Chapter Eleven Maren
Chapter Eleven
Maren
Lola has heartbreaking scars on her face. She’ll wear those reminders of her mother’s death for a long time. Not a single day will pass that she won’t look in the mirror and think about the tragedy and the hole in her chest that it has undoubtedly left.
“No.” Will sneezes. “Just—” He sneezes again, eyes red, nose running. “No.” He tosses his gaming controller aside and makes a dash for the bathroom, returning with a wad of tissue to blow his nose.
“How can you be allergic to cats? Isn’t rescuing them from trees your job?”
“Fuck you, Maren. How did— ACHOO! ” He wipes his eyes. “How did you not know that I’m allergic to cats?”
“I’ll keep Bandit in my room.”
“Dude. No! I’ll be dead by morning. The furnace will disperse that shit all through the house. You have to take him outside now.”
“I’ll keep him in the shed.”
“No. I’m going to rent it out.”
“You’ve been saying that since Jamie moved out. Besides, I told you I will look for my own place.”
“Whatever.” He plops onto the sofa. “But that thing leaves the house immediately.”
“He’s a cat, not a thing. And I can’t buy a house immediately. I’ll keep him in the shed.” I head toward the back door with Bandit meowing in my arms.
“Hope he has money. I’m charging him rent,” Will hollers.
I stop and huff just before opening the door. Dozens of fighting words rush to the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them. “Fine. I’ll pay double the rent so Bandit can stay in the shed until I find my own place.” I snatch the key from the hook by the door and take Bandit to his new home.
After I find a box, cut air holes into it, and line the bottom with an old blanket, so Bandit doesn’t decide to use the mattress as a litter box, I leave him in the shed to run to the pet store for supplies. And just as I pull back into the driveway, around seven, my phone rings.
“I can’t believe you called,” I say, slinging my purse over my shoulder and heading toward the backyard with my supplies.
“I’m a man of my word, even if I have very few words.”
I laugh, opening the shed door. “What’s with the whispering? Are you hiding?”
“No. I’m in my room. Not hiding.”
“Then why are you whispering?”
“This is the voice I use when I’m sneaking around,” he says.
My face hurts from smiling so much. It’s been a long time since a guy has made me feel this giddy. “Are we still meeting for a drink somewhere close to your house, since you’ll be walking or biking?”
“How about the Cider Snake at twenty-two hundred hours? They’re open until zero hundred hours.”
I chuckle. “Will everyone at your house be asleep by then?” I hit speaker on my phone and set it on the bed so I can dump kitty litter into the litter box.
“Yes. What’s that sound?” he asks.
“Uh, I just got home from running errands, and I’m putting things away. What happens if someone wakes up and needs you, and you’re not there?”
“I have one of those new inventions,” Ozzy says. “It’s a phone I can take with me so that I can be reached anytime. It’s called a mobile or cellular phone.”
“Don’t be an ass. I was just starting to like you.”
“Just? Wow. I thought we had a connection before just .”
“I thought so, too, but then you ghosted me for days.”
“Perhaps it seemed like that, but I was thoroughly thinking about you.”
I take the stickers off the water and food bowls. “ Thoroughly sounds a little invasive.”
“Not invasive. Just thorough. I was thinking about all of you in every way. Wait. That sounds creepy.”
I’m so glad he can’t see my red cheeks. “Ozzy, you’re my favorite creep.”
“Don’t say that. I need a better word.”
“Too late. I’m sticking with creep. See you at twenty-two hundred.” I end the call before he can continue to plead his I’m Not a Creep case.
“All right, little Bandit.” I transfer him from the cardboard box to the litter box. “You do your duties while I wash out your new bowls.”
He meows, which I interpret as an “okay.” We’re off to a great start, as long as Will’s not dead from anaphylactic shock.
I arrive at the bar a few minutes early, and to my surprise, Ozzy’s already in a booth with a beer, a plate of nachos, and purple flowers. This time, they have a delicate white ribbon around them.
“Breathe,” I whisper on my way to the booth. Everything flutters to life from my chest to my tummy when I’m with him. “I don’t eat after eight,” I say, sliding into the opposite side of the booth, taking in Ozzy’s messy but sexy hair and beaming white smile.
