Chapter 15Rose
Chapter 15
Rose
“T hen he apologized!” I whisper-shouted into my phone, glancing around to make sure I was alone in my backyard. Except for the two pups, of course.
“He what?” Lauren just plain shouted back.
I winced and jerked the phone away from my ear for a moment. It was early Monday afternoon, and I was filling Lauren in on the sweet ending—or so I’d thought—to my supper with Rafe.
“He said he was sorry. He didn’t want to take advantage of me. Forget he ever did it, won’t happen again.” All these bull-shih tzu excuses delivered while we were still wrapped up in the leashes.
“Well, did you kiss him back?” Lauren demanded.
“Yes!” In fact, I’d leaned into it.
“Was it as hot as it sounds?”
“Hotter!” In fact, I’d melted into it, my first kiss in ages—years, actually.
“So what did you say to his sorry-ass apologies?”
“I said it’s too late for take-backsies. I said I’m not some shy teenager. I said it takes two to tangle…er, tango!” At least, I hoped I’d said “tango.”
Lauren snorted.
I pointed out, “Girl, I was so not going to let him get away with it. Here we’d had a wonderful afternoon together, he’d been kind about Mom, and we’d topped it off with a perfectly sweet—hot—kiss. Then, he’d had the nerve to pull back. Anyway. Something I said must’ve struck him funny, because he burst out laughing.”
She snorted again, the little traitor.
“So, of course, I got all indignant, but only for a moment. I was laughing too. And the dogs started barking and leaping around us. By the time we got the leashes untangled, I managed to extract two promises from Rafe.”
Lauren inserted a “you-go-girl” here before I could continue. I rolled my eyes but realized she couldn’t see me, so I went on.
“One, I got him to swear that he didn’t regret kissing me—or me kissing him back. Two, I got him to agree to walking the dogs together in the evening since it’s getting dark so much earlier.”
I heard another “you-go-girl,” so I had to stop and tell her, “You know—I’m usually so tired at the end of the day that Pirate gets short-changed in the walk department. This way, I can guarantee him a decent outing around the neighborhood each evening.”
Yep. That was my story, and I was sticking with it.
Lauren was my girl, so she was willing to swallow my lie, er, story. We ended our call after she shared she’d decided to drive, rather than fly, for the holidays. Her marriage was winding up for its sad finish, and she wanted to be with friends to start the new year.
I doled out treats and ear rubs to Princess and Pirate and headed down to the café to relieve Mateo.
The first thing I had to do when I got to the Chocolate Lab was break up a fight.
No, it was not what you’d think. This was not a coffee bar brawl where I had to call in the brawny bouncers, meaning Rafe and Mateo, to drag apart two over-caffeinated seniors.
Oh, no. Chloe and Zoey, long-haired mini-dachshund sibs, were at it again. Skilled at raising a racket, they yapped and lunged—on their leashes, thank dog—at the two-foot-tall Doberman skeleton in a corner of the café. As was their custom, they turned on each other to continue their high-pitched battle. No blood was shed, other than from busted eardrums.
“Ladies, ladies, leave it!” I said in my sternest dog-trainer voice—while pulling two bribes, aka biscuits, out of my hoodie pocket and waving them overhead.
I used my other hand to help their person, Miss Ada, ancient and ninety-two pounds soaking wet, pull her beloved doxies away from their bony foe. I led all three, using the dog biscuits as lures, out the side door to a seat at one of the tables on our covered deck. I promised Miss Ada I’d send one of the kids out with her coffee and favorite scone in a few minutes.
After that, I did the baton-passing thing with Mateo, where I got all the updates from the morning shift and touched bases about the upcoming catering jobs. He also graciously agreed to stay to meet with Katt about finalizing the sign-painting she was doing tomorrow on our new plate glass windows. Surprisingly, or maybe not, it didn’t take much arm-twisting.
I stepped into the kitchen prep area to peruse my Post-its on the sink’s mirror and hold my usual internal monologue—the one where I berated myself about trying to do it all on my own in my quest to grow the Chocolate Lab.
This time was different though. This time, I argued back. Maybe the fighting doxie sisters had the right idea.
Girl, you’ve got plenty of help—look at the last few weeks. You don’t need to do it all on your own. Mateo has really stepped up to manage the café. Lauren’s been using her marketing superpowers to give advice. Some of the older kids are taking over the food prep duties.
Even Rafe has been coming in early and sticking around late to cover all things coffee-roasting-wise. He’s even stayed to help close the place.
