Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I left Dominic’s bed pleasantly sore Sunday morning—he’d woken up early. Then he’d insisted on having breakfast together.
I hummed to myself as I drove east, the sun still low in the sky. It was foolish, I knew it was, but there was warmth in my belly and a haze of contentment in my head. Despite his moodiness, I really really liked Dominic Lockwood.
After he’d given me the key, we’d gone out to a farmers market, then visited Ophelia, and had a sushi dinner out. We’d gone to a jazz bar for a drink and live music. We’d talked a bit about our childhoods—he’d spent his summers in Nantucket and knew how to sail. Mostly, he’d sat next to me, close, and seemed lost in his own thoughts.
The Roberts were expecting me when I arrived at their lavender farm. I gave them a check, draining my checking account down to pennies.
“The linens are fresh on the bed,” Mrs. Roberts said.
“Thank you.”
“Our son will be here soon for lunch.” She smoothed down her apron. “Raising his little boy on his own. Wish he was closer.”
“You’re welcome to join us,” Mr. Roberts said.
“Oh, thank you, but I don’t want to intrude. And I have a lot of running around to do.”
They nodded, then returned to their various chores—which were endless on a farm, as I well knew. I moved my pile of work clothes out of my car and up the stairs to the attic bedroom. It quickly became clear that I’d need a garment hanger in addition to the closet space.
I went to a grocery store and used my credit card with a bit of a balance to buy food and a few toiletries. Spending money on the garment hanger made me cringe—I was getting trapped in broke territory. The credit card companies still hadn’t cleared most of the charges Gerry had put on my accounts.
It was a rare sunny day, almost warm, for November. When I returned to the lavender farm, a man was in the basketball court, holding a giggling toddler over his head. The little guy threw a ball toward the hoop, making the Roberts’ dachshund frisk and jump on the ground.
My eyes didn’t want to leave them. The brown-haired man glanced my way, and I forced myself to open my car door and step out. I schooled my face to smile and nod at him, but he was taken up with retrieving the toddler’s ball.
Staring down at the ground, I carried my bags into the house. “Hello,” I said to Mrs. Roberts, who was sliding cookies off a baking sheet. “I’ll put my food away and be off again.”
“No rush. Try one of these peanut butter cookies, dear.”
“Thanks.”
The door opened, and a little voice said, “Milk, Dada.”
I glanced up, and my heart almost melted all over the floor. The toddler, with a head of brown curls, sucked on his thumb, his cheek resting on his dad’s shoulders. The man was attractive—even with a somewhat long beard and buzz-cut thick dark hair. His muscled arms had tattoos, and his clothing hinted at a cut figure.
“Kelsey,” said Mrs. Roberts, “this is Jacob, our son.”
“Call me Jake.” He came forward and held his hand out to me.
I shook his hand, not sure why I was blushing so furiously. “Very nice to meet you both.”
The little boy pointed at his chest. “I Charlie.”
“What a good name.”
“Cookies,” Charlie said, pointing at the pile on the kitchen table.
I nodded, smiling.
Jake was still looking at me, his light green eyes a little intense when I glanced at him. “Alright, buddy,” he said. “One cookie with your milk.”
“Did this little cutie miss his morning nap today?” Mrs. Roberts held up a cookie, grinning conspiratorially at Charlie.
“Sure did. I’ll put him in his chair so he doesn’t make a mess on your floor.”
Throat tight, I put away the rest of my food then slipped out of the house. You’re not cheating on Dominic because you noticed another man . The problem was that Jake—apparently a single father—seemed like a lure conjured from my deepest desires. Tattoos…wow.
I had to leave, it was too much. Maria and I had been texting, and I went to her house to get the rest of my things from her parents’ garage. We went for a walk on my favorite urban trail, and she filled me in on her dating app progress.
“Writing a profile is so…marketing, branding—I’m tempted to do a clickbait tagline like, ten things I can do that will shock you. Or, you won’t believe the size of my…I won’t say what. Then I’ll proudly display my tiny breasts in the profile pic in a tight shirt. A subtle burn to the boob obsessed.”
I grinned. “I can’t imagine you with someone who doesn’t have a sense of humor.”
She harrumphed. “I’m too in my head about it. And I hate the lack of romance. A man saying hello to me in a bar gets my heart beating. A stranger with a selfie he took in a badly lit bathroom messaging me hi—that’s it, just H and I—gives me the icks. I’m impossible to please. It’s hopeless.”
“Don’t give up before you even try.” I took a slug from my water bottle. “That should be one of our mantras.”
“Ha. Fine, you’re right. First, though, I’m going to draft at least three more possible profiles. Then you read them. Honest feedback.”
“Of course. But I’m not a good judge—I’m too shy and serious.”
“Are you kidding? You’re a man whisperer.”
“I’m really not.”
Maybe Maria’s words gave me a shot of courage because I decided to push Dominic a little that evening. Or perhaps I was finally internalizing some of the life lessons that came out of the Gerry situation. Namely, I had to stand up for what I wanted, not wait around for someone to love me enough.
Dominic started messaging me while I was ironing my work clothes for the week.
Dominic
I need to see you midweek.
Me
I miss you too. I’ll make that happen but this week might be a little tough. How was your evening?
All right. I surprised the restaurant by dropping in. I like keeping them on their toes. It’s vegan food. I’m working you up to it.
Lol. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a completely vegan meal…
How was your day?
Busy. Moving and shopping. I met the Roberts’ toddler grandchild—that was the highlight for me.
Ah.
I couldn’t do children. I value my quiet life too much.