Chapter 17Rose
Chapter 17
Rose
I t was Sunday morning, and I was trying to sleep in. And by sleep in, I meant stay in bed until at least seven, not my customary five thirty. Even when I wasn’t opening, my internal alarm clock roused me at that time.
I’d been wide-eyed awake for a good part of the night, obsessing over everything Rafe had revealed. After he’d shared his story, I’d invaded his space before I’d even thought about it. Rafe’d gone rigid—not in the good way—and then finally hugged me back. We’d hung on to each other, not kissing, just quiet, until we’d said our goodnights .
So yeah, this morning, I’d granted myself permission to indulge in a bout of “sleeping-in.”
I flipped to my left side, snuggled under the comforter and squeezed my eyes shut. Color this picture woman snoozing.
It didn’t work.
First, I couldn’t actually fall back to sleep because I’d restarted the whole thinking-about-Rafe obsession.
Second, Pirate was huffing and grunting right in my face, poking his muzzle on mine.
Third, something was making a dog-awful metallic screech, screeech, screeeech right outside my bedroom window. The occasional fuck or shit convinced me it wasn’t a giant crow or squirrel trying to break in.
Wait a minute. My bedroom was on the second floor.
I sat bolt upright, swinging my legs to the floor and nudging the pup out of the way. Sliding over to plaster myself next to the window, I pulled back the curtain and peered out.
I squealed—not ashamed to admit it—and jumped back, letting the curtain go. Another fuuuck , except louder and longer this time. Luckily, no new sounds followed, like loony hot guy falling to his doom on my thorny rose beds . That was, until my own loonball started barking.
Rafe had been right outside my window on a ladder, stretching overhead to clean out the gutter with a long-handled scoopy thing. Good thing he had nerves of steel, or he could’ve pitched over backward at my sorta-scream.
But hang on a minute. What the fido was he doing up there in the first place?
I moved to stand in front of the window and threw open the curtains. Rafe was continuing to scrape at the gutter, dragging out leaves to fall in clumps to the ground.
Hmmm. Guess it’d been a while since I’d done that. Or Mom or Finn or who knows?
I shook myself, undid the window latch and pulled up the lower half. He paused and looked down at me. At least I didn’t say, “What are you doing?”
However, I did say something only marginally better, “Why are you cleaning my gutters?”
Did he answer me? Nope.
Instead, he said, “Nice T-shirt” and went back to work.
I looked down and realized I had on my XXL sleep T-shirt that hung down to my knees, covering my private bits.
It read Can I Pet Your Dog?
“Rafe,” I started, but he interrupted me.
“Rose, I probably should’ve checked, but I thought you were already up and over at the café. I cleaned out Pete’s gutters yesterday and asked if I could borrow his ladder for your house since yours looked stuffed full.”
He kept babbling, which was pretty rare, so I let him go for it.
“I know this probably falls in the category of asking before doing—or telling, kinda like the beach trip. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume you weren’t going to do this yourself.”
I held up my hand, palm out—the universal stop talking sign. “Rafe. Please don’t apologize. I had completely forgotten about cleaning our gutters, and a lot of other house stuff for the last couple of years. This falls in the category of being super thoughtful. Thank you.”
He rumbled something like, “Oh. Okay, then. You’re welcome,” without looking at me.
“I’m going to pull on some clothes and come help you,” I informed him. He turned his head and frowned at me. “No, no, not on the ladder. I’ll rake the leaves and put them in bags. After that, I’ll fix us some coffee and breakfast—maybe treat you to my infamous dog-head pancakes. Do you like eggs? I make a mean puffy scrambled dish.”
I was the one babbling now, and Rafe was staring at me. I turned and stumbled into Pirate who was parked right behind me. He had that big loopy grin that Labs get, and his tongue lolled out. No doubt, he was expecting Princess to join us for breakfast.
As if dogs could have expectations like humans. As if.
I turned back, slammed the window down and closed the curtains. Before I could say anything more.
Busted.
Rafe caught me in the act and paused to quirk an eyebrow my way. Of course, my face burst into flames at once. I was surprised I didn’t set my hair on fire.
See, I should’ve been helping Mateo and his mom fill the carafes with hot cider and coffee or putting out the boxes of applesauce doughnuts we got every Halloween from our favorite fruit orchard.
But was I? Nope.
I was perving on Rafe as he flexed his biceps and hoisted our big boy pumpkins from my garden wheelbarrow onto the café tables.
Worse yet, I was putting it out there for anybody with twenty-twenty to see.
Since my previous disasters, I’d kept any yearning, dreaming, hungering for love a secret from everyone except Mom.
Get a grip, girl. Was I so starved for love that I’d mistake a short-term friendship with benefits for the real thing? Would I trash my resolution never to trust a man again in favor of my promise to fight for my dream?
