Chapter 18
Not only was Warren spending Saturday night at a yarn store’s grand-opening celebration, but he had also arrived early. Dawn needed his help carrying three cases of wine and a cooler of cheese inside. Twenty years ago, he would have called his Saturday night a failure, but at forty-one, he felt differently.
“You do realize I’m using you for your muscles, right?” Dawn smiled at him and winked.
Warren set the wine on the counter, took firm hold of her waist, and pulled her close. “I don’t mind one bit.” He nibbled behind her ear.
“Oh no, you don’t,” said Cheryl Lowrey. She ripped some plastic wrap off a tray of cookies. “This is a campaign party, not high school prom.”
“Prom together would have been fun,” Dawn murmured. She gently shoved him away and handed him her keys. “There’s still one more case of wine in the car. Would you get it, please?”
“Sure.” Warren loved being her muscle, chauffeur, chef, friend, and anything else she wanted him to be.
They’d spent the whole day mesmerized by each other. Lazy Saturdays in the garden swing, cuddling a beautiful woman, were new to him. Being with Dawn felt thrilling and familiar at the same time. Like this was what life was about all along. This was what he had been missing, a woman who made his heart zing and who also encouraged him to do brave things. Not run-into-a-burning-building brave. Warren was already great at that. But attend a political rally at a yarn shop? That took nerve Warren didn’t know he had.
The strangest part was that Warren hadn’t worried about Mikaela all day. Her new cell phone helped. Mikaela had texted him pictures last night of her standing on Mark’s balcony with the Space Needle behind her. This morning, she shared a picture of her and Sierra climbing an enormous sculpture in Volunteer Park. There was his girl, a huge smile on her face, having adventures of her own. She made Warren proud.
Mark texted him a picture a bit later of both girls eating eclairs at the nut-free bakery. They’ve talked me into a sail on Lake Washington on my dad’s boat. Would that be okay with you?
Yes, Warren had responded. He wanted his daughter to be free to do brave things too.
An hour later, Mikaela sent him a picture of herself hoisting the sails. Warren downloaded the picture and made it his screensaver. Mikaela’s two blond braids whipped in the wind behind her, making her look like a Viking.
Warren grabbed the last case of wine, locked Dawn’s car, and headed back to the yarn shop. He arrived right as a man and a woman were struggling to anchor a balloon arch over the doorway. They both looked familiar, but Warren couldn’t quite place them.
“Need a hand with that?” Warren asked the couple. “As soon as I put down this wine, I can help.”
“Thanks.” The man twisted the bottom of the arch into what looked like a flowerpot filled with concrete and grimaced. “The other side sticks, but this one won’t stay in.”
“I think we got them mixed up,” said the woman. She had on shiny black leggings and a white blouse. “Maybe this pole is supposed to go into that anchor?”
A balloon popped, making all three of them jump.
“Yikes!” The guy looked behind him just as another two balloons died in rapid succession. Pop. Pop. “Balloons creep me out,” he muttered.
“I’ll be right back.” Warren took the wine into the shop, put the box down, then went back outside to help. When he knelt to inspect the homemade anchors, he saw that the woman was right. The base of the arches needed to be flipped. “I’ll hold the arch up while you two switch the pots, okay?”
“Sounds like a plan.” The woman twisted off the base she held and attached it to the other, and her partner did likewise. “There,” she said when the arch was balanced in position. “Perfect.” She held out her hand to shake. “I’m Marlo Jonas, and this is my fiancé, Ben Wexler-Lowrey.”
“Nice to meet you.” Warren pumped her hand then shook hands with Ben. “Lowrey?” he asked. “Are you related to Cheryl?”
Ben nodded. “She’s my mom. And you’re Captain Berg, right? I recognize you from the press conference at the beach.”
Embarrassed, Warren winced. “Yeah, that was me, but please call me Warren. And I’ve changed my stance on the bridge project in light of new information.”
