The Last Wingman (Wingmen Book 6), page 11
I wasn’t expecting this confession from her, but I admire her self-awareness and her bravery for not giving into social pressure.
“You know you didn’t have to explain why. It’s none of anyone’s business, but I appreciate your honesty.”
“I guess,” she says slowly. “But it makes socializing harder and less fun, especially when everyone else is toasted. Being the solo sober person in a group isn’t as amusing as you might imagine. It’s kind of like having to be the chaperone at a school dance.”
“I’ve attended plenty of concerts as the designated driver, or the only driver if I’m flying solo.”
“You do that a lot?” She scrunches up her face.
“What? Go to concerts by myself? Sure. I prefer my own company for the most part, with a few exceptions.”
“How come men are allowed to say that and women can’t?” she muses.
“Huh? Why can’t you?” I’m confused.
“One word: spinster.”
I groan with disgust. “What century is this?”
“Single men of a certain age aren’t eyed with pity the same way.”
“Says who? I can introduce you to at least half a dozen women on the island who worry I’ll die alone. Granted, most of them are my sister’s friends or have known me my whole life.” I switch to a falsetto to mimic their teasing. “Jonah, the loner bachelor who doesn’t even have a dog to keep him company.”
She digs in. “It’s different for women.”
“Most everything is.”
We’re quiet for a moment.
“Why don’t you get a dog?”
“I had a dog,” I mumble.
She tilts her head to the side, curious. “There’s a story there.”
“There is.” Talking about dead pets on a first date is right up there with mentioning exes or family drama. No way I’m going there.
“I’d like to hear it sometime,” she says, sympathy in her eyes.
“Another time. Tonight I want to hear more about you.” I sip my beer and wait for her to speak.
“Not much to tell,” she finally says. “My life is exceptionally boring. I run a shop, I knit, I play trivia once a week.”
“There’s a lot more to June Moxee than those three things.” Dipping my head, I grab her attention. “I really want to know you.”
Her breath goes shallow. “You do? Why? I’ve been awful to you since we met.”
The confession contains some truth. “Not always. You congratulated me the first time I beat you at trivia.”
“Your team won,” she corrects. “How many times? Two? Three?”
“So far,” I add. I don’t tell her my theory about Simon’s crush stacking the questions in her favor, nor do I share that I’ve been researching crafts and crafting history at the library.
“That’s all you have as evidence I haven’t been a complete jerk to you?” Worry wrinkles her forehead.
“You let me give you a ride home,” I offer.
“Okay, so I used you to avoid walking home in the rain and acted like a decent human by not being a sore loser.” She cringes. “You must be a masochist to want to spend more time with me.”
I laugh, not because she’s right, but because she’s revealed something about herself I don’t think she intended: June defensively pushes people away before they can get close.
Takes one to know one. “Nah. I’m just stubborn enough to hang around until you like me.”
“What if that never happens?”
I hold her gaze. “I think you already do, even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. What’s not to like?”
June remains quiet for a moment—not long enough for the silence to become awkward, though. “I didn’t like you when we first met.”
“I know.” I tug on my bottom lip with my teeth to keep from grinning. “Also, notice you used past tense.”
“Jury’s still out.” She lifts her eyebrows in challenge.
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, there’s something else you should know about me.”
“What?”
“Not only am I stubborn, I have the patience of a saint.”
“St. Jonah?” she asks, amused.
“My namesake did spend three days and three nights inside a whale. If that’s not an exercise in patience and faith, I don’t know what is.”
Her eyes narrow and her mouth curves into a closed smile.
“Weren’t expecting Biblical references from a guy named Jonah?”
“Not at all.”
“My grandmother on my mom’s side was religious. Tried to scare us into going to church by sharing all the fire and brimstone Bible stories she knew, including Jonah running away from God, getting dumped off of a ship, and almost drowning before the whale showed up.”
“Harsh,” she says, horrified but amused. “Your grandmother was a stone-cold badass.”
“Tell me about it. With the gray whale migration every year, she’d remind me not to ignore my calling or else.”
“She sounds terrifying.”
“She loved us and wanted the best for us, but showed it through criticism and judgment. My sister bore the worst of her disapproval.” Ashley’s story is hers to tell, so I move on before June can ask a follow-up question. “Are you close with your parents?”
The question is innocent, something typical you’d ask on a date, and yet it’s a minefield for me. I hope she doesn’t ask me the same.
“I guess, no more or less than the average family. Parents are divorced but get along pretty well. Dad is remarried and lives in Yakima. I have an older brother, but he’s in California and we don’t see him very often.” She picks at her paper cocktail napkin. “What about you?”
“Now that my sister’s living on the island again, we’re close. We even run a business together. Our mom lives near Portland and visits more to see her granddaughter. Don’t really have cousins we’re close with and my grandparents are all dead. What about you?”
“You skipped your dad.” Damn her and her attention to details. “Did he pass away, too?”
