4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
B raxton
Sitting on my front porch, I’m enjoying my morning coffee and watching dolphins play in the bay when I see a neon pink golf cart decorated with large, colorful vinyl daisies barrelling down the two-lane public road in between my house and the beach. Sea Shanty Cove is a golf-cart community, so seeing a golf cart isn’t unusual, but seeing one decked out and personalized like this one isn’t something you see every day.
As soon as I see who is driving the eyesore, it makes sense. Because, of course, that’s what she would drive. A colorful, hippy-mobile that screams sunshine and happiness.
Rose is slowly worming her way into my life. Every day this week, I’ve opened my door to find some dish she has cooked waiting for me. It’s been mainly desserts, cookies, casseroles, even a lemon meringue pie for fuck’s sake. One day, it was some type of seafood stew.
They all appeared to be being edible, but were far from it. So far from it, that, after a few bites, I’ve had to throw everything away, hoping she won’t find out. I have a feeling it would hurt her feelings beyond repair.
Honestly, I don’t know how someone can mess up cookies or stew, but Rose does. Too much salt, or some unknown ingredient, always makes it beyond being able to digest. Every night, I silently walk next door and return the empty dish to her on her porch, hoping to avoid interaction and also hoping she would think I ate them.
She’s so fucking sweet. What kind of person cooks for an asshole neighbor?
Rose. That’s who.
I haven’t even talked to her since Honeybun’s swim, despite the fact she waves enthusiastically at me every damn morning saying, “Good morning!” Being the jerk I am, I pointedly ignore her, going back inside the house because I refuse to encourage any interaction with her. I’m also a New Yorker. We don’t do that shit.
And I know once I start, I won’t be able to stop.
Continuing to watch the golf cart, I see the blonde driver steer the cart to hop the curb and park on the edge of the sand. Rose and her canine companion both jump out, running for the water’s edge. Honeybun racing alongside his barefoot owner, tongue lolling out, and kicking up sand in his wake. She beats him, wading into the lapping waves, not caring she’s getting her ass-hugging, cut-off shorts wet as she laughs and calls his name.
They’re both jumping up and down in the shallow water, splashing one another without a care, and Rose’s bubbly laughter is so loud I can hear it from here. She’s oblivious to anyone, like me, who might be watching or judging her for her lack of inhibition. Rose is amazing. She’s embracing life and laughing.
Fuck , she’s just being in the moment. I envy her. She’s living her best life. No expectations, no pressure to perform, no looming deadlines, or fear of failure.
My phone vibrates with an incoming call and I see it’s my younger brother, Adrian, as I answer.
“What’s up, little man?”
He snorts out a laugh on the other end of the line. “Little man? Can we not start that again? We all know I’m bigger than you and can beat your ass.” Despite being younger than me, Adrian is, at six foot five inches, in fact, bigger than me. That’s saying something because I’m six foot two. He’s also broad shouldered and thick from years of lifting weights.
“Why the hell are you up so early?” I ask, knowing New York is two hours behind my time and I was up with the sun.
“Dude, I have a toddler. I’m awake early every day. If Conner is up, everyone is up. Such is the life of a single father.”
“Sorry, man. You need a break. I know you’re exhausted.” He has to be. Since his wife died a year after Conner’s birth, he’s been doing the job of two parents. Not like his wife, Clara, was much help. She was a socialite ice queen who married my brother just for status.
“If there is such a thing as beyond exhaustion, it’s me.” He sighs, sounding worn down. “Between keeping our overbearing parents happy, overseeing the family business, and trying to be a decent dad, it’s kicking my ass.”
“Maybe you need to take some time off? You can head down to see me and the new house. I can take my nephew to the beach. We can eat some good seafood and maybe you can meet a sweet, single Southern gal to take home.” When those words leave my mouth, I immediately think of Rose. No way would Rose be an option for him. She’s mine.
“You lucky fucker,” he says, but without anger. “You got your toes in the sand, drinking margaritas every day, while I’m here dealing with mom and dad. And no woman wants my baggage. It’s a lot to take on for any person.”