Pop.
Ben flinched. “These damn balloons,” he grumbled.
Marlo rearranged a couple of balloons to hide the gap the burst ones had left in the arch. “It’s because they’re biodegradable, I think. They’re better for the environment but not as strong.”
Dawn came outside and joined them. “Guess what?” she asked. “We’ve sold every ticket. There are sixty-two people coming tonight, and we’ve raised over two thousand dollars! Some people donated extra.”
“You’re amazing.” Warren squeezed Dawn’s hand. “When does Liz arrive? She was generous to host this party.”
“Yeah,” said Marlo. “Not everyone would be willing to share their grand opening celebration with a political rally.”
“Liz told me she worried people wouldn’t come to her original party since she’s new to town,” Dawn said, snaking her hand around Warren’s waist to give him a side hug. “Joining forces with Cheryl was Liz’s insurance for a big turnout,” said Dawn.
“Well that’s good, because the Seattle Times is sending a photographer to cover the story,” said Ben. “I’m writing about Hip To Knit’s grand opening, and Liz’s granddaughter, Savannah, is reporting on my mom’s campaign.”
Feeling Dawn stand next to him under the crook of his arm felt good. “That’s why you look familiar,” Warren said. “I recognize you from your byline. I read your articles all the time. We get a subscription at the firehouse.”
Ben grinned, flashing his dimples again. “Thanks for reading.”
“Savannah and her husband, Xander, are bringing Liz,” said Marlo. “They should be here any minute. Liz said she wanted to enjoy the wine without having to worry about driving home afterward.”
A woman with curly brown hair, wearing a polo shirt and jeans, approached them. “Hi, Ben. Hi, Marlo. Where’s Mom? I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Thirty minutes late,” Ben said pointedly. “You promised you would help.”
“I was at work.” The woman squeezed her eyes shut. “And then I got a migraine.”
“Oh no,” said Dawn. “You poor thing.” She looked up at Warren. “Warren, this is Cheryl’s daughter, Grace. She’s the one who did such a fabulous job on the campaign website.”
“Thanks.” Grace massaged her temples.
“Do you want some ibuprofen?” Dawn asked. “I have some in my purse.”
“I wish that would help.” Grace opened her eyes but held her hand up to shade the sun’s glare. “I took my migraine medicine before I left work. Hopefully, it will kick in soon. I wouldn’t want to miss Mom’s big night.”
Warren noticed the tension Grace held in her shoulders. Her arms rose slightly like she was struggling to hold her head steady. Raquelle used to get migraines like that. When they were still married, he’d rub her neck and close the drapes in the house so the light wouldn’t bother her.
“Let’s go inside,” he suggested. “Standing in the bright sunlight isn’t good for anyone.”
“Thanks.” Grace nodded gratefully. “That’s a wise idea.”
“So, Ben, do you and Savannah both write for the Seattle Times ?” Dawn asked as they walked into the shop.
“That’s right.” Ben shoved his hand in his pocket. “Savannah’s the food critic, but sometimes, she writes other articles as well.”
“And she’s his ex-girlfriend,” Marlo added. “But that was a long time ago. We went to Savannah’s wedding last month, and it was a blast. She and Xander had sheep in their wedding party.”
“Huh?” Warren wasn’t sure which was stranger, Marlo praising her fiancé’s ex-girlfriend or the idea of sheep as bridesmaids.
“Yeah.” Marlo nodded. “Savannah tied satin ribbons and bells around their necks, and when the sheep walked down the aisle, the bells jingled.”
“It was smelly but memorable.” Ben dug a corkscrew into a bottle of wine and popped out the cork.
“Are you talking about my wedding?” a woman asked from the doorway.
Warren turned around and saw a woman wearing a jean skirt and knitted halter top. She stood next to a short man in glasses and an older woman with spiky gray hair, who he assumed to be Liz, the owner of the yarn shop.
