Chapter 8Rose
Chapter 8
Rose
I raised my eyebrows and queried, “Did you just call yourself a ‘dogsbody’?”
The corners of his lips quirked up, and he informed me, “Yeah.”
“Okaaay…you do know that ‘dogsbody’ means you would be kinda like…my servant, taking my orders, doing all the drudgework for the party? I was counting on my son for all that when he gets home from school tomorrow morning.”
He surprised me with the longest string of sentences I’d heard from him yet.
“I’m fine with you bossing me around. I don’t want to intrude on this family thing, but maybe you could use some extra help with all those Post-it Notes I’m sure you have?” He smirked and went on. “I could carry the heavy stuff in, move tables around, run any last-minute errands. Then I could stick around to replenish food, make coffee drinks, clean up, do whatever you need. That way, you and your son can focus on the party and all your friends. I’ll be behind the scenes.”
I stuttered, “Oh, th-th-that’s nice of you, bu-bu-but.…”
“Please, Rose. Let me help.”
How could I turn down that kind offer? I could hear Mom in the back of my mind:
Needing help is not a weakness, sweetie. Giving people a chance to help you is a sure sign of strength. Just say ‘thank you.’
So I did. “Thank you, Rafe. You are now my official dogsbody.”
“Whatcha doing, girl?” I called to Lauren, who was standing on our side deck with Jean-Luc’s Bernese mountain dog.
“I’m gettin’ me some lovin’ from this handsome boy,” she called back.
As often happens with Berners, Cab was a leaner—in his case, one-hundred-thirty-or-so pounds worth. The grand-sized dog was leaning into the petite-sized Lauren, whose normally sleek, curled-under do was all mussed up. Somehow, she stayed on her high heels by curling over him and looping her right arm around his neck.
They gazed adoringly into each other’s eyes, having a moment.
I’d left Lauren outside when I went into the café to talk with Jean-Luc about the wines for Mom’s party. He’d brought down a few sample bottles of reds and whites from Dogwood Wine Merchants for my choice.
Cab, short for “Cabernet,” had accompanied him, off leash and on his best behavior. It was the neighborhood mystery how Cab could wend his way around Jean-Luc’s crowded shop—shelves of wine lining the walls and crates of wines stacked around the floor—without knocking over the valuable inventory.
So by the time Jean-Luc and I had completed our negotiations (meaning he wanted to give me the wine for free and I wanted to pay him for it, with the final agreement that I would pay at cost, although I was sure he was fibbing about the cost), Cab and Lauren were renewing their acquaintance.
Jean-Luc followed me out the door and stopped when he saw Lauren. He looked around for a quick moment, as if expecting to see Oliver, her soon-to-be ex. They’d met once before when Oliver picked up Lauren from our girls’ wine-tasting outing last February—and had taken an instant dislike to each other.
Oliver had been his usual snooty “my family owns a vineyard” self, and Jean-Luc had been his usual superior “how can Californians possibly think they make better wine than the French?” self.
I hadn’t had a chance yet…or a reason…to let him know Lauren and Oliver were divorcing.
With no Oliver in sight, Jean-Luc smiled tightly, white teeth against his close-cut dark beard, and said, “Bonjour, cherie. I see Cab has attached himself to you. Push him away if he’s too heavy.”
Lauren straightened up and gave one final ear rub to Cab. “Oh. Hi Jean-Luc. It’s good to see…your pup again.”
“Pup? Puppy?” He raised one eyebrow, like he was trying to get Lauren’s casual English term right. Or pretending not to get it, since he spoke perfect English. “Yes, but I rescued him when he was already full-grown. Some imbécile dumped him when he got too big…and too scared of loud noises.”
“Their loss, your gain,” Lauren agreed. “What a total love bug! I don’t have Baby with me right now, so I’m getting in all the pup cuddles I can. I’ll tell her Cab says bonjour .”
Rafe stepped out the door behind Jean-Luc. “We’re going down to the shop so I can help Jean-Luc bring back those wines you decided on. After that, I’ll pick up Princess and head back to Pete’s. Looked in on them a couple of times while you were gone—hope that’s okay?”
I nodded, pleased that Rafe was pitching right in. I hadn’t expected that from somebody just passing through.
He finished with “thanks again for letting my girl hang out with your boy.”
When Lauren and I had come home from the airport earlier, Rafe’s pickup had still been parked in my driveway. We’d peeked over the fence at Pirate and his new friend before heading into the house. Lauren, being my snoopy bestie, had started quizzing me.
