The Last Wingman (Wingmen Book 6), page 1
Jonah Kingston is the last wingman standing.
June Moxee doesn’t care if he’s the last man on earth.
I haven’t exactly avoided relationships, but love has never been a priority. Solitude doesn’t bother me and being alone doesn’t mean being lonely. Until she moved to the island and I had to reconsider everything.
June seems content running her yarn shop, knitting with the local church ladies, and avoiding me. She’s a temptress in a hand-knit sweater. And for some reason, she’s not a fan of mine. It might be the tattoos. Or the beard. Or the fact that we’re polar opposites.
A woman has finally caught my attention. Too bad she thinks she hates me. Good thing I’m stubborn enough to try to change her mind.
The Last Wingman is a standalone, small town rom com in the Wingmen series. You do not have to read the previous books first to enjoy this book.
Copyright © Daisy Prescott 2019, All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by ©Heart to Cover
Interior Design: Jennifer Beach
Editing: Editing by C. Marie
Proofreading by JOs Book Addiction Proofing
First digital edition March 2019
ebook ISBN 978-1-7321330-4-4
Paperback ISBN978-1-7321330-3-7
For Whidbey,
I will always love you
We love the things we love for what they are.
Robert Frost
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Note from Daisy
Sneak Peek - One
Sneak Peek - Two
Acknowledgments
Other Books by Daisy
About Daisy
One
For years I’ve stood in a small hut, making coffee and chatting with people through their open car windows. I’ve probably had thousands of pointless conversations, words spewed back and forth to pass the time while milk frothed and espresso brewed.
Among the multitude of words, very few mattered. No one really listens to small talk with strangers. Weather, sports, politics, ferry lines. A heartbroken teenager ordering a frozen coffee through her sobs. The couple honeymooning, sex and happiness radiating off them while they sip twin cold brews. An exasperated mom, frustrated and exhausted, hoping a large mocha will give her enough sanity to make it until bedtime. The tourists and the day-trippers soaking up “island culture.” (Whatever that is …) The guys who drink their lunch at the bar and stop by for a liquid dessert of the sobering variety. My regulars with their usual orders I know by heart and start making as soon as I spot their car in line. It’s a constant stream of people, each believing in the individuality of their woes or joys, yet essentially all the same.
People ramble about things that don’t matter because we’re too awkward, too afraid to share anything of importance for fear of being judged or mocked—or worse—ignored.
Always quiet, by middle school I became a stealthy observer, a ninja of human observation. It’s amazing what a person can learn by not filling silence with unnecessary chatter.
Inside the hut, I play whatever music I want and no one messes up my crossword puzzle. Quiet and solitude have never bothered me.
Being alone doesn’t mean being lonely.
Then she moved to the island and made me reconsider everything.
Two
“We get one shot to make this work.” I spread my arms wide to encompass the entire room. Construction debris, drop cloths, paint cans, and piles of random crap litter the open space. “Everything is a disaster.”
“That’s not true. No one expects success straight away. There’s a learning curve, small failures. Bumps and dips are part of the journey.”
I scowl at my sister. “Have you been reading inspirational quotes online again? If you put up one of those posters with an uplifting message and a pretty landscape background, I’m disowning you.”
“Pfft, no. Those aren’t a thing anymore. However, I do have my eye on some cross-stitches. One or two of them are even snarky enough for you to approve of—oh, and a couple of prints with fancy calligraphy.”
“Ashley.”
“Jonah.”
We stare at each other. To a stranger, we don’t look related. Her copper hair and hazel eyes contrast with my dark coloring. She’s bright and colorful while I’m a somber monochrome.
Ashley blinks first and my big brother streak of winning every staring contest with her remains intact. “Stop with the glowering and judgment. This place is supposed to encourage youth to reach for the stars.”
“I think that’s an old Casey Kasem line.”
Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Who?”
“Exactly.”
She squints at me and uses her hands to frame my face like she’s a photographer setting up her shot.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Blocking out your hair and beard to see if you and Olaf are in fact the same curmudgeonly person.”
“Haha. Last time I checked, I’m not a sixty-year-old misanthropic bartender.”
She steps closer and touches my head above my ear. “Is that gray hair I see at your temples? Is that why you keep the sides shorter?”
Swatting her away, I sweep my hand over the buzzed hair and then run it through the longer strands on top of my head. “Stop it. If I were such a grump, why would I be opening a space for teenagers?”
“So you can yell ‘Get off my lawn!’ at them all at once instead of individually?” Her smile breaks free, followed by a laugh.
