Chapter 37
THANKS FOR THE EARMUFFS
REMY
“Drop you off at your place, the arena, a sex toy shop, or some, I don’t know, glow-in-the-dark neon paint and pottery shop you’re testing for a date?”
Lake poses the question as we cruise across the Golden Gate Bridge the next day, the Pacific Ocean unfurling endlessly to the right, with choppy waves cutting through the dark water.
I give him a playful look. “Just dropping ‘sex toy shop’ in the middle of them.” Is he trying to tell me something? Like, he wants to use one on me? The zip of electricity through my body is saying, You know you want him to.
“Sex toy shops are always a good idea.” He smirks. “For dates and all.”
“Ah, so you’re just being oh so helpful and suggesting I recommend it for clients,” I say, nodding a few times like right, of course I buy that.
“Yup. I bet it’d be a big hit,” he says dryly. Then in a curious tone, he asks, “Have you ever had a client that wanted that? Like a sexier type of date? Maybe a strip club, or something like that?”
“I actually planned a sex toy shop tour for two women, and they said it was the best date night of their lives.”
“If you want to test it for yourself, you just let me know, Remy,” he says with that familiar confidence in his tone.
Is he asking me on a date of sorts? Maybe but I’m not entirely sure.
This might be like the nap lesson, or it might be an offhand remark about sex toys.
I don’t want to read into it or assume he’s suggesting something when he’s not.
“Noted. But also, if you know of a glow-in-the-dark neon paint and pottery shop and are holding out on me, you’re in big trouble. ”
“Nope but I’m sure there is one somewhere, someplace,” he says, a smile shifting his lips.
Lake’s smiled more these last couple of days than I’ve seen in the past. He looks good when he smiles. I like that maybe I’m responsible.
“No doubt,” I say, then return to his original question. “My place is fine. I have to meet Caroline at the shower venue so we can review the setup. And then I’m going to the arena for a meeting with Daniel.”
“Busy day,” he says, his smile slowly slipping away as we cruise off the bridge, the road dipping down toward the Marina.
He slows at a red light, his brow furrowed, then turns his gaze briefly to me.
He doesn’t speak right away. Just flexes his hands tighter around the wheel, then loosens them.
Clears his throat. “I had a really good time, Remy.”
Sounds like it cost him something to say that. Looks like it did too. My heart softens, and a part of me—the part of me that’s taking up a lot more space lately—wants to plan all the dates for us.
Wants to find that glow-in-the-dark paint and pottery shop.
Is chomping at the bit to plot a risqué night of sex toy shopping.
Craves planning a simple night out at a bird supply store to check out feeders and baths, then take him to a cat café. He’d like that, I bet. All of it.
But I have to rein in all those desires. Silly, pointless desires that have no place here. It’s only been a month and a half since I thought I was being proposed to. This thing with Lake is fake. It’s a rebound by design. It has an end date that’s coming right around the corner on the calendar.
I want to show you how you should be treated. Before, during, and after a relationship. I want to be the best rebound you’ve ever had.
With that reminder, I squeeze his biceps. “Me too. I had a great time,” I say, and that’s all true. Nothing fake there.
He drops me off, and I rub my knuckles against my sternum, trying to relieve the pressure. It feels a little hollow as I watch him drive away.
After I unzip my suitcase and put everything away in record time, I check the hummingbird feeder and quickly freshen up the sugar water. Like it was waiting for a drink, a tiny greenish-gray bird appears, wings flapping, beak drinking.
I sneak a picture. I’ll send it to Lake later. For now, I need to catch the next bus to Alamo Square Park.
Caroline’s doing a final walk-through of one of the Painted Ladies, which has a gorgeous backyard garden area for her non-traditional shower.
On the bus ride, I flip open my World Domination notebook and turn to the page I’ve marked for a new client—a self-proclaimed video game nerd who wants me to help plan a proposal involving games. I tap my pen against my chin, wondering if I could involve the puzzle store Lake and I go to.
I stare out the window at the hills and the homes, picturing a date. A latte, a Golden Gate Bridge puzzle, a list.
And…shoot.
I’m daydreaming about Lake. Again.
I snap out of it, but I’m already at my stop. I close the notebook and hop off the bus. There will be time to deal with it later. I trot over to the pink house, following Caroline’s orders to head to the backyard.
I rap on the wooden gate on the side of the house as my sister groans a loud and irritated: “Are you kidding me?”
The gate’s unlocked so I push open the door, and walk along the side of the house and into the yard, dotted with outdoor furniture and minimalist landscaping.