He’s trimmed his beard since I saw him this afternoon. It’s sexy too.
“Are these for me?” I pick up the six-stemmed bouquet of purple flowers. “Do you have all these wildflowers in your yard?”
“I cannot reveal my sources.” He winks while I read the note.
Shooting stars are pollinated by bees using sonication to release pollen from the flower’s anthers. Hope you love them!
Ozzy x
“I do love them,” I whisper, blushing because he’s so sweet and innocent, yet sexy beyond words.
My out-of-control mind imagines kissing him, sliding his white T-shirt over his head, and slowly unbuttoning his dark blue jeans. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve had sex.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asks.
“Pinot noir.”
Ozzy nods and makes his way to the bar. I feel like such a guy when he turns just before the counter, catching me staring at his ass. I quickly shift my attention to the nachos and toss a chip into my mouth.
When he returns with my wine, I catch his scent of bourbon and oak.
I’m in trouble.
“Thought you didn’t eat after eight,” he says.
“I’m not eating. I’m sneaking a few chips.” I nod to my glass of wine while shrugging off my jacket. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” As he sips his beer, he narrows his eyes. “What happened?”
I glance down at my blue blouse. Please don’t let there be food on it. I just want to be with this man and put together at least once. No coffee spills. No cookies stuck to my shirt. No begging for tampons.
Not seeing anything, I glance up at him.
He brushes his hand over his neck and chest by his collarbone. “You have scratch marks.”
“Oh.” I cover my neck. “They’re from my cat.”
He nods. “Well, thanks for not telling Lola that you have a cat. I thought for sure that the incident was headed south. I think she held it together because you were there. However, I never heard the end of it this afternoon. Even when I tucked her into bed, she was still hypothesizing about that kitten, guilting me for not bringing it home. Mourning its inevitable death. Calling me a kitten killer.” He shakes his head. “I can’t win with her.”
I trace the foot of my wineglass with my finger. “I’m sure the kitten is fine.”
He returns a raised eyebrow while eating another chip. “Or dead.”
I shrug. “Or fine.”
“I like your optimism.” He adjusts his body, and his leg brushes mine; then he stops, leaving his leg touching mine.
I don’t move, because I like it when our bodies touch, and from the twitch of his lips, I’d say he does too.
“Where was your cat the night I was at your place?” he asks.
As much as I want to play this out for a while, I’m dying to see his reaction. “I didn’t have him. He’s new.”
Ozzy dips a chip in the cheese sauce, letting it linger while he coats it. His eyes are hyperfocused, like his mind is reeling. “What made you decide to get a cat?” His eyes meet mine while he shoves the chip into his mouth.
“It was an impulse,” I say.
“And your roommates are okay with that?”
I sip my wine to hide my grin. “No. I recently discovered Will is highly allergic to them, so Bandit is staying in the she shed.”
“Where’d you get him?” Ozzy asks.
This is so hard. I rub my lips together, fighting to hold back my laughter. What if he doesn’t find this funny?
“I found him. He got separated from his litter.” I resort to chewing on the inside of my cheek while he eyes me with a scrutinizing gaze.
Finally, with a slight chuckle, he rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, where did you find him?”
My fingers drum the table. “On a hiking trail.”
Ozzy doesn’t move beyond several slow blinks, lips parted. “When?” he murmurs.
“This afternoon.”
He squints for a few seconds while we have a silent stare-off. “What color?”
He knows the answer, but I like the game, so I play along. “Gray, black, and white tiger stripes. White chest and paws.”
Ozzy scans the bar before taking a long swig of his beer.
“I can’t wait for you to see him ... again.”
“Why would you do that?” He pins me with narrowed eyes.
“The kitten needed a home.” I shrug.
“Had we not been there, and you found the cat, would you have taken it home?”
“No. I would not have picked up the kitten. But Lola picked him up, and then I petted him. He imprinted on us, so since you wouldn’t let her take him home, it felt like my duty.”
He brushes some crumbs off the table. “Imprinting, huh? You’re going with that?”
“I am,” I say, swirling my wine.
“Now you’ve put me in a predicament.”
“How so?” I adjust my leg, and he adjusts his, but he keeps it touching mine.
“We’re supposed to be sneaking around. But that cat has partially imprinted on my daughter, so now I feel like she’ll deserve visiting rights at some point.”
