Chapter Eight
Spike
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Mom said don’t call yourself stupid.
Mom’s not here.
No, she wasn’t.
And that hurt more than anything.
Sometimes I missed her a bit, and sometimes that absence was a gaping hole that no companionship could fill.
She constantly nagged me when I was a kid to wear sunscreen.
She was ahead of her time amongst her sun-worshipping compatriots.
And yet she’d been the one to die.
She hadn’t smoked either.
Nor drank to excess.
Was just one of those things, the doctors said.
I worried back then that my father might die, but no way.
He drank, smoked, and lived hard. Especially after Mom died. Didn’t they say the good died young? Never more true than for Mareike Marlowe.
I drank the water Bookstore Dude gave me.
Dickens.
The guy’s name was Dickens.
I owed him that much—to remember and use his name.
I owed him a whole lot more…and that rankled. A lot.
Sorting through my clothes, I selected a T-shirt and sweatpants.
Despite my earlier high temperature, I was cooling down.
Almost chilled.
As I stood in my bedroom, I contemplated just crawling into bed and staying there forever.
I would, except I’d left everything unlocked downstairs, and anyone could come in and steal the bikes.
I slid the clothes on and eyed my feet.
Fuck it.
Putting on socks was too much work.
I snagged the empty water bottle and headed into the kitchen to refill it and drink more.
I came up short.
Dickens sat on my sofa reading one of my books.
From this distance, I couldn’t tell which one, since it was a tome from my Harvard Classics series. Nice to look at, impossible to read. A rash eBay purchase one day when I’d been feeling low and missing Mom. I should’ve resold the set but never could quite bring myself to part with them.
Dickens laid the book aside and rose gracefully.
He advanced toward me, and I held my ground.
When he was directly in front of me—in my personal space—he reached up to place the back of his hand on my forehead.
I bristled.
But I also let him do it.
“Just hold still,”
he ordered.
I growled.
“Well, Dr. MacCauley said he would come here and stick a thermometer up your ass if I was worried you weren’t cooling down. Or we could go to the hospital.”
Shock was the most prominent emotion that ricocheted through me. “I’ll, uh, pass on the thermometer. There’s only one thing I want in my ass.”
I gave him a lascivious once-over.
He cocked an eyebrow, and he also removed his hand. “You seem cooler.”
Before I could respond, he grabbed the water bottle and headed to the faucet.
“I can do that.”
My protest sounded weak, even to my ears. I liked he was taking care of me. Mom died when I was nine, and I didn’t remember anyone else ever taking care of me.
“I’m quite sure you can, but you should sit down.”
“I’d rather lie down.”
“Well, that’ll work as well. On the couch or on the bed? You need rest.”
Truthfully, I felt okay. Probably better than I deserved. I still couldn’t believe I’d been that stupid. But I wanted the Kawasaki tuned perfectly before the potential buyer came to see it tomorrow. And I’d gotten to cleaning it and…time got away from me. “Look, I’m really sorry.”
He turned back, handed me the water bottle, and indicated the bedroom.
“I, uh, have to…you know…”
He snagged the bottle and pointed to the bathroom.
Phew.
I could say the word piss, of course. Except he just seemed a little too prim and proper for that, and I owed him respect. He was here, I was grateful, and I needed to do everything in my power to show that gratitude.
When I was finished in the bathroom, I wandered into the bedroom.
He sat in the chair by the window while the water bottle sat on the nightstand. He looked up from his book and inclined his head. “Please drink some more. If you’re able to keep that down and you stay lucid, I’ll call Dr. MacCauley and let him know you’re okay.”
I sat on the bed with my back against the headboard and my legs stretched out before me. “That’s very nice of you. Of him. I mean, I don’t even know him. He doesn’t know me.”
You don’t know me.
Except in the biblical sense.
“Owen’s a good man. Newer in town. I saw him for a bout of pneumonia when Dr. Raymond was out of town, and I liked him. I asked if I could see him in the future and he said sure. Dr. Raymond is always fully booked, so he had no problem with it.”
Dickens rose and moved to my side of the bed. He pressed his hand again to my forehead. A sigh escaped his lips. “Much better.”
His eyes turned to blue flint. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Really sorry.”
Contrition hurt, but I owed him this much.
“I don’t need your apology. Just a promise to never do that again. You scared Sunshine.”
He ducked his head. “And me.”