“Savannah, Xavier, and Liz,” Marlo exclaimed. “Good to see you!”
“What was Ben saying about my wedding?” Savanah asked.
“I said your wedding was smelly but memorable,” Ben repeated. “And I stand by that assessment.”
“I told you those sheep should have worn diapers,” said Liz. “How could the photographer not capture the predictable outcome?”
Xavier shrugged. “They have a point, my love.” He kissed Savannah on the cheek. “But I guarantee that people will be talking about our wedding day for years to come.”
Savannah rubbed noses with him. “True,” she said with a giggle.
Liz looked around the shop. “This place looks great, and I love the balloons, but do you think people will come?”
“It’s going to be packed,” said Dawn. “We sold every last ticket.”
“No way!” Liz exclaimed.
“I can never thank you enough.” Cheryl gave Liz a big hug. “You too, Savannah,” she said, hugging her next. “First, you wrote that beautiful article about the Nuthatch last December, and now, you’re sharing your grandma with me.”
Warren remembered that restaurant review, mainly because it had prompted Dennis’s wife, Irene, to learn how to bake pies, including her infamous—but delicious—plum tart that she’d made after getting stuck in a tree.
“Am I reading the clock right? It’s blurry.” Grace pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I think it says that people will be arriving any minute.” She looked at Cheryl. “Do you have your speech ready, Mom?”
Cheryl nodded. “It’s not really a speech so much as a promise.” She looked around the gathering of people. “This town is big enough that some of us don’t know each other very well but small enough that when we see a need, we help each other out. Tonight isn’t only about launching my campaign for city council and saving Harper Landing Beach. It’s also about letting the whole community know that we have a brand-new businesswoman on the block. Liz, I’m honored that you’d share your event with me, and I’m going to do everything within my power to make sure your shop is a success.”
“Hear, hear!” Dawn clapped, and everyone joined in. She looked up at Warren and smiled. “Thanks for helping.”
“Of course.” He gently swept an errant blond curl off her forehead and stared into her eyes. “You did this,” he said. “You saw a way for people to come together and help each other, and you made it happen.”
Dawn rested her head on his shoulder. “I just hope it works.”
Warren enjoyed that moment of peaceful togetherness, especially since the rest of the evening turned into a whirlwind of activity. Once people began arriving, Warren manned the bar. He collected tickets and poured beverages into compostable plastic cups that the Nuthatch Bakery had provided. There was also sparkling water available with fresh lemon slices. Warren was so busy that the first two hours of the party passed in a blur. He didn’t realize Mikaela had arrived until she surprised him while he was speaking to a Boeing engineer wearing a feathered earring.
“Hey, Dad. I missed you.” Mikaela wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “How’ve you been?”
“Great.” He kissed the top of her head, which smelled like sunscreen. “I missed you too. Did you have fun?”
“ So much fun. Sierra’s grandparents have a sailboat, and its slip is right next to a yacht.”
“Look at you, using boating terms.” Warren grinned. “That’s awesome.”
“We also went to Luther Burbank Park,” said Mikaela. “And, Dad, they had a zip line!”
Warren couldn’t remember the last time Mikaela had voluntarily played at a park. Whenever he took her and the boys to their neighborhood park, she claimed she was too old for the swings. “It looks like you got some sun on your nose,” he said with a wink.
Mikaela touched the red spot. “Is that why it’s hot? I put on sunscreen, I swear.”
“Three times,” said Mark as he and Sierra walked up.
“Yeah,” Sierra grumbled. “My dad is so annoying about sunblock. And hats.”
“Hey, when hair is a limited commodity, hats become extra important.” Mark patted his bald head.
“Thanks for your hospitality and for taking such good care of my daughter,” said Warren.
“It was my pleasure,” Mark said. “I haven’t been able to talk Sierra into playing at the park in ages.”
“That’s not true,” Sierra protested. “I love the park.”
