Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
S triker…
She looked softly contemplative for the rest of her service at the nail salon. She was oddly quiet as I paid and left a hefty tip for a job well done. That thoughtful silence didn’t change when we stepped back out front of the salon.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her gently, skimming fingertips along the underside of her arm from elbow to her fingers, holding her hand loosely in my own.
“I guess I just don’t understand why I deserve it. I didn’t do anything…”
I snorted and asked, “You’re joking, right?”
She shook her head, genuinely mystified.
“You are a rarity , little miss Rarity,” I said with a smile. “How you gonna stand there and tell me you don’t deserve a little spoiling yourself when you do so much for everyone else?”
She stared up at me and didn’t say a word. We stood like that for a long moment, each of us just soaking in the silence and each other’s presence until I let her out of whatever predicament she maybe thought I had her in by saying, “Have a taste for anything in particular for lunch?”
“You’re a confusing man, Striker. Wonderful, but confusing,” she said finally, and I had to laugh at that.
“Thanks, I think,” I said.
“Oh, that absolutely was meant to be a compliment,” she responded, and she grinned.
“Well, alright then,” I said, putting on my sunglasses. “I like the sound of that.”
I got on the bike, walked it back out of the parking space, and waved her in to climb aboard. We took the ride back through the sun-soaked streets, and I took us up over the Lion’s Bridge that spanned the Intracoastal waterway that divided St. Augustine. It was the stateliest bridge around, proud and precious, and gave some of the best damn views and photo ops that wasn’t the lighthouse or the Castillo de San Marcos . The Castillo was the old Spanish fort built from coquina.
While St. Augustine was reaching its four-hundred-and-sixtieth year of existence, and the fort had pretty much always been established on the spot, it hadn’t started being built until 1672 – over one hundred years after St. Augustine was founded. It’d taken twenty-three years to complete the old building, and its weathered and crumbling coquina was something to behold at any distance.
Coquina was a local composite made from limestone and seashells – a sort of cement made by Mother Nature herself. It was a material that was somewhat special to the area, had been surprisingly resilient to cannon fire, and made a good structure for the old fort that’d been built, initially, as a deterrent to pirates and shit.
As soon as we were over the bridge, I passed by the main drag and took the narrow, one-way street up the back of the buildings comprising it. There was a small lot back here that had a few narrow slots specifically for bikes, but wouldn’t you know it? They were all full up. I slid into a spot meant for a compact car and parked, because fuck it. I’d done my due diligence. Rarity was just about to get down when I spotted a scooter about to pull out of street parking.
She got down, and I went for the scooter’s spot, which was closer to our destination anyway.
Rarity stood in the lot, her eyes as big as saucers, and I called back, “Why pay for it if you ain’t gotta?” She laughed, put her sunglasses on the top of her head, and jogged to the sidewalk. She looked both ways on the one-way street, hopped off the low curb, practically floating across the old bricks that formed the street back here, and stopped by my side.
“Thought you maybe decided to ditch me,” she said with a smile, but I didn’t laugh. I didn’t even come close to chuckling.
I just shook my head, expression grave, and said, “I would never. ”
Her face softened, and I wondered what gave her a taste of abandonment that it would even cross her mind to worry about that.
I filed it away as something to maybe explore later. Right now? I was low-key starting to get hungry , and we were here.
It was a Cajun-style seafood grill and bar that was popular in town. It sat on the corner of the A1A just before it turned into the bridge of lions over the Intracoastal waterway. I liked it, not because of the view – because it didn’t really have one, but because the food was good and it was a step up from something fast and easy but wasn’t so over-the-top fancy that I couldn’t get away with wearing my cut.
We were parked at the back of the building that housed the restaurant, just shy of the courtyard that was open dining beside it. I took Rarity’s hand and led her through the back gate set in the stucco and terracotta painted wall surrounding the patio and passed into the cool shadow of the building and greenery they had throughout the outdoor seating area.
There was a winding, cordoned-off path that threaded through the tables out here from the back gate to the front gate. The restaurant’s entrance was closer up in the third of the building, closest to the front gate – a hostess’ stand under an umbrella in the courtyard.
It was good weather, and the place was in full swing, which likely meant some kind of a wait, but truthfully, we ain’t had nothing but time.
