Chapter 7
Did using a meal deal for a new eatery in the little upstart village nestled between Sedona and Bendover make him a cheap son-of-a-bitch?
Jamie thought it over and decided nobody cared, so why should he?
Eying the food spread out on his corner table for one, he was eager to dig in but stopped long enough for the mandatory food selfies.
Tagging his mom, he wrote, Check out the fancy deviled eggs. They”re served on a plank, and yes, that”s caviar!
Loosening his tie, he took a sample of everything and tucked in. After a few bites, his server checked in, asking if he needed anything.
”The recipe for this amazing chicken dish,” he answered in an uncharacteristically cheery tone. ”My compliments to the chef.”
Plowing through the tasty meal, he washed it down with a robust Chardonnay from a label he wasn”t familiar with.
Tonight was all about breaking out of his stand-offish box. The self-imposed isolation he”d buried himself in had served a purpose, but it was time to move on.
Saying and doing, however, are very different things.
He”d gotten used to the early bird special at Pete”s, where he could get in and out with minimal contact. At first, it was just a way to limit random interactions. Now, though, the habit reeked of laziness.
Suiting up and making a solo reservation at a new restaurant seemed like an excellent first step to allowing some oxygen into his non-existent social life. The part where he asked for an out-of-the-way corner where he could sit with his back to the room was a separate issue.
Taking his time, he savored the presentation and the taste. Casual upscale was the new thing. In the case of this newly opened place called Moon Shadow, the ambiance was classy Southwest with California coastal overtones, and the menu was curated for an adventurous palate.
He liked everything about this place, from the valet parking to the impeccable service and delicious food.
Finishing his perfect entrée, Jamie relaxed in his seat. Swirling the Chardonnay, he watched the spiraling center, backlit by the flickering candle inside a square glass holder in the middle of his table.
This place had a romantic vibe. He could see himself bringing a woman here.
The startling thought made him stiffen. He didn”t wine and dine.
Well, he thought. Maybe I”d give it a shot with Rebecca.
What began as a shivery sensation around his ears spread to tingles at the back of his neck that shot down his spine.
Give it a shot. With Rebecca? She who loathes his presence? That Rebecca? Was he insane?
The absolute last thing he needed was the complication of a woman. Been there, done that. Relationships came with emotions and expectations, which he avoided at all costs. Separating sex from emotion was a much cleaner, more straightforward way of going about things.
Taking a mouthful of wine helped stiffen his resolve. While he waited for the dessert course, Jamie stood, placed his napkin on the table, and looked around for the restrooms.
”Back wall, make a left,” his helpful server said when he walked past with someone”s order.
When Jamie found the restrooms and rounded the corner, he half-collided with someone more interested in their phone than where they were going.
”Call you back. Adonis sighting,” a woman wearing too much perfume said into the phone before stuffing it into a purse no bigger than her hand.
Unless he intended to shove her out of the way, he had no choice but to feign friendliness until he could make a getaway.
”This is what I call a meet-cute jolt. Literally running into each other.” Her voice was as artificial as her face. She was pretty—in a way—just not his way.
Lingering for even a second would give her a reason to make a play, and since he wasn”t interested, extricating himself from the unwanted flirtation was imperative.
Responding politely, he mimicked touching the brim of his cowboy hat and said, ”Sorry, ma”am,” and watched her expression change from on-the-prowl to ”Ugh-another cowboy.”
Stepping around her, Jamie averted a potential situation and continued to the men”s lounge. After taking care of business, washing up, and straightening his tie, he regarded his reflection in the mirror above the sink. For years, it was unusual for him to wear a suit. Roaming the country as a freelance veterinarian meant his wardrobe contained the basics—jeans, boots, chambray shirt. What he wore didn”t matter; if it ever did, he”d pull on a white lab coat and be done with it.
All that changed thanks to the society wedding of Sophia Marquez to the Justice managing director, Jace Delacroix. In a nutshell, Jamie”s participation in a shit-ton of pre-wedding events was mandatory, so for the first time in, he couldn”t even remember how long, there were a couple of nice suits hanging in his closet.
”Don”t look so bad,”he murmured to his reflection. ”Although, what the hell with the eyebrows? Time to schedule an appointment with my brow technician.”
Smirking at his reflection, he adjusted his tie and drawled, ”That”s right. I”ve got a brow technician.”
He also had a favorite pedicurist, someone to pound out the tension in his back after a long day on his feet, and a hairstylist. Just because he preferred a cowboy life”s rough and ready simplicity didn”t mean he was a slob.
Making his way back to the corner table without further incident, he took his seat, and a few seconds later, the server appeared with dessert.
”Mini chocolate lava cake with raspberry sauce is an excellent choice! Our pastry chef cranks out dozens of these babies every day. Enjoy!”
The guy”s enthusiasm struck Jamie as authentic—not just a practiced line to push sales.
Three bites was all it took to make him a believer. The chef used good, dark chocolate for the little cake, and the lava inside was also velvety smooth and mind-blowingly delicious.