“Me too,” said Mikaela. “Have you been to the one near my house with the spinny thing?”
“No.” Sierra shook her head. “I don’t think I have.”
“Next time you come over, we’ll go.” Mikaela’s eyes lit up. “Oh, look! Cookies.”
“Stick with the cheese,” Warren cautioned. “There could be cross contaminates.”
“Which reminds me.” Mark reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the EpiPen. “This is for you.”
“Thanks,” said Warren. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“I’d love one, but I don’t have a ticket.”
“Good thing you’re friends with the bartender then.” Warren grinned and poured two glasses. He rarely drank wine himself but wanted to see what this brand tasted like. The first sip wasn’t bad, and he took another, relaxing now that the line had died down. “What type of sailboat do your folks have?” he asked.
“A Jeanneau Sun Fast 3200. Do you sail?”
Warren shook his head. “No, but I’ve always thought it would be a fun pastime to pick up.”
“It is.” Mark leaned on the counter and surveyed the crowd. “Sailing is part of what makes Harper Landing so great. The yacht club, I mean. It would be a shame if the city destroyed that part of the town’s character by building a bridge that ruined the beach.”
Warren didn’t know anyone who belonged to the yacht club. The only time he’d been inside was to squelch a fire during the rotary club’s annual chili cook-off. But Mark’s comment got him thinking. He and Dawn had been so focused on what would happen to ordinary people if the bridge project went through that they hadn’t considered the wealthier residents who might belong to the yacht club. They had a vested interest in preserving the beach too.
“Do you have connections with the Harper Landing Yacht Club?” Warren asked.
Mark nodded. “My parents’ club has privileges at Harper Landing. We’ve moored here before.” Mark stared into his wine cup. “Has Dawn reached out to the yacht club about her petition?”
“I don’t know,” Warren admitted. “I assumed they’d be for the bridge, but maybe not.”
“No, especially not if it’s part of a scheme to close off public access to the beach,” said Mark. “The girls told me all about it. I’ll email some people I know tomorrow and see if I can help.”
“Thanks. By the way, I think it’s remarkable the way you and Dawn get along so well.” It was true. Warren had been thinking about exes the whole evening, ever since he thought about Raquelle suffering from migraines. Mark and Dawn got along fine. That guy Ben and his ex-girlfriend in the halter top seemed to be good too. But he and Raquelle had virtually no relationship whatsoever.
“Mikaela said she only sees her mom once a month,” Mark said quietly. “I take it that’s the mom’s choice and not Mikaela’s?”
“Yeah. I have full custody, but I wouldn’t stop Raquelle—that’s my ex-wife—from seeing Mikaela if she wanted to. I can’t tell you how many times Raquelle has stood Mikaela up.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It is.” Warren nodded. “At this point, I sometimes don’t tell Mikaela that her mom’s coming until the last minute. That way, she doesn’t get her hopes up if Raquelle bails.”
“I don’t know what I’d do if I were in your situation. Dawn and I don’t always agree, but I know we both have Sierra’s best interests at heart.”
“That, you do.” Warren stared at the bottom of his wine cup.
How many times had he come home from a shift, back when he was still married, to discover more than one empty bottle of wine in the recycling bin? Too many. But instead of finding out what Raquelle felt and figuring out how to help, he’d just lectured her about her drinking. That was no way to treat a woman suffering from endometriosis. Warren could see that now. At forty-one years old, with some time under his belt, he could acknowledge that he had played an equal part in the destruction of his marriage. Back then, he couldn’t see it. Not when he was in the middle of a stressful situation. It had been easier to blame Raquelle for her alcoholism and infidelity.
“I wish I knew of a way to help Mikaela’s mom get her life back on track,” Warren said.
“Maybe it would help if she took a parenting class,” Mark suggested.
“Do those exist?”
“Well, yeah,” said Mark. “I see them advertised in Seattle all the time. There are classes for parenting all age groups of kids. Babies, toddlers, and even teens.”