“I don’t have time to stand around while you tease me. There are a million problems I needed to deal with yesterday.”
“Okay, okay.” She holds up her palms. “How can I help? Do you have a punch list?”
Pressing the heel of my hands into my eye sockets, I groan. “My lists have their own lists.”
“What’s the biggest issue?” Ashley walks around the counter and strokes the smooth, concrete surface. “These are nice. I should put these in the new house.”
“Focus, please.” My tone is more exasperated than I intend. “Sorry. We’re opening next week and everything is already a disaster. Half of my games are on a truck stuck on the other side of the pass.”
“That should be easy enough to fix. We’ll organize a convoy of pickup trucks to go get them.”
“Except the pass keeps closing due to snow.”
“Then let’s put that one in the ‘out of your control’ column for now.” She pulls out her phone and taps on the screen. “What’s next?”
“How much time do you have?” Grumbling, I stare up at the ceiling where light fixtures should be but aren’t.
“It’s going to be fine. This isn’t your first business. Why so nervous, brother of mine?” Ashley leans against the counter and contemplates me. Her red curls are tamed in a braid today and it reminds me of when she was little.
“I want to get it right.” I kick an empty cardboard box. The lack of weight makes the action unsatisfying.
“You’ll figure it out as you go. That’s why you have a soft opening—let everyone get their sea legs before the official launch.”
“I’m crazy for thinking this can work.” I pull out my phone and make a note to call the electrician later about installing the light fixtures.
“No, you’re a dreamer and an entrepreneur. This is what you do.”
“I should’ve spent my energy opening up a dispensary instead. There’s a lot more money in cannabis than coffee.”
Mouth hanging open, she gawks at me. “I don’t even know where to begin with that statement. Are you crazy? First, this project isn’t even a money-making venture for you. I thought the idea of this place was to be a fun way to give back to the community. Second, you think Langley would ever approve a pot shop on their picture-perfect main street? For one thing, the zoning regulations make it impossible.”
“Not here, obviously. Give me some credit.”
“Phew. For a hot second, I thought you’d smoked yourself stupid.”
“You know most people don’t smoke pot anymore. It’s all about the edibles and oils.” I neither deny nor confirm that I do either. “You’re so old school.”
“I am old, period, and a mom. My cool kid card expired a long time ago. Do you see the lines around my eyes? Those weren’t there last year.” She gestures at invisible crow’s feet.
“Speaki
“Rosie’s good.” Her tone softens. “She’s hanging out with Ione this morning. Roslyn and the nanny are there too.”
“If you need a babysitter, I’m happy to help out.”
“You’re busier than either of us, but thanks. Unless you need to borrow her for some sort of wingbaby activity again, the answer is no.”
“One time and it was for a good cause.”
She snorts. “Did it get you laid?”
“No, but it helped with some groundwork on a long-term project.” Long-term might be code for pointless in this situation.
Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Are you going to tell me the details?”
“No, and stop silently interrogating everything I say. I’m offering to help you out some evening. I’m around most of the time, and my offer is meant to give you and Carter a break for a date, something not involving coffee, goats, or babies.”
She shifts her attention beyond my shoulder. “What is this life you speak of? Sounds vaguely familiar.”
“If you can’t remember, take me up on my offer.”
“I’ll check with Carter and get back to you. He’s buying more goats soon, which means he’ll be obsessing over them until they settle in with the rest of the herd.”
“See? You’ll need a break.”
“Uh huh.” Her focus drifts back to me.
“Stop with the suspicious side eyes. I’m being sincere. I want to spend more time with my niece. Quality bonding is important from a young age.”
“You can’t take her to clubs in Seattle. No concerts, and no Bumbershoot—not even with those cute noise canceling headphones for babies.” She aims her newly perfected mom stare at me.
I scoff. “Who brings a baby to a club or concert?”
“Hipsters.” She gives me a pointed look.
“I’m not a hipster.”
“Riiight.” She stretches out the word before laughing. “Look around: vintage video games, pinball machines, turntable, and vinyl records. Paperbacks and comics and those other things you love.”
“Graphic novels.”
She nods, tight-lipped. “And is that Dungeons and Dragons set up on the table in the back corner?”
“Could be.”
“Hipster,” she whispers. “But I love you anyway. I have a little time before I have to pick up Rosie. Want to take me to lunch?”
“I have too much work to do.” Staring at the empty box I kicked and the garbage needing to be removed, I resign myself to another long day of doing everyone else’s jobs along with my own.