I ripped my gaze from Rafe and grabbed my phone to take more snaps to post. We’d spent the time since we’d closed early turning the café into the kid-friendly-not-frightening setting for our annual Howl-o-ween Pumpkin Carving Contest.
Sparkling strings of white dog-bone lights and black cat-head lights ran rampant around the walls. Glow-in-the-dark dog skeletons—at least two dozen—crowded every corner of space, from a tiny Chihuahua to a jowly bulldog to an enormous Great Dane. Even a few cat and rat skeletons tip-toed around the place—I suspected Katt’s influence there.
Old Chocolate Lab aprons waited on a side table for those who wanted to protect their clothes from pumpkin innards. Behind the counter, I’d tucked a box full of little prizes and gift cards for the winners of our contest.
And by winners, I meant every contestant—young or old—won a prize. We had umpteen categories for pumpkin originality, and our grand—in age—judges had fun deciding who got which award.
Friends and their families would start rolling in the side door soon, toting their own knives, pumpkin-pulp scoopers, fancy sculpting tools and all manner of embellishments. Jen’s twins even bedazzled their pumpkin with beads and sequins last year.
This was the first Halloween without Mom and Finn, and I missed them. Yet at the same time, I was distracted by my hunger—yes, I’d admit it—for Rafe.
Too soon , the angel on one shoulder advised me. You just met him a month ago. Seize the day , the devil on the other shoulder urged me. He’ll be gone before you know it.
The friendship zone could be fantabulous, don’t get me wrong. I was already basking in his kindnesses at home and in the café, our long talks about everything under the rain clouds on our dog walks—even our frank exchanges about our mothers.
If you added benefits, then I could give in to those cravings that consumed me. I’d start by yanking off his tight T-shirt and stroking my palms down his sides, over to his flat abs and back up his chest. I’d hook my arms around his neck, press close to all that heat, and pull his head down for a kiss. Not the semi-innocent ones we’d shared a couple of times this past week—no, nothing innocent about the wet kisses I had in mind.
And in this daydream, my T-shirt had disappeared too, along with my bra.
Just then, our Halloween mixtape cued up “Devil in Disguise.” Rafe must have felt my eyes back on him because he lifted his head and pierced me with his cobalt gaze. He didn’t smile, and neither did I—we stared at each other.
Was he the devil, or was I? And what were we hiding from each other?
I startled and wrenched my eyes away when Ana came up and slipped her arm around my waist for a hug.
“Tía Rose, Tía Rose, do you want to guess what Mateo and I are doing for my pumpkin?” she demanded. I was lucky enough to be an honorary aunt to Mateo’s little sister.
“Hmmm,” I said, tapping my chin and squinting off into the distance. “Is it a tyrannosaurus rex?”
“No,” she giggled. “Way too big!”
“How about a giraffe?” I countered.
“How would I carve the neck?” she demanded.
“An elephant is kinda round like a pumpkin,” I suggested.
“Where would I get the trunk and the ears?” she quizzed me.
“Oh, I’ve got it—a Sasquatch,” I declared.
“Too big and hairy! You’re not even warm, Tía Rose,” she chortled.
“I’m fresh out of guesses—you’ll have to surprise me!” I surrendered.
I suspected I already knew though. In the manner of chatterbox ten-year-olds everywhere, Ana had been talking of nothing but kittens for the past few months. Which was hilarious, since they already had a humongous husky named Perrito—who, in the manner of huskies everywhere, talked all the time. But I also happened to know that Liliana had asked Katt for places to adopt a kitten and for tips on all things feline.
I gave Ana a hug back and glanced up to see Rafe rolling the now-empty wheelbarrow down the hall to the roastery. At that moment, the side door burst open, and in danced Noah, followed by his sisters Emma and Meggie and their dad Liam. Other staff, friends and neighbors poured in behind them.
Pete waltzed through the door wearing a big grin and a headband of flashing pumpkins on springs. Jen came next, bringing her twin girls, as well as Miss Ada. She’d agreed, reluctantly, to leave her doxie girls at home. Katt waved as she walked in, a tote bag of art supplies slung over her shoulder. Mateo emerged from the kitchen just in time for Ana to tug him to a table.
We’d even lured Jean-Luc to the dark side with the promise of an adult beverage—mulled spiced wine— after all the carving implements were safely set aside. Halloween was not a “thing” in his native France. Gentleman that he was, he’d stopped by the vet clinic to help Mica walk her dad down to the Chocolate Lab. Mica’s mom was long gone, and she’d moved in with her dad when he’d developed memory problems.
In Halloweens past, Dr. Tanaka had always been one of our contest judges. Today, we made sure he had a comfortable chair at a special table alongside the current judges, Pete, Liliana and Miss Ada.
