sure, when I first caught the photography bug, I’d had grand plans to exhibit, even going so far as to show my work to someone at a local gallery in Marina, my neighborhood in San Francisco. They’d liked it enough to say yes. We’d even agreed to terms, and I’d started selecting photos and framing them. But then my self-doubt kicked in and I chickened out, figuring no one would want to buy my self-indulgent crap. What made my photos any better than anyone else’s? Deep down, I knew I’d been kidding myself.

  My insecurity hadn’t stopped me from taking photos—that was a no brainer—but I’d well and surely dropped the idea of exhibiting my work soon after that. Now, when I see that gallery, I cross the street to avoid it, hoping the owner doesn’t see me, the woman who promised her twelve framed photos to sell and gave her zip.

  Jake continues to flick through my photos until I notice his finger stops moving. His expression hardens. He turns the screen to me. “Who’s this?”

  I press my lips together as I glance at the image of Rob in his blood-red orange shirt that I’d taken at the hotel bar last night. He’s gazing at the camera, looking every inch the kind of man I think I should be with.

  But, after what’s happened between Jake and me this afternoon, seeing Jake holding a photo of Rob in his hands feels odd, wrong almost. I swallow, suddenly uncomfortable. “Oh, that’s just a guy I met last night. His name’s Rob. I’m not even sure why I took that photo.”

  Liar. I know exactly why. I thought he might be the man Kosmic Kandi predicted I would be with. Only now, after that mind-blowing kiss with Jake, after the persistence of my feelings for him, I’m suddenly not so sure.

  Jake’s eyes bore into me. “You met him last night at the bar, didn’t you? He’s here in Cabo.”

  I nod. “Awkward” doesn’t even begin to describe how this feels right now.

  “You seeing him again?”

  I shrug and try to appear nonchalant, all the while wishing the ground would swallow me up. “We didn’t make any plans.”

  He gives a short, sharp nod, and puts the camera back down on the table. “That’s good to hear. He’s a total player. Definitely not good enough for you.”

  My eyebrows spring up to meet my hairline. “Is that so? And how would you know exactly?”

  He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms like he’s my father about to tell me off. “Take it from me. I know.”

  I glare at him. “I know why. It’s because you’re a total player, too. It takes one to know one. Right, Jakey?”

  It’s a low blow to call him the nickname Chloe gave him at lunch, and a little voice in the back of my head tells me I sound like a jealous prepubescent girl. I ignore the voice, committed to my position. He has no right to tell me who I should or shouldn’t see, damn him!

  He stares at me for a beat, two, his eyes frosty. And then, his features change, soften, and he leans toward me, placing his elbows on the table. “Look, Taylor, I—” He cuts off.

  So it’s “Taylor” now, not “Tay Tay?” I challenge him with my gaze. “What is it?”

  He lets out a puff of air and shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No. You were going to say something. So say it.”

  “It’s just, well, I’m not the guy you think I am.”

  “Is that so?”

  He nods.

  “So you don’t have a long line of women beating down your door, waiting for the chance to be with the legendary Jake Harrison?”

  The beginnings of a smile tease at the edges of his mouth. Although part of me wants to smile back, I don’t let myself. “Well, they don’t exactly beat down my door.”

  “But you admit there are women, lots of them?”

  “There may have been in the past, but—”

  I cut him off. “My point exactly. You’ve judged Rob by your standards. You’re a total player, so you assume he is, too.”

  He studies me once more then shakes his head. “Just keep your distance from that guy, promise me that?”

  I cross my arms. “I will not.”

&nbs
p; “Well, don’t expect me to rescue you.”

  “I never would!”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “That’s settled then. I’ll date whoever I like, and if, if it goes wrong, you won’t be there to rescue me.”

  His eyes are trained on me for so long, I squirm in my seat, wishing I could be anywhere but here.

  Eventually, he picks the camera off the table and hands it to me. “We like to showcase local talent in the restaurant. It’s part of our ‘local’ philosophy. Locally-sourced food, local California wines, local talent. I want you to exhibit there. Some of these would look great on our walls.”

  It’s such an abrupt change of subject, I almost get whiplash. Despite the fact we were in a Mexican standoff only seconds ago, my mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

  “You know me. I wouldn’t be saying this unless I thought you had talent.”

  “But . . . I . . .”

  He shakes his head. “No buts, as we both know Mom used to love to say. In fact, she still does from time to time, despite the fact I’m pushing thirty.” He smiles at me. He knows the mention of Jeanette Harrison will soften me. She’s the mother I never had, and I love her as my own. But the thought of her has my shoulders tightening seconds later. Thinking of Jeanette only reminds me how much is at stake here. The choice between a quick fling with a self-professed total ladies’ man, or keeping my surrogate family, the only real family I have.

  Because we all know Jake isn’t the kind of guy to stick around for long. In fact, I doubt the words “commitment” and “Jake” have ever been used in the same sentence—not unless the word “no” was involved, anyway.

  “I remember that one. It was one of her favorites,” I say. “That and ‘I don’t know is not an answer.’”

  “Oh, she loved that one back when we were kids. Now, about the photographs. Whatever profit you make from the sale of the photos is yours, one hundred percent.”

  “That’s very generous. But you know how I feel about exhibiting my work. It’s, well, it scares the living crap out of me.”

  “Taylor, seriously, there’s no need to be scared.” Something in his voice calls out to me, and my heart expands in my chest. “I’m not going to take no for an answer.”