Warren scratched his head. “I wonder if Raquelle would attend one if I offered to pay for it?”
“It would probably depend on how you communicated the offer,” said Mark. “Don’t you think?
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a difference between saying, ‘I think you’re such a crappy parent that you should take classes,’ versus ‘I know you love your daughter a lot, and middle school is a tough time. Here’s a resource that might help. I’m happy to pay for it.’”
Warren chuckled. “I can see why you’re a lawyer. You know how to talk people into things.”
Mark laughed too. “I’ve heard that quality makes me difficult to be married to.”
“That says a lot because Dawn can talk her way into anything,” said Warren. “Case in point, I’m bartending at a yarn store.”
“It could be worse,” said Mark.
“How?”
“I don’t know. You weren’t supposed to submit follow-up questioning.”
They both laughed but settled down as a petite woman with curly brown hair approached the bar. Warren picked up a clean cup, and Mark stood straight.
“Would you like a drink?” Warren asked as he reached for a bottle.
“Thanks,” said the woman. “I’d love one.” She was tastefully attired in a wraparound dress that showed off her curves. Her three-inch heels barely put her above five feet. “Are you Warren?”
“Guilty as charged.” He handed her a glass of red, since that was all they had left.
“Dawn’s told me all about you. I’m Heather Woodhouse. I own a clothing boutique, the Ferry’s Closet.”
“I recognize that shop name. Can’t say that I’ve ever been inside, though.” Warren struggled with how to introduce Mark in a way that would sound the most complimentary, especially since he noticed Heather didn’t wear a wedding ring. “This is Mark St. James,” he said, pounding Mark on the back. “He was just telling me about his sailboat.”
“Oh?” Heather raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. “How fun! I used to sail on Hood Canal in high school.”
“Why don’t you two get some food before it’s all gone?” Warren suggested. He pointed at the delicious assortment of cheese Dawn had brought and the trays of cookies Cheryl had contributed.
“I’d love that,” Heather said. She turned to Mark. “And you can tell me about your sailboat.”
“It’s not really my sailboat,” Mark admitted. “It belongs to my parents.” He glanced over his shoulder and nodded his thanks at Warren before walking away with Heather.
“That was smoothly done,” said a friendly voice. “Is there anything with a little kick?”
Warren turned around and saw Irene, Dennis’s wife. She was simply dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but her shirt looked at least two sizes too small. He could see what Dennis had meant about breastfeeding changing her figure. Then he felt guilty for noticing that fact. “Sure, we have wine.” Warren fumbled for the last bottle and held it up to the light. “I think there’s one glass left.”
“Thanks.” Irene beamed. “This is my big night out. No Molly. No Denny. No Dennis. Just me being an adult and enjoying adult conversation.” She picked up the glass of wine. “I’ll have to pump and dump later, but this will be worth it.” She gulped down the contents of the glass.
“Easy there, killer.”
Irene slapped the cup on the counter. “You’re right,” she said, wiping off her mouth. “I better switch to water.”
“Coming right up.” He uncapped a bottle of sparkling water and filled a fresh cup. “Baked any pies recently? That cherry pie Dennis brought in for Fourth of July was the bomb.”
“Thanks. Dennis bought me a cherry pitter for my birthday. It makes a huge mess, but fresh cherries taste better than the canned filling.”
“I completely agree.”
“You’re not making fun of my blueberry muffins from a box, are you?” Dawn asked, coming up beside Warren. She hooked her finger around one of his belt loops and pulled him close, eying Irene suspiciously.
Realizing that Dawn was jealous, Warren felt a thrill. “Dawn, this is Irene. Her husband is Dennis, from Station Two.”
“Oh.” Dawn flashed a warm smile. “Nice to meet you, Irene.”
“You, as well,” said Irene. “And we weren’t talking about your baking ability. I hate it when Dennis overshares. I get on him about that all the time.”