“I wish,” I mutter under my breath. Louder, I say, “He moved to Mexico after my parents separated.”
“A weekend in Mexico would be nice to break up all the rain and gray this time of year.”
“I usually take the camper down there in the winter. There’s a great area in northern Baja called Valle de Guadalupe that’s like Napa, only more bohemian and chill. It’s amazing.”
“By yourself? Or do you visit your dad?”
I’m tempted to answer with Hell no but instead give a vague response about not going to the same area. The last thing I want to talk about is my shady father. I assume he scuttled back across the border to Mexico after randomly showing up two summers ago, but it’s anyone’s guess where he is these days. Ron’s nothing but a human tornado who leaves a path of destruction in his wake.
“If you ever want to go to Mexico or Hawaii for sun and vitamin D, use Donna Kelso. She’s the best on the island.” I sound like an ad on the community channel.
“That would be amazing, but it’s out of my realm of reality. The shop doesn’t really turn a profit and the little money I make helping out at Diane’s Pilates studio only helps cover living expenses. Someday, though. A girl can dream.” Wistful, she rests her chin on her knuckles.
“I get it. Took me years before I made any money on the coffee hut or the roasting operation. The average is three to five years for a business to turn a profit and you’ve only owned the shop for a year. Give yourself time.”
She nods.
Our waitress returns to take our order: salmon for June and halibut for me.
“Why did you move to Whidbey? You told me opening a store wasn’t always your plan. Why come here?”
She pauses for a beat or two too long. “Timing, I guess. Seattle’s crazy expensive, and I couldn’t really afford to keep paying rent while selling scarves and shawls online. My bank balances were going down and my credit card debt was piling up. I was faced with the decision to go back to my old life in corporate America or move somewhere cheaper.”
Surprised by this revelation, I try to imagine June working in a cubicle. “I can’t picture you in an office job. What did you do?”
“Me neither.” She sighs. “I was a project manager. Goes to show I shouldn’t have been in charge of making a life plan at eighteen.”
“What was the plan?”
“College, degree, first job on the ladder of the American Dream, followed by marriage, house, kids, and eventually retirement, all in that order.”
“Not owning a yarn shop in a small town on an island. What happened?”
“How long do you have?” She laughs, ruefully. “Actually, it’s a super short story. I woke up a few years ago and realized I hated my life of working long days in a soul-sucking job for people I didn’t like at a company I didn’t respect. I gave notice and walked away. Everyone thought I’d lost my mind, including my parents and most of my friends. I declared myself on sabbatical for six months and taught myself to knit.”
“That’s …” I pause to find the right word.
“Insane?” she offers with a chuckle.
“Bold and brave came to mind first. When did all of this take place?”
Her forehead creases as she thinks. “Three years ago in May. A year before I moved here.”
“Why Whidbey?”
“My grandfather died and left everything to me. He didn’t have much and lived with my parents when I was little, so it was a complete surprise when we found out about the will and his life insurance policy. I knew I shouldn’t waste his gift and decided to move to the island.”
“Had you been here before?”
Focused on her silverware, she straightens her fork and then her knife on the table. “I’d visited a few summers as a kid. My grandfather loved it here.”
I could picture June’s mother as summer people, another reason she probably didn’t like me. I didn’t fit into her vision of what a resident of this quaint island should be.
“And then you found the Airstream? Lucky you.”
“More like it found me. Living there isn’t permanent. I’d love to build a little house in the woods someday. I don’t need anything fancy, but it would be nice to have a bathtub and a full-size oven again.” She peers at me through her glasses, a small curve to her lips. “Enough about me. Did you always want to run a coffee empire?”
Our food arrives. I tell her about business school and opening the Fellowship of the Bean. The fact that I have a marketing degree surprises her. We share stories about running small businesses on the island and the weirdest customer experiences we’ve had.
“I swear, the woman was completely naked, sitting in her car, waiting for her sugar-free caramel mocha.” I cringe at the memory.
June’s jaw hangs open. “Are you sure? Maybe she was just topless?”
I chuckle. “The service window is higher than car height. I had a direct view. Also, how would being just topless be better?
She giggles. “Fair point. Did she say anything about why she wasn’t wearing clothes?”
“Nope. Acted totally normal.”
“When did this happen?” June fights back laughter.
“After the first Naked Whidbey calendar came out.”
She nods, taking a bite of salmon. “That makes sense.”
“How?”
“She must’ve thought you were a nudist. Like attracts like after all.” She cocks her head at me, teasing.
I narrow my eyes at her. “You’ve seen that calendar?”
“Everyone around here has.” She rolls her eyes.
“Did you own a copy?”
A beautiful blush spreads across her cheeks. “I don’t know a woman on the island who doesn’t. Some of them have their favorite months framed.”
“Connie and Sally,” I mumble.
She laughs. “How’d you know?”