“Please tell Sunshine that I apologize as well.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity. She’s likely to drop by tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”
I smacked my forehead, then tried to rise.
A finger to my chest pushed me back down. I was weaker than I realized. “But I need to lock up. Otherwise everything’ll be gone.”
He offered a slight smile. “Uh, Sunshine locked up.”
He pulled my set of keys from his pocket and dropped them onto the nightstand. “She even put a sign in the window explaining your absence and telling potential customers to drop into The Owl’s Nest for more information. If there are people looking, she’ll encourage them to come back later. She’s a great salesperson.”
“She’s a great person.”
“That she is. I’m lucky to have her.”
“Any chance I can poach her?”
He tilted his head in question.
“I need help. The books—”
I gestured wildly toward the living room. “—are a mess.”
He scratched his nose. “I know someone who might be able to help. She used to work for my parents, but quit to have her kids. Her youngest just started kindergarten. I suspect she’d like something to occupy her time.”
Could it be that simple? “You’ll put in a good word?”
“I’ll ask Darlene personally. She’s a whiz with numbers, and we were sorry to lose her. I was considering trying to lure her back.”
He glanced around before meeting my gaze again. “But you seem to need her more.”
Ah, so he’d spotted the pile of papers on the kitchen table. I’d taken to eating in front of the television on the couch so I didn’t have to look at the disaster.
I took a long pull of water before settling. “Would you…?”
Jesus, was I really going to ask him this? “Would you read to me?”
His eyes softened. “Sure, I can do that.”
He snagged the crocheted blanket from the end of my bed and laid it over me, taking special care to cover my feet. “You’ll cool down as you rest. If you’re too hot, we can take the blanket off.”
Truth was, I was chilled. Having the blanket my grandmother made for me also brought comfort. I was raw right now. Vulnerable. This gave me a modicum of protection.
Unexpectedly, he feathered his hand through my hair, then lazily dragged his knuckles down my cheek.
I couldn’t remember ever feeling so cherished—so special. Our gazes held for another moment before he moved over to the chair.
He was about to retake his seat when I spoke.
“Join me?”
He cocked an eyebrow.
My cheeks flamed. “No, not for that.”
He didn’t succeed in suppressing his grin of mischievousness. “Well, sure, I can join you.”
He sat on the bed.
At some point, he’d removed his shoes.
I like that he’d made himself at home. Somehow that made this strange afternoon more normal.
He picked up the book and squinted.
“You need reading glasses?”
I was treated to an eye roll.
“My vision is terrible. I have progressives, but sometimes I have to get the angle right.”
He adjusted and, after a moment, settled into a more relaxed stance. He held up the book. “I hope you don’t mind poetry. I can grab one of the others—”
I placed a restraining hand on his arm. “This is perfect.”
Our gazes held yet again and, after a moment, he nodded. He cleared his throat and began to read.
John Keats.
Mom’s favorite.
My first memories were of her reading to me.
Simple picture books at first.
Then on to chapter books.
Eventually she moved to poetry and novels.
Yes, I’d only been a child, but she instinctively understood I craved words. Words I could only learn by her saying them to me.
As Dickens’s gentle voice washed over me, I let the memories of her wash over me.
I spent so much time pushing her from my consciousness, but just this once I let her be center stage.
My longing was acute.
Like I’d lost her yesterday and not seventeen long years ago.
I’d had much more time without her than with her, yet she always played a critical part in my life.
I liked to believe she’d have supported me coming out. She would’ve cheered when I got my motorcycle-repair license. She would’ve been the first in line to see me opening this store.
A tear slipped out and tracked down my cheek.
I didn’t move to wipe it away, lest I draw attention to myself.
I wanted him to keep reading.
Forever.
Soon his words became harder to understand, and soon after that, I was pulled under.
When I awoke, I found myself alone.
Like always.
The book lay on the bed next to me, and I idly picked it up. In the diffuse light of the late afternoon sun through my blinds, I struggled to make sense of the words. I wanted Dickens back. Regret slammed into me that he’d been reading and I missed much of it. Or maybe he stopped as soon as I fell asleep. I checked the bedside clock. Almost six o’clock. I’d been down for the better part of the afternoon. I’d never sleep tonight.
My bladder made itself known, and I slipped into the bathroom. After pissing, I washed my hands and inspected myself in the mirror. I didn’t shave, but I kept my beard short. I scratched my cheeks. Time for a trim.