So while we’d settled her in my old bedroom and changed into clothes more girls’-night-out friendly, I’d filled her in about Rafe. Because it was Lauren, she’d gotten the unedited, uncut, unabridged version—as fast as I could talk.
And once she’d heard me out, she’d cut right to the chase. “Girlfriend, I can’t wait to meet your hot roaster, pup rescuer and man of few words.”
Not mine , I’d protested, to no avail.
So Lauren was prepared when I introduced them outside the café. Of course, I couldn’t trust the little traitor. She turned her back to the guys and gave me “big eyes”—the ones where you raise your brows high, widen your eyes as far as they can go, and curl your lips together in an oh-so-wide smile.
She wiped the expression from her face before turning back around. We all said our goodbyes so the guys could get on with the wine-porting and we could get on down to Fay’s.
I adored two things about Fay’s.
First, their cherry-garnished rye Manhattans hit me just right—sweet and spicy with a bitter undercurrent.
Second, for five bucks, I got ten toothpicks to blow through a straw at their ceiling—pretending I was stabbing the dog butts in my past.
Jen and Mica had already claimed a tall table in the middle of the bar. Shot glasses crammed with frilly toothpicks in a rainbow of colors were set at our places.
Thanks to our good aim, we’d had very few, if any, stabby-toothpick-related emergencies in the past. We took out our male-dominated frustrations on Fay’s ceiling with bragging rights as the only reward.
Charities were the real winners, chosen to receive all the proceeds from the frilly toothpick sales. This month, the local chapter of Guide Dogs for the Blind had secured that coveted spot. The girls and I were happy to do our bit since the pups-in-training often stopped to sit outside the Chocolate Lab and practice being “on duty” while people and their pets walked by.
We waved at Kurt behind the bar as we made our way to the table. Kurt had taken over from his grandmother Fay, who’d opened the bar in the 1930s.
After hugs were traded all around, I eyed our group and announced, “Drinking and chitchat first.”
Our chitchat time was anything but. Sure, some of our catching up was trivial and lighthearted. Lauren hadn’t visited in a while, and Jen, Mica and I had been busy with our businesses. But we also touched on the heavier stuff—family stuff—at least as much as talking in a public place allowed.
When I received no protests, although I hadn’t expected any, I queried this time, “The usual?”
After nods, I waved to Kurt, who was apparently watching for “the signal.” I held up four fingers, followed by two fingers. In turn, he gave a thumbs-up—four rye Manhattans with two cherries each were on their way.
Even though Kurt knew to make them on the rocks, it was a good thing we all lived within walking distance.
We held off on chitchat until Vera—who was almost as old as the place itself—bustled over with our drinks a few minutes later. Lauren led the toast with “to Ellie!” and the rest of us raised our glasses in response—“to Ellie” and “to Mom.”
We heard echoes of “to Ellie” around Fay’s—from Kurt, Vera and many people there. If you were from the neighborhood, you likely had known Mom and would be coming to the party tomorrow.
Mica started off with questions about Finn, no surprise there. They’d all known my son since he was born, and Mica, being a few years younger than the rest of us, had even babysat him early on. And they knew he’d adored his grandma, his one and only.
“How’s he doing?” Mica asked. “Has he settled in at school? Is he answering your texts with more than three words?”
This was a standing joke among my girls. He’d answer my long texts—to make up for the lost art of emails—with two, three, or if I were lucky, four words.
“Yeah, he’s kinda okay, I guess.” I shook my head. “He’s still worried about me. He texted again about taking a gap year—just staying home when he comes up for Mom’s party.”
Gasps broke out around the table.
Jen said it first. “He’d lose his scholarships—right?”
“Yep, along with support for room and board. We could maybe swing some more loans if he returned to school, but we’re already maxed out with the roastery expansion.” And extra for Mom’s care, although I didn’t need to say that. They knew.
Everyone was silent for a moment, remembering. Finn had worked hard to get scholarships and work-study grants to an out-of-state school known for its mechanical engineering program. Summers and after school, he’d put in time at the café and roastery—all for the same wage as the other kids on the crew.
As we were gearing up for expansion—bam!—the pandemic had hit. We’d closed the café and roasted coffee for online sales only. Then Dad had his fatal heart attack, and Mom had been diagnosed with colon cancer. By the time we’d reopened, she was in her final months, and Finn…Finn was fighting me about going to college at all.
You’ll be alone, Mom. You’ll be living in our big house all by yourself. You’ll be running the Chocolate Lab on your own. I don’t like it.