Caroline shoves a manicured hand through her lush blowout, heaving a frustrated sigh. My mother’s here, dressed impeccably in a cranberry silky blouse and designer jeans, and she’s talking to someone I don’t know—a man in a blue shirt that gives off caretaker vibes.
“There’s really nothing to be done?” my mother asks.
“It’s going to take a few days to fix this,” the man tells her, his voice calm, making it clear that this isn’t his first irritated client rodeo.
Caroline’s jaw is set tight, and she paces across the stone path. “Isn’t there any plumber that can fix this sooner?”
“We can’t get anyone out till tomorrow,” he says.
I stride over, ready to help however I can, though with the two of them at the helm, I’m not sure what I could contribute. I don’t know any plumbers who’d show up at the drop of a hat.
“What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my tone calm, trying to soothe Caroline since I can at least do that.
She whips around, her frustration transforming into the threat of tears. “A pipe burst inside,” she says, her voice wobbly. “We can’t have the shower here tomorrow since there’s no bathroom.”
That would be a big problem. “What about your place?”
“There isn’t enough room for the guests and the camera crew,” she says, and my jaw ticks at the mention of the crew.
“We need another venue,” my mother says, calmly. “Someplace that can handle twenty-five guests and catering and the cameras for Fresh Face.”
Part of me wants to punch Fresh Face in the mouth, if it had one, but I set that wish aside as Caroline and my mom toss out options. The Happy Cow isn’t big enough, Parker’s parents’ home is too far away, and Caroline’s favorite bistro with the garden is booked, because of course it’s booked.
But as they talk, I’m mentally filling in the spreadsheet for the event, adding a cell here, a row there, adding it up, then sending a text to Lake.
Crossing my fingers.
He writes back quickly with a Yes.
“I have a place,” I announce, excitement sweeping through me, and the hope that they’ll like my idea.
“The hockey arena?” Caroline asks, her voice pitching up with doubt.
“No. Better.”
I tell them, and Caroline throws her arms around me. “Your brain is fabulous.”
I do feel pretty fabulous today, for many, many reasons.
* * *
Daniel shoots me a sharp-eyed stare when I walk into his office an hour later.
“Yes?” I ask tentatively.
He taps his pen against his reclaimed oak wood desk, shaking his head. “I’m confused about something.”
That doesn’t sound good.
My neck prickles with dread. “Okay, what is it?” I ask as evenly as I can, even though my mind is racing back to Evergreen Falls, to the Chestnut Inn, to the game.
Why is my pulse shooting through the roof, as if I’ve made a terrible mistake?
“Did something happen with Total Teamwork? Were they unhappy with the warmup?”
I try to strip any worry from my voice. I am ready to slide into problem-solving mode, like I did with my sister earlier today.
“Yes, something happened. Total Teamwork reported a fifteen percent spike in donations last night.”
My brow knits. I’m baffled. “So that’s good?”
“No, Remy, it’s not good. It’s great.”
But my heart is still beating too fast. “What’s the confusion, then?”
He shoots me an even more serious stare. “The confusion is how come you’re more efficient than anyone else I’ve worked with?”
I breathe a huge sigh of relief. “You had me there for a minute.”
“Sorry, Rems. I basically wanted to know how we could replicate you,” he says with a grin, then clears his throat.
“The Neighborhood Works coffee shop day drove an increase in volunteers and other organizations signing up to offer job training. Plus, Little Friends said they cleared the rescue thanks to the hockey players’ visit. ”
“They did?” The back of my eyes sting with happy tears. “Judy and Cornelius and Bea and all the others found homes?”
“They sure did.”
“I was rooting for those little dogs so bad,” I say.
Daniel sets down his pen. “Based on these results, I’m hoping you could take point on the Hockey is for Everyone initiative. It’ll still fit within your thirty hours a week,” he says.
“So you haven’t posted a listing for my job?”
He laughs. “It’s yours till you leave me.
But Brinkley has some interest from a podcast network, so we may need to advertise for more help soon,” he says, mentioning the other part-time manager.
“Anyway, for now, we want to put together theme weeks to show that the Golden State Foxes celebrate diversity. We’ll select local business leaders for Women’s History Month, Black History Month, Disability Pride Month and so on. ”
He explains more, like events for Pride Month too, and I let go of my worries since my synapses are firing on all cylinders with excitement. I’m picturing different events, a range of partnerships, social media opportunities, and players to involve.