He’d kept everything very businesslike since our supper last night. Except…except a time or five today when he’d brushed close to me when we passed in the café, heat radiating from his body. Just recalling those times sent tiny puppies zooming around my stomach.
So to combat those, I grabbed a couple of businesslike Post-its off the mirror and walked down to talk to the gentleman in question.
Later that same day, a little after nine, I stood on my front porch reading the Post-it I’d plucked from my front door. It wasn’t one of mine that I’d discussed with Rafe this afternoon. No, this one was printed in Rafe’s bold hand, letters upright and in all caps. Not shouty caps—he wrote everything that way. Coffee bean orders, coffee bag labels, even his signature.
And, apparently, Post-its for me. This one read:
MEET RAFE & PRINCESS
ON DRIVEWAY AT 9:30
FOR PROMISED WALK
I smiled, unlocked the door and stepped into my front hall. Nails scrabbled on the kitchen floor, and I just had time to slap Rafe’s Post-it on the mirror by the door before Pirate ran his big ole Lab head into my stomach full force. He dropped on his side, rolled on his back and groaned his approval of my belly rubs.
Too much time later—or too little, depending on your point of view—I hurried upstairs to get ready for the walk.
First, I changed my clothes into something warmer—s ure, the nubbly emerald sweater was soft for the dogs’ head rubs. Moving to the mirror in the bathroom, I unbound my hair from its knot and shook it out around my shoulders— of course, my knitted beanie would fit better . Finally, I powdered my face and swiped mascara over my eyelashes. Okay, okay, those efforts were for my own vanity .
Not thinking of that kiss last night. No. Nope. Not at all.
Back downstairs, I grabbed my hat and Pirate’s leash from the coat-tree. I tucked my phone in one hip pocket and, at the last moment, my keys in the other. Usually I left the front door unlocked for our walks. By this time, Pirate was barking and jumping in the entry, knowing something was up with all my rushing around. After I clipped the leash on his collar, we headed out the front door…and ran smack-dab into Rafe and Princess standing on our front porch.
And by smack-dab, I meant Rafe had to grip my shoulders so I didn’t topple over. And Pi yanked my arm right around Rafe so he could greet Princess in the time-honored doggo manner. Yes, sniffing was involved.
Rafe rumbled, “Everybody, stay!”
Yes, he did, and we all did.
I queried him, “I thought you said driveway?”
He answered, “Yes, I did. I also said nine-thirty. It being nine-forty, I thought we’d see what the holdup was.”
I threw back, “Impatient much?”
“Yes, where you’re concerned,” he returned.
I had nothing to say to that and was quiet for once.
He said, “Rose? Keys.”
“What?”
“Keys. You got your keys to lock up?”
Yep, here we went again. I nodded, and Rafe put his hand out for the keys. I shook my head and reached around him to lock my front door.
He muttered “stubborn” or something similar, just as the dogs lurched forward, dragging us down the porch steps to the sidewalk. We headed left toward the park.
After making slow progress for a couple of blocks, with Princess pausing every two feet to sniff something in the parking strip and Pirate doing the same in each front yard, I decided to break the silence. Plus, I was determined not to talk about the café or the roastery or business.
So, instead, I came out with, “How long has it been since you carved a pumpkin for Halloween?”
It was Rafe’s turn to say, “What?”
“It’s a valid question,” I claimed. “We’re having our annual competition at the Chocolate Lab this Sunday afternoon, and I need to know if you developed crazy pumpkin-carving skills in the army.”
“Wait, is this for kids or adults?”
“Both, actually. Two categories with prizes—kids age eighteen and under, and kids over age eighteen. Our most senior kids serve as the judges—people like Pete, Miss Ada, Mateo’s mom, Mica’s dad.”
“Sounds like you take your contest seriously. Is there any trash-talking or pumpkin-seed-slinging involved?”
“Oh, yeah—the littlest kids can be the scariest.” I winked. “For the Chocolate Lab’s part, we spread newspapers on our tables, supply the pumpkins, and fuel the contestants—and spectators—with apple cider, coffee and bakery treats. Everyone who enters gets a prize too.”
“Any rules?”
“Yep, just two. Bring your own knife or carving tool and leave your pup at home.” As we crossed to the path leading into Dogwood Park, I added with a grin, “Just so you know, I’m pretty competitive.”