The wait was shorter than I thought, mostly owing to us not caring where they sat us, inside or outside. We were led to a small, two-seater table in the back corner of the courtyard, tucked up underneath some greenery in the shade. Despite being outdoors, it was nice and cool, and we couldn’t have asked for a better spot.
We settled in, ordered drinks, perused the menu, and made our decision. Then, it was just her and I staring at each other once again.
She laughed, and it was a bit nervously. I just smiled and said, “How’d this suddenly get so awkward?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“So, when you aren’t bartending or babysitting, what do you do?” I asked, expecting to learn more about what she did for leisure, but not Rarity.
“Oh, I work at the craft store in Ormond Beach at the cutting table.”
“Cutting table?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She grinned. “You know, for like fabrics and sewing projects.”
“Oh, shit. Now I feel dumb.” I laughed, and she joined me.
“You sew?” I asked.
“Mm.” She nodded, lowering her glass of water back to the table. “My grandma taught me. She likes to sew all kinds of things. She makes really fun Christmas stockings and sells them at local church bazaars and sometimes at the flea market over in Daytona.”
“No shit?” I asked.
“Yeah, I started working there to hook her up with my employee discount whenever she came through.”
Shit, even finding a job, she was thinking about how to best benefit other people . Was there no end to this woman’s generosity?
“Not gonna lie, I asked that question expecting a much different answer,” I said.
“Oh yeah?” She raised an eyebrow. “What’d you expect?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something like, what you actually like to do for fun? ”
She laughed wildly at that one as our ordered drinks were set on the table. We took the time to order our food, and she gave a gusty sigh as the waitstaff left us again.
“Fun,” she said, and there was nothing fun about the tone in which she said the word. If anything, she sounded a cross between wistful and melancholy. “Can you use the word in a sentence?” she asked.
“We’re going down to the beach to have some fun,” I said, and she grinned.
“Well, that’s one thing we do on the regular,” she said. “Mom is a sun worshipper, and we take the boys to the beach all the time. It’s free, lets them burn through their loads of energy, and let me tell you – we build some awesome sandcastles. Shells for windows and everything.”
“Okay.” I nodded slowly and asked, “What else?”
She scoffed and said, “Honestly, this is the most fun I’ve had in a minute.”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She took a sip of her soda through her straw.
“Not going to lie, that’s kind of pathetic,” I said, and she scoffed and threw her napkin at me. I jumped and laughed, handing it back, but I didn’t let go right away. She tugged on the cloth, and I leaned an elbow on the table and said, “Now you can have this back, but only if you promise to be a good girl.”
Her blue eyes widened, and her lips parted in surprise as she blushed a pretty pink and murmured, “Yes, Daddy,” in a way that did things to me.
Holy fuck, that was hot, I thought to myself as I relinquished the cloth.
She spread it in her lap demurely, and I had to fight down my stirring hard-on.
I leaned back in my seat mostly to give it more room as my jeans were getting uncomfortably tight, and said, “We’re going to work on that.”
“What?” she asked with a wry twist of lips. “Me having more fun?”
“Yeah,” I said, and her smirk bloomed into a smile.
“Not going to lie,” she said. “I like the sound of that. When do we start?”
I felt my smile grow larger and said, “I thought we already had.”
“Okay.” she nodded slowly. “I concede that one.”
I grinned and said, “Good.”
I took a drink of my soda and set it down with a satisfied ‘ah!’ and said, “And so you know, I like the way you called me Daddy just then. It may just so happen to be one of my things…”
She choked on her drink, and I reached for her, patting her on the back as she coughed into her napkin until her eyes watered.
Shit , I thought to myself. Wrong thing to say!
She caught her breath, looked at me, and said, “Sorry, I’m so sorry! You caught me off guard with that one – but duly noted.”
I grinned. “So, no problem with that one?” I asked.
“I mean, I’ve never done it, and it’s never been my thing – but I’ll try anything twice,” she said, swiping at her under eye with her middle finger to try and keep her makeup from blurring and smearing too much.
“Didn’t mean to make you choke, baby. You sure you’re alright?”
She laughed. “Only thing hurt is my pride,” she promised, grinning, and she winked at me.
Well, alright then…