This weekend.
God, we weren’t even halfway through the week. Initially I planned to be open seven days a week, but that was crazy. I might not have a social life, but I needed downtime. Weekends were busy in Mission City, so I figured I’d close Mondays. If I was able to hire this Darlene woman, she could work that day, and if I was needed, she could call me if an emergency repair came in.
I ran my hand through my overlong hair, pulled it into a thong, and headed into the living room.
And, for the second time today, came up short.
Dickens was unpacking the most-heavenly smelling food and sorting it onto plates. Something alerted him to my presence, and he looked up. “Oh, good. I didn’t want to wake you, but I would have. You’ll never sleep tonight. I got Chinese from the place across the way.”
I’d eyed the restaurant several times but figured buying for one was a waste. But sharing for two? Much more logical.
“I should pay.”
Only fair, given he’d forgone a day of work to take care of my sorry ass.
“You can get it the next time.”
Said so casually. As if assuming there’d be another time. That we’d repeat the ritual of eating together on a regular basis.
Did I want that?
Hell, fucking, yes.
“Sure.”
I stood awkwardly with my hands resting against the back of a kitchen chair. The table had been cleared, and a nice stack of organized papers sat on the desk.
Dickens followed my gaze. “I might’ve done some preliminary sorting. And Darlene will be here for an interview in the morning. She can start a couple of days a week until your business picks up, and then she’ll be happy for the work.”
A dark expression passed over his normally sunny face. “She’s going through a rough patch. Now, don’t tell her I said that, and please don’t hire her out of pity. She’s a hard worker, and you’ll get your money’s worth. She’ll have you whipped into shape in no time.”
I believed him.
He placed two plates, heaped high with food, on the table. “I checked your kitchen, and although there wasn’t much, I also figured you didn’t have any problems eating meat or anything like that. Allergies?”
“What…uh, no.”
He’d gone through my kitchen? Had worried about my food preferences? Who was this guy, and what had he done with angry Bookstore Dude? I sat and eyed the plate. “I think you even picked my favorites.”
I inhaled deeply. “Yep, I think you’ve pretty much nailed me.”
“Well, not in the past day or so…”
He let his words hang as he settled in the seat next to me. He gave me a wicked wink and then dug into a mouthful of sweet and sour pork.
“Are you saying I might get a repeat?”
I perked up.
“Let’s see how you’re doing later. You went through a big ordeal today, and your body’s still recovering.”
“No.”
I shook my head. “My body’s doing just fine. Better than fine. All ready to go.”
He deliberately eased away and leaned over to scrutinize my growing erection. He snickered as he sat back. “Horny much?”
“Around you? Pretty much all the time.”
His jaw slackened.
Too blunt? “Look, I’m not someone who goes around thinking about sex all the time. Like, I’ve been so busy the last little while—”
“How long?”
“How long?”
“Since you’ve had sex?”
He scratched his nose. “With someone other than me.”
Damn. Stole my pithy response. I squinted my left eye. “I plead the fifth?”
He snickered. “You’re not an American, and I doubt your answer will self-incriminate. Unless you did something nefarious.”
It took a moment for me to realize he was serious. “No, nothing. I’m pretty boring. Well, I like it rough and I like to receive, but other than that, pretty boring. You?”
I doubted Mr. Uptight’d done anything nefarious but better I find out his predilections now.
“Boring. But I suspect you knew that. The occasional tryst, but nothing for a while. And no one serious since university.”
And I could spot a story, but I didn’t want to pry.
“Why did Keats make you cry?”
His question was so out of left field that I gaped. Talk about personal. And yet, in that moment, being honest felt right.
“I have dyslexia. A severe case. I can hardly read.”
His expression turned compassionate.
I didn’t want his sympathy, and wished I could take the words back.
“Darlene will get your paperwork organized.”
He looked around. “You’ve done okay for yourself.”
“My old boss Gia read all the contracts and did much of the negotiating. She said I could keep asking her for help, but I want to stand on my own, you know?”
“I do know.”
He slipped his hand over my clenched fist. “I’ll be here to help. Hell, Sunshine might be flighty, but she’s got a great nose for business. You don’t have to be alone again.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Because it is.”
He squeezed my hand, let it go, then resumed eating as if he hadn’t just blown my world apart.