Turned out, my son was just as stubborn as me. Luckily, his grandma had been more stubborn than the two of us combined. Even in her weakened state, she’d pushed us out the door and into my packed beater for the long drive to California. And she’d made Finn promise he’d come home for her party this fall. As if there’d been any question.
Finn knew, like my girls, that we couldn’t count on any money, support or even contact from his father. I’d been careful to never set up false expectations—I hadn’t wanted my son to be hurt the way I’d been.
The man—dog butt number one in the stabby-toothpick scenario—had never acknowledged Finn’s existence. The moment I’d told him I was pregnant, he’d ghosted me.
And what was worse? I hadn’t learned my lesson. I’d let Brent get too close to me…too close to my young son, and then he’d bailed at the last moment. He’d earned the dog butt number two spot for the stabby toothpick.
So, nope. I didn’t expect anything from guys, didn’t trust they’d stick to their word. Or just plain stick.
That’s why, despite Mom’s urging, I’d put away my dream of finding a true—and true-to-me—relationship.
I clapped my hands to break the pensive mood. “Finn will get here tomorrow, and you can see for yourselves how he’s doing. He’s found a rideshare and will arrive in time to help set up for the party.”
“Guess who else is helping get ready for the party?” Lauren put to the group.
“Besides us and half of Dogwood?” Jen asked, pointing out the obvious.
Annnd before I could stop her, Lauren blurted out, “Rose’s new red-hot roaster!”
“Yes!” shrieked Mica, never one to hide her enthusiasm.
“Wait, wait,” said Jen. “Who is this guy, and why haven’t I met him?”
“Okay, ladies, everybody take it easy!” I glanced around us while making calming motions with my hands. “Rafe arrived yesterday, and he’s going to be my temporary coffee roaster while Mike’s out with his broken leg.”
“Well, he seems super nice,” Mica declared. “I met him when he carried Goldie down to the clinic, and he’s already called to schedule a time for his dog to get her annual vaccinations.”
“I met him just before we came here,” added Lauren, fanning her face. “He couldn’t take his eyes off our girl.”
I snorted. “He was shocked to see me in something other than my usual getup.”
I’d traded in my pink T-shirt and sneakers for a pink scooped-neck sweater and pink patent-leather flats.
Jen turned to me and said one word, “Spill.”
So I shared my observations regarding all things Rafe. He seemed to be a nice guy, albeit a bit grumbly and short on words. He appeared to be competent and hard-working, based on one day’s evidence. And my beloved Pete had recommended him, after all.
He was definitely a proud—and protective—papa to sweet girl Princess, who had Pirate wrapped around her dainty paw. I paused for the ahhhs from around the table.
Last but not least, he was more than easy on the eyes, what with his muscly and tattooed goodness—an understatement according to pointed looks from Lauren and Mica.
I stopped and said, “Down, girls. Down. Don’t get too excited.”
See, I knew my girls. They were already getting…ideas.
They knew my “love” life since dog butts one and two had consisted of blind dates forced on me by well-meaning people, a couple of hookups I’d rather forget, and secret shower sessions with my favorite toy.
I’d made Finn and the Chocolate Lab my priorities…and I was so not in a hurry to place my trust in a man again.
Sorry I can’t keep my promise, Mom.
“Ladies, need I remind you that Rafe is only our temporary coffee roaster, until Mike can return in a few months? In fact, Pete told me Rafe likes the rootless life. He’s been traveling from gig to gig ever since he finished training a few years back. He’s probably got his next jobs already lined up.”
“And the problem with that is…?” asked Lauren.
“Yeah, we’re talking about a no-strings-attached fling here,” Jen added.
“You can’t tell us Mister Vibrato is doing it for you!” Mica prodded. Again, I wished she’d keep her voice down.
“Ladies, enough!” I whisper-shouted. “I am not looking for somebody here today and gone tomorrow. I am not looking for a short-term fling-thing. I am not looking for a real-life Mister Vee.” I am not looking for love. “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt…actually, the kid.”
That was enough to get my girls to fall silent, at least for now. Then, as one, we picked up our Manhattans and hoisted them in another toast to Mom and her love for us—and to Finn—and to all things doggo.
After that, we finished blowing our frilly-stabby toothpicks into the ceiling, ordered another round and asked Vera for the menus. We had some serious planning to do for Mom’s party tomorrow, including the choice of which Elvis songs we wanted to claim for the karaoke part of the fun. “Hound Dog” and “Return to Sender” topped the list.