“I love that you’ve put a positive spin on things, like this kitten and your housing situation. In your shoes, I think I’d have trouble not resenting Lola’s grandparents for attaching conditions to the help they’re giving you—a grown man.”
“What’s the positive spin?”
“This. Sneaking around like teenagers past curfew.”
Ozzy’s grin has its own personality. It’s like there’s Ozzy, then there’s his grin. And I’m starting to read the subtleties of how he bends those full lips.
Flirty.
Innocent.
Sad.
Mischievous.
Vulnerable.
And my favorite—the sexy grin. This one starts with his teeth pressed to his lower lip, then he wets it, and finally, it curls into something that makes my insides melt.
It’s that slow dance.
“Lola is the positive spin on my life. And tonight, I’m beginning to feel a little dizzy from the spin you’re putting on my life too.”
I hum, just short of closing my eyes. Everything feels good when I’m with Ozzy. “Tell me about Brynn.”
With a hint of confusion pulling at his brow, he fiddles with the white paper under the remaining nachos. “You want me to talk about my wife on our date?”
“Yes. But only if you’re comfortable with it.”
“Why?”
“Because you created another life with her. And I think the most beautiful thing about a man is how he loves a woman. I’m giving you a chance to shine after ghosting me.”
Ozzy runs a hand through his hair while pulling in a long breath. He tells me how he met his wife at a concert in California, where she lost her wallet.
Love never dies. I see it in his eyes, the glimmer of memories.
“Brynn was older than me. She had two years left of her PhD, and I was working in Arizona. We didn’t set out to have a long-distance relationship, but that’s where it led, and somehow it worked. Over those two years, I made a dozen trips to California to visit her. We talked on the phone daily, and by the time she donned her cap and gown, I had a ring in my pocket.”
With a faraway look in his eyes and a pleasant smile, he continues, “She was so smart, an expert in linguistics. And I was a grease monkey with jumbled thoughts and mumbled words. She was delicate and refined; I was an ox with stained fingernails. But I loved everything about her that was nothing like me, and I think that’s what she liked about me too. When we had Lola, it all made sense. Everything we did together was better. You know—the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. That was us.”
I smile when that faraway expression subsides, and he’s back with me. “How did you end up in Missoula?”
“We’d been living in California. Lola was seven. My parents lived here, and hers lived in Yellowstone, where they owned a ranch. There was a position available at UM, and I knew there was a chance I could eventually get a job here. I sent an application to Cielo and stayed home with Lola for that first year. A job opened up. Things were looking good for us. Lola liked her school. My parents loved having us in Missoula, and we were closer to Brynn’s family. Then ...” Ozzy frowns, gaze cast at the empty beer mug before him.
He doesn’t have to finish. I don’t need to know the details of the accident or what came next. I’ve pieced those together pretty well.
“See.” I nudge his leg, prompting him to look at me. “You’re even better than I thought. Your wife was a smart woman with a PhD, and I do not doubt that the smartest thing she did was marry you.”
With his head cocked, he studies me. “Why are you trying to seduce a guy who rides a bike everywhere?”
I laugh. “If you must know, in my dating ‘fish stories,’ I’ll refer to you as a biker.”
“You’ll tell people I have something bigger between my legs than what’s there?” He smirks.
Covering my mouth, I snort. “Stop.” I shake my head and drop my hand.
“Come on,” he says, sliding out of the booth.
“Where are we going?” I follow him, threading my arms into my jacket while he holds my bouquet and the note.
“Let’s take a walk.”
“At this time of night?”
“I’ll protect you.” He holds open the door for me.
We worm through the parking lot to the sidewalk and gaze at the path in front of us.
“I’m sure you get asked this all the time, but what got you into this profession? Were you in the military?” he asks.
“No. I was a crop duster. I had my pilot’s license by the time I turned seventeen, and I was spraying fields the summer after I graduated high school. Fast-forward eight years, and I was flying tanker planes for Cielo. I’ve never wanted to do anything but fly planes. I’ve been fighting fires for seven years. Four years in the right seat and the past three years on my own.”
“And you’re good at it.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re being modest. Taylor said you thread the needle. Impeccable precision with your drops.”