“Dennis? Overshare? Never…” Warren said with a grin.
Irene rolled her eyes.
“Well, don’t worry,” said Dawn. “I’m not going to overshare, because I’m changing the subject. What I was coming here to tell Warren applies to you too.”
“What?” Warren asked.
“Luke Holter just showed up. He’s the one you and Dennis rescued from the tree last week, right?”
“Right.” Warren nodded.
Irene shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Dennis doesn’t tell me about what he does at work because it freaks me out.”
“Don’t worry,” said Warren. “All Dennis did for Luke was hold the ladder.”
Irene nodded. “That does make me feel better.”
“Luke!” Dawn called, waving her hand. “Over here.”
“Well, look who it is,” Luke’s voice boomed. “My hero.” The older man sauntered over. He wore dark overalls with a red-and-white plaid shirt underneath.
“Hey, Luke.” Warren shook his hand heartily. “Good to see you again. Sorry we have no wine left.”
“That’s okay,” said Luke. “I don’t touch the stuff. This is quite the turnout, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” said Warren. “Luke, this is Dennis’s wife, Irene. Dennis was with Saul and me the other day when we were at your house.”
“Saving my behind from that tree, you mean.” Luke smiled at Irene. “Nice to meet you, Irene. I hear you’re no stranger to tree adventures yourself.”
Irene blinked rapidly. “Dennis told you about me getting stuck in the plum tree?”
“Uh oh,” Warren muttered.
“Oh gosh,” said Luke. “Did I say something wrong?”
Warren tried to salvage the situation. “The plum tart you baked was worth it, Irene. I swear. I don’t know how you got the crust just right, but it was so perfectly flaky, I would have sworn it was from a fancy bakery.”
Irene folded her arms in front of her chest, which appeared to be leaking, and narrowed her eyes at Warren. “My hair got caught in the branches, okay? It wasn’t like I couldn’t climb down a plum tree by myself. They’re not that tall.”
“Of course,” said Warren.
“But did Dennis mention that part? About my hair?” Irene tapped her foot on the ground.
Shoot. Warren wasn’t sure what to confess. “Um...” He stalled and thought fast. “All he said was how impressed he was that you had climbed the tree to begin with, especially since you’d recently had a baby. Dennis brags about you so much it would be annoying if it weren’t so sweet.”
Irene softened her stance. “Really?” she asked.
Warren nodded. “Really.” He was relieved when she smiled.
“Aww, that’s so cute.” Dawn kissed Warren’s cheek. “Cheryl and Liz are about to make speeches. I’m supposed to flick the lights to capture everyone’s attention. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be waiting,” said Warren. He watched as she walked away and understood Dennis’s instinct to brag about his significant other.
Not that Warren and Dawn had officially declared themselves a couple yet. But he wanted to. Warren wanted the whole world to know he thought Dawn was incredible. It wasn’t about staking a claim on her or keeping other men away. Warren wanted to make Dawn happy. He wanted her to be as deliriously happy as he’d been all day, knowing that she was near.
If things moved forward with Dawn the way Warren hoped they would, he promised himself he’d do better. This wouldn’t be like last time, with Raquelle, when he had been so focused on his own needs that he’d been oblivious to his ex-wife’s suffering. No, Warren would be more sensitive, and that included nipping his patronizing tendencies in the bud. He had a clearer picture of how difficult it was to be a firefighter’s support person. Taking care of Trent and Ash had taught him a lot, and so had bending to the will of the color-coded calendar. Raising Mikaela had educated him too.
“I like Dawn a lot,” said Irene. “I’ve seen her post on Harper Landing Moms before.”
“Oh, really?” Warren asked, forcing himself to pull his eyes away from Dawn. “I like her too,” he said.
When the lights flickered, and Warren fought to find Dawn once again in the crowd, Warren realized the truth. He didn’t just like Dawn, he was in love with her, and it was an emotion so big it electrified him.