A short time later Don comes strolling over from the back, my breakfast in hand. “Tell Lily, to stop by, I have a sundae I need her to try out.” He winks and hands my take-out container to his wife.
I pull out my wallet and pay Debbie. She looks down at the money, scoops it up and smiles.
“See you tomorrow,” she says as I’m leaving.
“Probably,” I remark.
When I duck into my shop, I place my food and coffee on my desk and stare at the boat I’m refinishing for a client out of Portland. He’s expecting it in a few weeks and I’ll be hard-pressed to finish on time.
I inhale my breakfast, then turn my attention to the boat again, sipping my coffee as I appraise what still needs doing in order for it to be perfect. My thoughts drift away from the boat in seconds.
Caterina Santora.
She’s gorgeous and sexy and I want her underneath me for an hour or two so I can make sure she’ll never forget me again.
Shit. I should be thankful she doesn’t remember me because I was a Grade A asshole to her.
My phone rings on the table, but I’ve programmed a special ring for the camp into it and since that’s not it, I ignore it, returning my thoughts back to the boat where they should be.
Where was I? I stand and walk over to my project, my hand trailing along the hardwood that still needs sanding, but my mind once again floats to Cat and I wonder how soft her skin is.
I think of the way her blonde hair swishes around when she turns her head. The way her crystal blue eyes looked down on Lily and appeared so caring. The contrary nature of her hips that are somehow slim, but still curvy.
Stop it. You’re such a pervert. She’s ten years younger than you.
My phone rings again, so, I walk through the shop and pick it up off my desk.
Dane.
I swipe the screen with my thumb. “Yeah.”
“Who pissed in your oatmeal?”
“It’s Cheerios,” I say, unenthused.
“Like I don’t know that. It’s called being original.”
“Not exactly original. You just changed the breakfast—”
“I used oatmeal because you’re like an old man.”
I plop down on the office chair. “Why’d you call?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee.
“Any of your shows on tomorrow night? Family Feud? Jeopardy? Wheel of Fortune?” I blow out a large breath and he chuckles. “I thought maybe we could have dinner later than four o’clock.”
“You have ten seconds to make your point or I’m hanging up.”
I’m half-listening to the conversation because my gaze veers to the boat again. Something’s just not right. Something’s missing. I stand, still holding the phone to my ear.
“I’m serious about the dinner thing. How about six thirty? That won’t upset your REM sleep, right?” The clanking of glasses in the background tells me he’s probably getting the bar ready to open for lunch.
“I’ll make dinner. You and Toby come over. I can call Garrett,” I say, inspecting the boat further, seeing the problem that needs immediate attention.
“How about just me, you and Nina and Polly?” he asks.
The line goes silent and we both know why.
Most people would say, “You should really start dating” or “I have this woman and I need a wingman for her friend.” But Dane’s making a point. A point he’s been hellbent on needling me with for the past month. He thinks I need female companionship.
Well, I had female companionship when I was in Seattle for business a few months ago. It was easy and uncomplicated and we parted ways the next morning without exchanging phone numbers.
“What did I get from Mommy?” Lily’s sweet voice from this morning echoes in my head. My little girl is too inquisitive to not keep asking about her mom now that it’s on her mind. She needs security in her life and as she gets older, I know she’ll need a female role model.
“So, whaddya say?”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” His voice moves up an octave like he’s an adolescent boy.
“Don’t make a big deal about it,” I grumble.
“Sweet. Let’s meet here at six thirty. I’ll take care of all the details. You just get yourself all pretty.”
“Bye, Dane.” I click the phone off and stuff it in my pocket.
“Jack!” I yell for my right-hand man.
He walks in from the side entrance to the second shop, his coveralls dirty with grease from using his hands and not a rag.
Jack handles the mechanic area of the boats. I brought him on a few years ago when I realized Lily needed more stability—a set bedtime and bath time. After Jack came Clive and Wes. Between the four of us, I can usually get home at a decent hour every night and have dinner with my favorite girl.
“What?” As usual, his snippy attitude is present.
“Check out this right here,” I point to the issue that’s bothering me. “It’s gotta be fixed before we can move on.”
He nods, bending over to get a better look. “I’ll take care of it once I finish with the Roberts boat.”
He heads back to the other shop and I sit down at my computer. I swear I was going to pull up the schematics for a boat sitting in my shop, but somehow Caterina’s Facebook page pops up on my screen.
Fuck if I know how that happened.
Five
Marcus
The next evening I’m sitting on top of the picnic table, my elbows resting on my knees, pretending to watch children wade in the shallow end of the lake. I’m definitely not staring at Lily’s camp counselor’s ass in a blue bikini that should be forbidden in front of children. Maybe it should be outlawed in front of virile, healthy males over the age of thirty like myself.
My phone rings in my pocket and surprise, surprise, it’s Dane.
“Where are you?” I ask.
Camp was over ten minutes ago, but I guess the counselors got delayed, or maybe they wanted to torture the single dads by forcing us to witness fit, wet twenty-somethings play in the water.
Vic should be assigning them generic black one-piece swimsuits.
“I’m almost there. Can you grab Toby? You’re on the emergency list.” The roar of his muffler sounds through the phone.
“You’re missing out.” I chuckle.
Toby and all his friends start splashing all the camp counselors and suddenly it’s my lucky day. I take back my earlier stance. White generic swimsuits would be much better than black.
“What’s all that girly screaming?” he asks.
“It’s swim day. And no prob. I’ll grab Toby.”
“Swim day? As in, counselors in swimsuits?”
“Maybe. Gotta go. There’s a water fight.” I chuckle, hanging up the phone.
I bet he’ll be here in five minutes and if I’m lucky he’ll miss all the action so I can razz him about it.
There are at least ten camp counselors currently standing in the water watching the children, and six of them are female. Victor doesn’t understand the epidemic he’s going to have on his hands. The longer I sit there, the more dads find their way down to the lake, thinking it’s an everyday Thursday pickup. To their surprise, it’s a teenage boy’s wet dream. And maybe that teenage boy’s dad’s, too.