The guilt gnaws at me. My brother did his part for the family, married his social-climbing wife and got her pregnant. Now, he’s a widower, raising my nephew on his own.
I did my part as well, at one time. Good grades, excelled at sports, Ivy League college, met all family expectations, save one-marriage. I’m embarrassed to admit I ran away from New York and the pressure to marry someone with a pedigree. I didn’t want to end up like my brother.
My friend and financial advisor, Ash, recently relocated to this small, Southern town and suggested it would be the perfect place to find my writing mojo again. I didn’t hesitate. Just did it.
“How‘s the writing?” he asks, changing the subject.
“The change of scenery seems to be working,” I acknowledge. “Ideas are flowing again. There have only been a few distractions.”
I’ve definitely been distracted. Rose is all I can think about. My writing issues and deadlines are taking a backseat to my consuming desire for this woman. She’s in my every waking thoughts as well as my sleeping ones. She plays a leading role in my erotic dreams, forcing me to wake up to cold showers and stroking myself to completion like a teenage boy. While that takes the edge off, it’s no substitute for the real Rose. The Rose of my imagination would never measure up to having the real thing in my bed, letting me do unspeakable things to her curvy young body.
“Really?” my annoying brother drawls, obviously curious. “Distractions of the female variety? I really hope so, because your grumpy ass needs to get laid.”
“No more than you do,” I say defensively, knowing he is right. I sigh. “I have an annoying young neighbor and her even more annoying damn dog to deal with on a daily basis.”
“Uh, huh … so it’s young and the opposite sex.” I can practically see him grinning through the phone. “Do tell.”
“Nothing to tell. Just a pest of an animal from next door.” Deliberately, I downplay Rose. “The canine nuisance appears every morning for his morning swim. A morning swim in my pool!” I can hear him laughing at this. “Yeah, I’ve locked the gate, but the animal is some sort of fucking Houdini, magically finding his way to my yard every morning. He’s also an ass. Not even appreciative that I allow him to use the pool.” Adrian is rolling with laughter by now.
“He’s also taken to standing at my back door gazing inside with his intense puppy dog stare. This morning, I eventually caved and may have given him a piece of my bacon. He snatched it out of my hand and bolted like a rocket was on his ass, as if I was going to ask for it back. No, thank you. Slobbery bastard.”
“Holy hell, bro. I’m gonna need a video of this. Conner would love it.” Like a dog on a bone, he asks, “What about the young, female owner? Is her youth and hotness a distraction? I’m assuming she’s hot or we wouldn’t be talking about her.”
“I wasn’t talking about her,” I snap. “But yeah, she’s a problem. All bubbly and happy and shit. Hot as hell, and I’m fifteen years older than her. That’s a problem.”
“Hey, the heart wants what the heart wants. If she’s what you want, and she could make you happy, then go for it. Age is just a number, and fuck knows you need some someone in your life. A balm for your grumpy soul.”
“Thanks for the advice, old wise one. I’ll keep it in mind. You might do the same.”
“I got Conner. That’s all I need or can handle right now,” he grumbles
“Love you, brother, but I got to write. Got to pay the bills.”
“Right, as if paying your bills is ever a problem.” I can practically see him rolling his eyes over the phone. “Love you, too. Conner and I might plan a trip soon.” With that, he hangs up.
Sighing, I turn away from the happy pair on the beach and head back inside to crank out more words for the day. Usually, I do my best work early in the morning. Maybe this morning, Rose will serve as my muse.
I’ll admit she has me thinking of taking my writing in a different direction. Perhaps I need to give my main character, the same anti-hero, alpha male who has been my protagonist for all my novels, a love interest? Everyone needs to find love, right?
Ugh … just thinking this makes me question my man card. Am I a romance author now?
Hell no.
Best to stick with what’s got me this far in life and my career ... no romance plots, real or otherwise, for this reclusive author.