“They were running a black-market operation selling non-authorized merchandise during the worst of Erik’s infamy. The calendar was sort of their idea.”
“At least this year you got to keep your pants on.” She grins at me.
Staring at her mouth and thinking about kissing her, I brush my finger over my bottom lip.
“What? Do I have something on my face? Broccoli in my teeth?” June uses her napkin to dab at her mouth.
“You just confirmed you’ve seen my calendar picture.” This could be another reason she’s kept her distance. I’m guessing tattooed beefcake isn’t June’s type.
“I bought it to support the charities. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” She crosses her arms and lifts her chin.
“Very noble of you.” I’m unable to fight the smile spreading across my face.
“It’s a good cause. And, unlike Girl Scout cookies, calorie-free.”
Enjoying her squirming too much, I don’t say anything.
“In fact, I sell them in the shop, or did until they sold out. They were very popular with the knitting crowd this year.”
“So it would seem.” I rest my chin in my hand.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Just thinking about the fact that you’ve seen me naked.”
The blush on her cheeks deepens. “Fine, yes. For what it’s worth, I thought your picture was more artistic than the others. It was tasteful.”
“Is that code for you couldn’t see much?” My calendar photo is of me lying on my stomach on the bed in the camper, reading a book. Shot from the side, only the curve of my ass and my tattoos were visible.
“Cari did a great job. All the months are charming. Some are funny but not crass.”
I nod. “Given it was full of naked man ass, that’s high praise.”
We finish our meals and I excuse myself. On my way back to the restrooms, I hand our waitress my credit card. There’s no way I’m going to let June split the check. After hearing about her background, I don’t plan to ever let her pay, not when I have more money in the bank than I need.
Back at the table, June protests when she finds out I already paid.
“You can buy me a coffee sometime,” I offer.
“You own the coffee place,” she protests as we put on our coats.
“That’s right. How about you agree to go out with me again and we call it even?” I hold open the door for her as we exit the restaurant.
“And I’ll pay next time,” she insists when we get in the bus.
While I like that she said there will be a next time, I’m not quick to agree to her terms.
“Or you can give me cookies.”
She pouts and crosses her arms. “A few baked goods don’t equal the cost of dinner.”
“You’re hung up on this being an even-steven situation.” I start the VW and let the engine idle. “Isn’t my part of dating about taking you out and wooing you? How am I supposed to do that if I ask you for exact change on the dinner you ordered?”
“I don’t want to be beholden to anyone or in someone’s debt.” Sighing, she meets my eyes. “It’s a family trait. Moxees pay their way.”
“Do you have that on a cross-stitch?”
“No, but I should make one for my mom. She’d love it.”
We drive for a while in a comfortable silence as the headlights illuminate the narrow road through the woods. The only sound is that of the engine sputtering along.
Finally, I break the stillness. “If it makes you more comfortable, you can buy me lunch next week.”
“Thank you,” she replies softly, touching my hand on the steering wheel.
I open my mouth to ask if she wants to stop off somewhere for a drink but think better of it. It’s too late for coffee, even for me, and a game of pool at the Dog House doesn’t sound like something she’d be interested in either.
“Home?” I ask instead.
“Sure. I have an early morning tomorrow.”
A vague sense of disappointment settles over me as I pull into her drive. I’m not ready for the evening to end.
I shift into neutral and take my foot off the brake, but don’t kill the engine. “I had fun tonight.”
“Me too,” she whispers. “A really nice time.”
June leans across the gap between the front seats and kisses me, brushing her lips against mine with the softest pressure.
Then she’s gone.
Sixteen
If I’d had more warning, I would’ve prepared myself, and I wouldn’t be sitting here in the aftermath like a fish in a bucket, mouth agape, trying to catch my breath and figure out how I got here. A minute ago, I knew where I stood with June.
We weren’t people who kissed each other goodbye on the lips and then left without another word.
Light from inside the Airstream brightens the darkness surrounding the camper.
June kissed me before I could kiss her. That wasn’t in my plan.
I’m out of the VW and striding across the mossy driveway. What am I doing? I’m not impulsive and irrational. Normally, I weigh multiple possibilities before acting. I’m a big fan of having at least two options when making a decision.
All that is out the window now.
Crowding the top of the narrow metal steps, I rap my knuckles on the siding. When she doesn’t respond right away, I swing the door open. June stands in the threshold, her hand reaching for a handle that is now too far away to grasp.
“You kissed me,” I tell her, in case she’s forgotten in the minute that’s passed since she did so and ran.
For a beat or two, she says nothing. My rapid pulse and the sound of my heartbeat swooshing in my ears stretches and distorts time.
“Are you going to deny it? Pretend it didn’t happen?” My tone is bewildered.
Her beautiful lips—the ones that briefly touched mine—part and she inhales sharply. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
She frowns, her eyes wild and her cheeks flushed with shock, or maybe arousal. Maybe both. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