I saw Rafe coming back down the hall. He paused to take in the boisterous crowd. Even though I’d told him everybody showed up in high spirits for this party, I don’t think he believed me. Unless you had kids, I doubted the army celebrated this holiday in quite the same way. And the way he’d alluded to the foster families made them sound more frightening than friendly.
Rafe started to turn away and head back to the roastery. Not so fast, sweetheart.
I clapped my hands and whistled for attention—it wasn’t for nothing that I was a dog mom. Rafe paused again and looked back my way. I caught his eye and gave him a smarty smirk.
“Hey, everybody, welcome to the ninth annual Howl-o-ween Pumpkin Carving Contest! Before we get going, I want give a shout-out to a few people who made this possible. A hand, please, for our panel of judges—you all know their names! Thank you to Liliana, Mateo and Ana for getting the place ready. And a nice welcome to Rafe, a newbie to the Chocolate Lab, who not only helped set up but also graciously volunteered his pickup—and himself—to pick up the pumpkins.”
People craned their necks to see the newbie, and then applause and cheers and hoots broke out.
“Now you all know the drill—you have forty-five minutes to scoop, carve and/or decorate your pumpkin. When you’ve finished, line up your pumpkin in the meeting room and put one of the LED candles in it. Our judges will tour the table and decide on the winners in the different categories. Remember—every entrant will be a winner, and everybody will go home with a prize!
“You can enjoy treats after you’ve finished your pumpkins—hot cider, coffee, mulled wine and applesauce doughnuts await. We’ll be taking plenty of pictures, too—plus a group shot around the table afterward. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” I heard from Jean-Luc back in the corner. “Am I going to be the only guy carving a pumpkin solo or is Rafe going to get in on the action?”
Trust Jean-Luc to stir shih tzu up. But I was ready for him…and for Rafe.
“I’m glad you asked! You all know my usual pumpkin-carving partner is off at college this year.” (People ahhhed and ooohed about Finn being gone.) “So, I’m asking Rafe to team up with me so I won’t miss out.”
I stopped and motioned him toward me, before I continued, “Rafe?”
How could he deny me? He couldn’t, didn’t and moved to my side.
I smiled up at him and turned back to the group. “Now, everyone—find a table with the pumpkin of your choice.”
While people were selecting their tables, I looked at Rafe again and gestured with my head toward a nearby table I’d already set up with some supplies.
Not that I’d planned this all out in advance or anything.
He peered at the mini-pumpkins sitting next to the big pumpkin, one already fitted out with a halo and the other with devil horns, and quirked his lips. He got the picture, er, pumpkin.
“Ready, set, scoop!” I shouted.
An hour and some change later, I took pics for the Chocolate Lab’s social media. Group shots, individual shots, one of our judges with their own “face” pumpkins (carved by Katt beforehand), and even a special shot of Ana and her award for Best Scaredy Kitten.
Yes, I did get a photo of the Team-Rafe-and-Rose entry. People were a little puzzled about the theme of the pumpkin, but I just shrugged my shoulders and tried to look mysterious. Rafe was his usual stoic self, not giving anything away.
But I had to say, he’d gotten into the spirit of the thing. When I’d shown him a quick sketch I’d made of my idea, he’d winked at me and pulled out his knife. Not a dinky Swiss Army knife with all those teeny attachments—a big folding knife he kept in a sheath on his belt.
We’d divvied up the tasks—Rafe carved, I scooped, and we assembled together. After we’d carefully moved our work of art to the meeting room, we stood back and grinned at each other. Rafe grabbed one of the LEDs, turned it on and stuck it in the middle pumpkin. The middle pumpkin was one of three—the largest with carved-out, bugged-out eyes and a round mouth. On a tiny, attached sign, it shouted out, “Oh, noooooo! Who do I listen to?”
A mini pumpkin perched on one shoulder, carved with an angelic face and embellished with equally mini white wings and gold halo. Another mini pumpkin floated above the other shoulder, carved with a devilish face. Two pointy red peppers stuck straight up for horns.
I loved that Rafe got my idea and the others didn’t. Or maybe Jen and Mica did—they kept shooting me suspicious looks.
What could I say? The Elvis song “A Little Less Conversation” kept coming to mind. Especially the parts about “more action” and “satisfying.”
Anyway. Our Halloween party was winding down, and people were leaving. For many, it was a school night. For most, it was time to head home and get dinner going on this chilly October evening. The sky was already deepening to blue-black at five thirty.
For others, it would take a little longer. Jean-Luc, after a mug or two of mulled wine, was helping Mica walk her dad home. Pete had to drive back to his house—he’d stuck with hot cider.
Finally, after saying goodbye and remember to take your pumpkins and don’t forget your certificates and prizes and especially , no thanks, we’ll clean up after we take the dogs out, Rafe and I were alone in the café.