“Did you eat breakfast?” I shake my head. “Thought so. You’re getting hangry. I’m going to let you take me to lunch.”
“I’m covered in dust and paint.” I gesture at my work jeans and dirty thermal.
“That’s what sinks are for.” She points behind me. “No more excuses.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t ma’am me. Quit dawdling.”
There’s no point in protesting when we both know I won’t win. I wash my hands in the sink of the open kitchen area. “Where do you want to go? Pizza? Braeburn’s? Useless Bay?”
She twists the end of her braid as she mulls over the options. “Let’s decide on the way.”
Outside, I pull out my keys. Brown paper still covers the windows to deter the curious and potential thieves looking to steal construction equipment. Layla, one of our baristas at Whidbey Joe’s, decorated the paper with Coming Soon in artful lettering and drawings of the exterior.
After years of sitting empty, the building and my project are the focus of local gossip. Lucky me. Other than a couple of town meetings and permit applications, we’re not disclosing the details until we’re ready to pull down the paper and open the doors.
“Did you decide what you want?” I ask, fiddling with the key in the lock.
When I step out of the alcove for the door, she’s right behind me and I bump into her.
“Stand closer, would you?” I say in annoyance, reaching for her shoulder to steady myself and make sure I don’t knock us both over.
Only it isn’t Ashley’s shoulder I’m holding. The coat is green wool, not a black down parka. Dark hair spills out from beneath a pink, knitted hat topped by a pom-pom the size of a grapefruit. My heart misses a beat and I suck in a quick breath.
June blinks at me through her glasses. Today’s frames are blue. “I’m sorry. I was trying to peek through the door when you were locking up. Busted. I should wear a bell or something so I can’t sneak up on people.”
Bell or no bell, with her brightly colored clothing and tendency toward oversharing, she’d make a terrible spy.
“Why are you sorry? I bumped into you. I should be the one apologizing.” A bit of residual sibling annoyance lingers in my voice. “Are you okay?”
“Both fine and dandy. Thank you.” She lowers herself slightly, one ankle behind the other.
Did she just … curtsey?
Based on the awkward way she’s smoothing her hands over the sides of her coat, I think she did. I find these little quirks adorable.
She’s an odd, colorful bird of a woman. Since moving here a year ago, she’s kept to herself, friendly-ish but distant at least with me. I’m sure she has friends, possibly even a boyfriend, although I’ve never seen her out with anyone.
She intrigues me.
Ashely stands off to the side, watching June and me like we’re on the center court at the US Open. From the smile on her face, she’s enjoying what she sees.
A warning flare fires. My sister is about a minute away from sniffing out my crush, the one I’ve carefully kept hidden for over a year, and once she does, she’s going to meddle, which will only make an awkward situation worse—even worse than me almost knocking June into the gutter.
“Don’t let us keep you.” I pat June’s shoulder before quickly stuffing both hands inside my jacket pockets.
She focuses on where I touched her green coat for a second and then says, “Sure.”
“We’re going to lunch. Want to join us?” Ashley prods, simultaneously friendly and cunning.
June adjusts her bag on the opposite shoulder, the one unsullied by my touch. “Thank you, but I have to get back to the shop. I’m just returning from a quick bank run, although there was no running involved.” She laughs. “More of a bank walk.”
To confirm her story, she points around the corner in the direction of the one bank in town.
“Another time?” A happy grin brightens Ashley’s face. “You and Jonah should go to lunch together soon, given you’re neighbors now. You’ll probably run into each other all the time—daily even.”
Wondering if it would be too obvious if I clamped my hand over my sister’s mouth, I nod and smile. “Yeah, cool. I’ll see you around.”
What is wrong with me? I sound like I’m going to run into her in the halls of high school, or worse, middle school. At least my voice didn’t crack when I spoke to her.
We watch June cross the street and walk a few doors down to the yarn shop, In the Loop. I should say, my focus is on June while Ashley studies my profile with a smug grin plastered on her face. Ignoring her, I tuck my arm in the crook of her elbow and turn us in the opposite direction. Not until we’re around the corner do I speak.
“Weren’t you just saying you were starving? Let’s go to the Braeburn.”
“Nice try.” She squeezes my wrist. “Tell me everything.”
“Nothing to tell.”
“Ha. I’m not that easily deterred. I saw the look you gave her.”
“There wasn’t a look.”
“You may have a stoic poker face, but even the best players have a tell. I know yours.”
