1. Dean #2
I don’t take the thing from her until she lets go of it. She clears her throat and pushes her hair behind her ear. “How come your girlfriend or wife isn’t shopping for kitchen supplies with you?”
Awww. She wants me. “I’m single and new in town. Why isn’t your patrol officer keeping a closer eye on you?”
She blows out a laugh and completely disregards my question. “What brings you to Kenton…sir?”
“Sir Dean.” I hold out my very appealing hand for her to shake. “Dean Rafferty. And you are?”
She shakes my hand and says, “Soleil.”
“Soleil. Like the sun.”
“Mais oui.”
“I like that.” Finally letting go of her hand, I tell her, “I’m the new assistant coach of the Comets. I just moved here from Calgary a little over a week ago.” Please, let this be the one person in Kenton who doesn’t give a shit about hockey. I need a win.
She blinks again and suddenly looks as confused as I probably did a minute ago. “Uhhhh…” She shakes her head and then says, “Oh, the Comets? That’s the, um, the junior hockey team, right? The local team? Ice hockey?”
Thank God. She hasn’t heard the news. “Yeah, yeah. The Comets are one of the top WHL teams. Some of the best players––sixteen to twenty-year-olds––from all over North America come here to develop their skills and catch the eye of NHL scouts. We don’t have to talk about it,” I say quickly.
“How about you? What do you do when you aren’t busy watching Mrs. Kozlowski’s son lick utensils? ”
“I’m an artist.”
“Oh, nice. So you do live here? In Kenton? With your boyfriend? Husband?”
“Nope. Nope. I mean, yes, I live in Kenton. Not with a boyfriend or husband.”
Here we go, Rafferty. Don’t think about scoring. Just get it to the neutral zone.
“Nice.”
“It is.” She nods. “It’s nice. So what else do you need? I can help you find it.”
“Tons of stuff.” My mind has gone blank, aside from all the things I need from her.
“So much stuff.” I grab the first box within reach.
“One of these, for sure.” It says Fluicer on the box.
Is that French? That can’t be right. “Fluicer?” I say, holding up the box.
“I hardly know ’er!” Shit. Should have quit while I was ahead.
She giggles while rolling her eyes and then snorts a little, and that makes her laugh and snort again. It’s so cute, and she isn’t self-conscious about it at all. I like that. I like it a lot.
“Hey, I have a question. What the hell is a Fluicer?”
“Oh, the Fluicer is a very sexy device,” she says as she picks up another box.
“Yeah?”
“Yes, I would never date a man who didn’t have at least one Fluicer in his kitchen. People used to say to guys who wanted to go out with me, ‘How do you expect to seduce her if you ain’t got no Fluicer?’”
“Well, lemme tell you—I’m about to get two of these bad boys. How do ya like them apples?”
“Citrus fruits.”
“Huh?”
“It’s for juicing citrus fruits. And it folds flat for easy storage. Flat juicer. Get it? Fluicer.”
“Got it. Yeah, I definitely need two of these. I like my oranges freshly squeezed. Like my women.” I really fucking wish I didn’t say that out loud.
A smile spreads across her sweet face, and knowing that I’m the one who made her smile like that? It’s what I imagine it feels like when you’re welcomed through the pearly gates of heaven. “Oh yeah? Well, I love a man who lets loose on my caboose.”
Or hell. The smoking hot gates of sexy hell. I would go there with her in a fucking heartbeat.
I think I’m in love. I always wondered what it would feel like to swallow my own tongue. Turns out it feels exactly like blood rushing to my dick while winning the lottery. “Roger that.”
Her blue eyes go so wide, and her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink. “I can’t believe I just said that. Um. To be clear, I was just being witty. I don’t do—” She leans in and lowers her voice, even though we’re the only ones in here. “I don’t do, you know…butt stuff. At least not yet.”
“Gotcha.” Still at half-mast. Just run the clock, Rafferty. You got this.
“And I’ve only been spanked by a guy one time during sex. I don’t think he had a lot of experience with that activity, but I kind of liked it.”
“Wow.” Yup. I’m in love.
She slaps her forehead. Actually slaps her forehead like a cartoon character or a little kid in a Christmas movie. “I honestly have no idea why I just said that.”
“I’m really glad you did.”
The lady in the back room starts talking louder and says, “All right, Diane, I’d better get back out front!… No, I’m taking you out for lunch next week, Diane! No, I insist!”
“Oh, it sounds like Sheryl’s wrapping up her call. I should head out.” Soleil starts backing away from me.
“Hang on, I’ll come with you.”
“No, buy your stuff. Listen, I’m going to drive over to Waterfront Park now for a walk. I’m telling you this because I’m almost positive you aren’t going to follow me there to murder me, and I really hope you don’t.”
“I can promise that I won’t ever murder you, although that is definitely what all murderers say.”
Soleil pushes the door open. “I gotta go. Come to the main parking lot off Waterfront Drive. Soon.”
“You got it. I’ll be the guy in the unmarked van with tinted windows.” I really hope she didn’t hear that because she’s out the door already.
What the fork just happened?
Fifteen minutes ago I walked in here looking for shit to make breakfast with, then I found the perfect woman and lost my heart.
One thing’s for certain: I’m staying in town tonight.
Now I have a goal and structure for my day, my week, the next six months, and possibly the rest of my life.
But I’m getting ahead of myself, and that’s the kind of dreaming that got me in trouble when I was injured.
First things first, Rafferty. You need to find her at the park. From there on it’s simple: Show up. Stay present. Execute the right play at the right time. And don’t let things get complicated.