Chocolate and raspberries made him weak-kneed. If lured in by them, there was a better-than-good chance he”d give up top-secret information if forced to.
Using a spoon to scoop as much of the sauce as possible, he stopped before licking the dish. With a hushed chuckle, he took a selfie of the empty plate and added it to the family chat with the caption: You”ll have to take my word for it. LOL.
Forgoing the customary after-dinner coffee, he asked for the check instead. A few blocks away, there was a drive-thru coffee emporium. He liked their house blend decaf—a much better option for the end of the day than full-throttle jet fuel.
While waiting to settle the bill, he scrolled the ridiculous amount of mail clogging his inbox, deleting as he went through.
* * *
”I feel so bad,”Holly quietly wailed to Becca. ”We got all prettied up and were having a great time, and now this!”
”Hey, being a mom comes first. No worries, okay? Poor Pheebs. We all remember our first period, and anyone who says they didn”t freak out is lying.”
Smiling at her distraught friend, Becca chuckled. ” I”m not going to lie—I kind of enjoy knowing her dad needs you to rescue him.”
Holly returned the smile. ”Davis is a great father. Our marriage failed—not our commitment to parenting. He”s more than stepped up for Phoebe. And me,”she added in afterthought. ”Is it funny that his baby girl got her first period on his watch? Oh, my god,”she laughed. ”Classic! And is it even funnier that a forty-five-year-old man, a man who”s traveled the world and had all sorts of experiences, loses his shit over a trip to the drugstore? A thousand times, yes.”
”So, what now?”Becca asked.
”Well, he”s going to bring Pheebs here so I can take over. Mama will make it all right. Sorry about skipping out before dessert. I was looking forward to the cheesecake.”
”Um, what about me? You drove us here. How am I getting home?”
They stared at each other for a minute, and then Holly exclaimed, ”I got it! Davis can be your chauffeur. When he arrives, I”ll take over with Phoebe, and he can take my place for dessert.”
”Sounds like a plan.”Becca laughed and asked,”Are we sticking him with the check?”
”I think we have to, don”t you?”
Holly”s snarky answer was one of the ways she and her new friend were alike. It was good to unexpectedly find a kindred spirit when she needed one.
”Is it too late for a three hundred-dollar bottle of wine?”Becca joked.
They cracked up while Holly hurriedly gathered her things and checked her purse. ”Wallet, credit cards, gum, and house keys. We”re good.”
Gum? Hmm. Gum reminded Becca of Jamie Hunter. Shitty time to be thinking about that grumpy asshole.
”They”re almost here,”Holly told her when a text came through on her phone. ”I”ll meet them in the parking lot and tell Davis he”s your dessert date.”
Holly stood, came around the table, and hugged Becca goodbye. ”I really am sorry about this. Raincheck? Maybe we can get appointments at the Glam Grotto for a spa day.”
”Sipping mimosas in a plush robe while someone else gives me a mani-pedi and a facial? I”m here for it!”
Davis Marshall appeared ten minutes after Holly left. He looked like a man who had just escaped a firing squad.
Men and menstrual cycles were like oil and water. No matter how smart or together the man, most ran for cover at the first opportunity. They couldn”t handle it, which was saying a lot. After all, they more or less ran the world and had shown themselves capable of horrible things, but exposed to a young girl and her first encounter with period products, they were too dimwitted and cowardly for words.
”Becca,”he drawled when he reached the table. ”How bad are you cursing my name right now?”
She chuckled. Gesturing for Davis to sit, she sipped an aperitif, her first time trying a classic Negroni, and teased him because she could.
”You”re safe, Davis. No need for me to pile on for an epic father fail.”
”Ouch,”he groaned and hung his head. ”I once had to tell the Queen of England not to mumble into the microphone. The palace brought me in to produce an address she was making. I knew the protocols, but the lady was mumbling. I”m a producer—a sound guy. What was I supposed to do? I told her to speak up and was lucky they didn”t have me beheaded. But holy cow, when Pheebs came out of the bathroom, white as a sheet and on the verge of tears, I folded like a lawn chair. I couldn”t say a thing. Epic father fail? Jesus. You hit the nail straight on.”
Signaling to the server, Becca let her know it was okay to bring out dessert. She asked Davis what he wanted to drink. He kept it simple, asking for black coffee.
Her chocolate torte and Holly”s cheesecake arrived. Both were beautifully presented and Instagram-worthy.
Davis was pleasant company. It was weird that he and Holly were such close friends. The way they kidded around together and supported each other forced Becca to rethink her pitifully low opinion of the opposite sex. Was she jaded because there were so few examples of healthy co-parenting couples?
Probably.
He told good stories thanks to his years as a sound technician and award-winning producer. The guy worked with everyone from the queen he name-dropped to Snoop, Sheryl Crow, and Nirvana. His dad toured as a roadie in the legacy days, working with name bands like Led Zeppelin.
She bet Davis could keep a cocktail party conversation lively.
When he told her about the time a certain boy band hottie got caught with his pants down—by his mother, who unexpectedly showed up while he was touring— she couldn”t help herself and exploded with laughter.