Rafe quirked his lips and shot back, “Well, no worries from this quarter. You’re right—skill training on pumpkin carving was not offered in the army. In fact, I can count the number of times I’ve even touched a pumpkin on one hand, with three or four fingers left over.”
Pirate chose that moment to grab a twig and start chomping on it. Of course, he interpreted my command to drop it! as chew faster!
While I leaned over to yank the thing out of his mouth, I said, “Didn’t you carve pumpkins as a kid, go trick-or-treating, dress up as a superhero?”
When I straightened and glanced over at Rafe, he was staring straight ahead, lips clamped together.
Shih tzu. Open mouth, insert foot. I started to say something, anything, when he commented matter-of-factly, “I was in and out of foster care from when I was little. So my history with Halloween was pretty spotty. And the families I stayed with usually weren’t the warm and fuzzy, pumpkin-carving, costume-wearing types.”
I knew better than to offer sympathy, so I kept looking ahead as we made our way around the park. Sometimes you could talk about more difficult things when you weren’t looking at each other. I learned this from countless times driving Finn to and from various activities. Our best convos were often the best because we weren’t staring into each other’s eyes.
So I clutched Pirate’s leash a little tighter and murmured a noncommittal “mm-hmm.”
There was silence for a beat. Then—thankfully—Rafe went on to say, “I do have a memory, a good memory.” He said this with emphasis, like good memories were hard to come by.
“I remember my mamma getting a pumpkin from somewhere. Not a lot of spare change in our household. I was only five or six, I think. She cut off the top around the stem and scooped out the innards. We giggled and giggled because they were so slimy and gross. She had me draw a smiley face on the pumpkin using a blue pen from her purse. She handled the knife, of course, and sliced out the eyes and nose and toothy mouth. Following my lines, more or less.
“Afterward, Mamma begged for a candle stub and matches from one of our neighbors. We lived in an old apartment building, so no place to put the pumpkin except on the fire escape outside our window. An open flame was definitely a no-no, but she took a chance. We waited until Halloween night, until it was dark. I remember staying up late, or at least late for me.
“Mamma finally put our pumpkin out on the fire escape and lit the candle. We stood by the window, hugging each other, watching until the candle burned itself out. Yeah. Good memory. One of the best.”
I looked straight ahead, my eyes filling. Vowing I wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t take his hand. I cleared my throat and asked, “Your mom, what’s her name?”
“Her name was Angelina. She died when I was seven. She was beautiful.”
At that, I reached out and squeezed his hand. I let go, and we both kept looking ahead as we walked out of the park. Under the streetlight, my tears spilled over, but I turned my head away. Rafe didn’t need to see that.
We took a different street toward home, the dogs stopping us for treats a couple times along the way. Then, when I had it together, I quietly shared, “You’ve got another chance to carve a Halloween pumpkin this Sunday. So, are you in?”
I glanced over to see him nod. Still looking ahead.
“In fact,” I continued, speaking a bit stronger now, “I’m going to pick up the pumpkins at the farm stand behind Reed College on Thursday morning. I called ahead, and they’re putting a bunch aside for me. Wanna come along and help me stuff ’em into my car? It’s like a clown-car exercise but with pumpkins instead.”
By now, we’d reached the steps to my front porch. I quickly wiped away the wet from my cheeks with the back of my free hand. Rafe finally turned to me. His whole face was rigid, his eyes dark and intense, his lips pressed into a straight line.
Oh, fido. Did I bring up bad memories? Did I get too personal? Did I hurt him? Did I make him sad? Or maybe, sadder?
He stared right into my eyes and said, “Yes, Rose.”
Yes to what? I’d forgotten the question in the midst of my concern.
His face relaxed, and one side of his mouth quirked up. “Yes, Rose. Yes, I plan to come on Sunday to show off my mad pumpkin-carving skills. And, yes, I will take you to pick up the pumpkins on Thursday. We’re going to use my pickup, since, frankly, your car is a tiny beater on its last legs. Plenty of room in the bed of my pickup for pumpkins. And that way, the dogs can come along with us.”
I didn’t argue because he was right…about everything.
We climbed up the stairs to the front door. Holding out his free hand, he said, “Keys.”
I smiled up at him and handed over my keys. He unlocked the door, pushed it open to see I’d left on some lights, and handed my keys back. He tilted my chin up with his fist and pressed a hard, closed-mouth kiss on my lips.
“Rose. So sweet. Remember to lock up. See you tomorrow at the café.” He pulled Princess down the steps, walked around to the driveway and headed to the apartment in the back.