CHAPTER FOUR #3
It turned out our vehicles were parked side-by-side. She’d pulled in and I’d backed in, so even our driver’s side doors were next to each other.
It’d been a long time since I’d been drawn to a woman at all.
For years my focus had been Mabel, my career, and cultivating a safe and secure life for us.
I didn’t have time for relationships. Also, women my age weren’t overly inclined to get tangled up with a single dad of a teenage daughter.
I didn’t blame them, but I also didn’t have time to manage their feelings or reservations.
Mabel and I were a package deal, and that would never change.
“Where abouts are you living?” Naomi asked. “I know rentals and even real estate purchases in general are really hard to come by on the island.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it was actually pretty tough to find a place. Luckily, I had a bit of an in. It’s how I heard about the job position too. Do you know Spencer Paxton?”
Her eyes lit up. “Totally. He and his single dad buddies run Hardwood Distillery. His son, Carter, is a year older than Austin and his daughter, Cleo, is a year younger than Honor.”
“Well, Spencer and my foster brother, Kai, are good buddies from college, and Spencer was the one who told me about the principal job. He also managed to find me a great rental. It’s a small two-bedroom farmhouse, but there’s a trail down to the ocean through the trees, lots of privacy, and it’s tucked behind a bigger house.
Maybe you know it? It’s owned by Rolph Mazurenko.
He has all the chickens and the little egg stand at the top of his long driveway. ”
She snapped her fingers. “I know exactly where that is. We buy our eggs from Maz. I didn’t know there was a house tucked behind his though. Is he your landlord?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve met Maz and his wife. But they’re not who I pay. I think it’s owned by somebody on the mainland.”
“That happens a lot. It’s really tough to get property on the island.
It has to be passed down through families.
And only if nobody in the family wants it, can it then be sold.
And even then, it has to be sold privately.
No real estate agents are allowed to do business on San Camanez.
However, since the island is such a coveted place to live, and real estate prices just keep going up, a lot of people who don’t want to move here will just keep the property but rent it out.
” She scratched her chin like she had a beard. “I’m curious whose house it is though.”
“It’s done through a property management company. But I’ll see if I can figure it out and I’ll let you know.”
Her hands came up in protest. “Oh, I’m not being nosy. And I definitely won’t go gossiping about it. I’m just curious. Not the end of the world though. Lots of property owners on the island do it.”
The way she insisted that she didn’t actually care was cute.
It had taken me less than a week to learn that the island was a breeding ground for gossip and misinformation.
I’d already been stopped more than once by total strangers and asked if I was the new teacher who used to play in the NBA.
Or if I was the new principal who was also offering homeschooling for kids whose parents preferred a less conventional approach to education.
Oh, how the game of telephone was still alive and well, even in adults. Too bad the reception and connection were poor.
The parking lot had cleared out, and yet we both continued to stand there, squinting from the sun, but smiling.
“So, uh … what does a typical Saturday look like here on the island?” I asked.
“Ah, well, it depends who you are, what you do, and how old your kids are. For us, now is when things get crazy. And they will continue to be crazy until mid-October.”
“I take it you do something in the tourism industry?”
“My cousins and I own and run Westhaven Winery. We open our tasting room on Memorial Day weekend. Add in hiring summer staff to help in the vineyard and tasting room, and things get pretty hairy. Once the kids get out of school, we’re open seven days a week from ten in the morning until eight at night.
Until then, it’s just weekends, but we sell a lot of our wine to liquor stores and restaurants on the mainland, and seasonal places are placing their orders, which we need staff to help fill. ”
“Wow. Sounds chaotic.”
“It’s good though. I like to be busy. I like to see our parking lot full and hear that bell over the tasting room door chime. It means money.”
“So today you’re heading home to … pick grapes?” I was mostly joking, but honestly, I had no idea what running a vineyard entailed.
Her laugh was a delightful, sing-song tinkle on the breeze that made me smile. “Not quite. Since we close the tasting room during the winter, I’m spending all my time cleaning it, organizing and all of that.”
“So that’s what you’re in charge of? The tasting room?”
“Among other things. I’m also the resident handywoman on the property. Fence posts, faucets, barrel racks, crushers, de-stemmers. Anything that breaks, I fix it.”
The fact that she was handy was such a turn-on.
I liked to think of myself as a handy guy too.
I always tried to fix or build it myself before I called the pros.
Except electrical. I didn’t touch that shit.
Mabel only had one parent, and I didn’t need to fuck around and cut the wrong wire, electrocute myself, and render her an orphan because my pride got in the way. I left that to the pros.
We stood there, leaning against our cars in awkward silence. But I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I wasn’t ready to leave her. When would I see her again? When would I get to learn more about running a vineyard, or what kind of wines they offered in their tasting room?
“Do you drink wine?” she blurted out.
That made me smile. “Uh, I mean, I’ll drink it. But I’m more of a beer or whiskey guy myself.”
She frowned, but only for a second. “I bet we could convert you.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll bring you a bottle next time I see you.”
Which would be when? When would I get to see her again? How soon?
“I’d like that,” I replied.
She reached for the door handle of her SUV. “Well, those glasses aren’t going to polish themselves. I best be getting back.”
My stomach fell, and disappointment flooded me. “Right. Time to be a responsible adult and parent again.”
“Exactly.” She opened her door. “Let me know if I need to reimburse you for any medical expenses.”
Huh?
I bunched my brows in confusion.
“In case, you know, your cheek spontaneously starts bleeding uncontrollably, or you get home and realize my yoga strength fractured your eye socket and you need seventeen stitches.”
I snorted. “I will definitely send you a bill if my fractured eye socket requires seventeen stitches.”
Climbing into her car, she flashed me a big, almost flirtatious grin. But maybe I was being overly hopeful, and it was just a friendly smile, not a flirty one. I really wasn’t very good at this kind of thing. I’d never dated, never flirted or pursued a woman before.
She started her car while I still stood outside mine like an idiot.
Thankfully, she took pity on my awkwardness and rolled down her window. “I’m sure my kid will be practicing Hacky Sack when I get home. So you should go brush up on your skills yourself, otherwise an eleven-year-old might show you up on Monday.”
“Have a good rest of your weekend, Naomi,” I said as she reversed out of the parking lot.
“You too, Lennox.” Then she gave me a wave that also could have been flirty, or just nice, and drove off, leaving me standing there, with the warm spring sun beating down on me, birds chirping in the trees, and an enormous, stupid smile on my face.