I chuckle, tipping my chin and shaking my head. “I’m above average.”
He playfully nudges me. “Badass.”
We stroll a block without saying much. There’s something special about being with someone, feeling comfortable in silence, and holding space.
“What do you do besides hiking and rescuing stray cats on your days off?”
I chuckle. “Depends on the summer, but mostly I’m outdoors, hiking, kayaking, and hanging out with friends. Occasionally dating.” I return the playful nudge. “But I’m seriously considering buying a house. If I make that happen, I might spend my days off renovating it.”
“So you’d buy an older home?” he asks.
“Probably. I like the older neighborhoods.”
“Are you handy?”
“I have handy friends. Same thing, right?” I laugh.
“Those are the best kind. Feel free to add my name to your list. I have a few skills from past lives.”
“Do tell.”
For the remainder of our short walk, Ozzy gives me a quick rundown of his seemingly infinite home-renovation skills. He follows me to my car when we return to the parking lot.
“Thanks for sneaking around with me,” he says.
I nod, fiddling with my key fob while standing at my door, not wanting the night to end. “I was wrong. I’m not too old to sneak around. We should do it again.”
“We should.” He fiddles with the ribbon on my bouquet.
“You should bring Lola by to visit Bandit.” I lift my gaze.
“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” He lifts a single brow, which matches his crooked grin.
“You do that.” I nudge the toe of my white sneaker into his black boot. “Well, thanks for the drink,” I say, but I can’t bring myself to turn and open the door.
“You’re welcome,” he says without moving an inch.
This is where he should kiss me. But we’re taking it slow, so maybe this is not where he kisses me. It’s just where the tiny embers in my chest slowly burn, making it hard to breathe while standing this close to him.
“I’m tripped up right now,” he murmurs.
“How so?”
“I feel like I should sneak a kiss, but I also feel like it’s unfair to you.”
I swallow hard. “Why?”
“ Because you’re going to get in your vehicle and drive home, and I’m not. Because I unintentionally ghosted you. Because I think we should take it slow, but I don’t know what’s considered slow. Instead, I’m standing here trying to figure it out in real time, and—”
I lift onto my toes, press my palms to his cheeks, and kiss him. It’s not long, but it’s not short. It’s not a hungry kiss, nor is it a peck. It’s a first kiss.
The perfect first kiss.
And when it’s over, we share the same smile as I lower to my feet in tiny increments, letting my hands linger on his warm face, whiskers tickling my skin. “Sometimes you just have to say fuck it and kiss the girl. We’ll figure the rest out later,” I murmur.
If torture had an expression, it would be Ozzy’s face. I’m the first woman he’s kissed since his wife died. Brynn wove threads of her soul into his heart, and any woman who comes after her will get tangled in a mess of abandoned emotions.
Am I willing to be that woman?
I don’t know, but I can’t stop thinking about him. And I rescued a kitten today because his daughter lost her mom and will forever live with those scars from the accident. I couldn’t let the kitten she held in her arms die.
“Say something,” I whisper.
“I ...” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You could say good night.”
“I’m not ready to do that.”
Is vulnerability sexy?
Yes. It absolutely is.
“Do you like cool photos of fires?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes. “Maybe.”
I jerk my head toward my RAV. “No driving. I won’t even start it. We can sit in my car, and I’ll show you some cool wildfire photos.”
“You fly and take photos? Seems dangerous.”
“Ha! No. I have a friend who’s a photojournalist.”
Ozzy reaches past me, opening my door. “After you.”
We spend more than an hour leaning into each other over the center console, scrolling through photos on my phone. Ozzy eats up every single one. And anything with a plane or helicopter, he zooms in and names the aircraft and everything amazing about it.
“I gotta go,” he says, shifting his attention from my phone to me.
I click off my phone screen, and we gaze at each other. Actually, we focus on each other’s mouths until our attraction pulls us into another kiss.
His hand gently cups the side of my neck, his fingers grazing my nape, sending a shiver along my spine. The kiss ends too soon. I’m not sure what would constitute a long-enough kiss, but it wasn’t that.
Ozzy gets out of the car, leaving me wanting more.
After a final wave, he puts on his helmet, and I pull out of the empty parking lot a little before one in the morning.
Dear god, I’m falling for this guy.