The Last Wingman (Wingmen Book 6), page 21
A few people clap and there are a couple of feminine “Awwws” but I’m too busy kissing June to pay attention to anyone else.
Last summer, Trivia Thunderdome returned in a new venue: the Dog House. Without Simon Says, of course. Some evenings, I still miss his piano ties. Yes, the new name is all my doing, as is our new team. June joined Ebey’s Head, and Yarned and Dangerous is now The Merry Hookers. Diane and Hailey formed a new group called the Wingwomen and invited Roslyn and Ashley to join. Amazing how a few years, marriages, and babies smoothed over the tension of old relationships and perceptions. Not saying Hailey and Ashley are ever going to be best friends, but it’s nice to see them hanging out.
A couple of weeks after Erik and Cari’s wedding, we gather together at the Dog House under the guise of a special Sunday afternoon of trivia, but we’re really here for Olaf’s official retirement party. He doesn’t know it’s a party for him. I can’t wait to see his face, but I’m a little worried about his heart.
For the past year, he’s been working one or two evenings a week when he’s on Whidbey and not down in Arizona. Wanting to avoid the island’s busy season, which is right around the corner, he’s finally ready to hang up his bar towel. This summer will be the last one before we close down for repairs and restoration.
It’s the end of an era.
We used June’s mom as bait to keep Olaf away from downtown this afternoon. She volunteered eagerly, a little too happy to spend time with Olaf if you ask me.
The old Dog is packed with well-wishers and friends. Strange to be in a crowded room and recognize every single person here.
“Seems like June’s mom has a crush on O.” Tom leans against the bar next to me. “Who knew under all of his crankiness beat a real, human heart capable of emotions other than bitterness, anger, and disappointment?”
Standing with my elbows behind me on the bar, I nod. “June is happy about her mom and Olaf. If she’s fine with it, I’m okay, too. Lisa told us she enjoys spending time with him, but isn’t looking to get married again. Still weird to think he could be June’s step-father.”
“Even more bizarre, he’d be your father-in-law.” Tom practically howls with laughter. “Wonder if he’d let you call him Dad.”
The thought is funny, but part of me softens at the idea. Patting him on the shoulder, I admit, “Helluva lot better than my own father.”
He flashes me a sheepish grin. “Shit, I always forget. Sorry. You and Ashley turned out okay, though—better than okay.”
“Thanks for saying so, and I appreciate the apology. We’ve done all right for ourselves.” I catch sight of her on the other side of the room, smiling and dancing with Rosie in her arms.
Tom lifts his pint and clinks the glass against mine. “You’ll always have your island family. We may be dysfunctional and crazy, but we love hard and care for our own.”
John strolls over to join us. “What are you two talking about that Tom thinks is so funny? He isn’t reveling in the glory days of picking up women in this very spot with the geoduck line, is he?”
I snort. He knows his best friend well. “Not this time, but I swear ever since we started the partnership, he brings it up every time we’re here.”
Dan walks over to our little group. “Tom talking about phallic clams again? Remember when he suggested we change the bar’s name to the Clam House?”
“It would be hysterical,” Tom mumbles into his glass. “Geoducks are funny because they look like dicks. Come on, Jonah, back me up. You like a good pun more than anyone besides June.”
“Can’t help you out here.” I chuckle.
From the other side of the pool table, Erik calls out, “Hey Tom, have you ever been geoduck hunting?”
Carter joins in the taunting. “Is that a geoduck in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”
Olaf stomps down the hall from the larger back dining room that overlooks the water. “When I owned this place, you’d all be banned for telling raunchy jokes in front of children and babies!”
“Where did you come from?” June asks from her lookout stool in the corner. “I’ve been waiting in this spot for half an hour and I know you didn’t walk through the front door.”
“Came through the side entrance. Driving down the street, I saw too many people coming here for a Sunday afternoon and knew something was up. To avoid any of you yahoos spotting me, I made a three-point turn and headed for home. Lisa convinced me to make an appearance. We struck a bargain that we’d take the stairs down to the seawall and cut around to avoid any of you screaming ‘Surprise!’ at me like you’re trying to put me in an early grave. You assholes know I have heart troubles.” Olaf finishes his tirade and is met with silence. “Well, if you’re all just going to stand around gaping at me like salmon out of water, I can leave.”
He makes a beeline for the front door before any of us can react.
Erik shouts, “Speech!” and begins a slow clap. A few seconds later, Carter joins in. Soon, everyone is matching the steady beat with their hands.
At the swinging doors, Olaf turns and pauses. The clapping ceases almost immediately.
He clears his throat and drags his nails through his beard. “Don’t expect me to say how grateful I am to have had so many years standing behind the bar here, serving alcohol to a band of miscreants. I’m not going to tell sentimental stories about watching this group of idiots grow up into fine men who’d make anyone proud. I’m not going to say how much I appreciate people like Dan and his beautiful wife Roslyn helping to save this old building and the one across the street, and I’m sure as hell not going to take back all the lifetime bans I’ve issued on the Kelsos over the years. I tried to get those written into the sales agreement. Now, if someone would please get this old man a pint of IPA and a place to sit that won’t get me battered in the head with a pool cue, I’ll stay.”
And with that, he stomps past the pool table, down the hall, and into the back room, leaving everyone hanging with their mouths open in stunned silence.
“Welp, that feels about perfect for Olaf’s retirement party.” Chuckling, Tom lifts his glass. “To O, long may he suffer fools like us.”
We all raise our drinks. “To Olaf.”
“No toasts.” His loud voice carries from down the hall. “Save it for when I’m dead.”
The entire room dissolves into laughter.
Searching for June, I find her in the dining room, tucked into a booth by the windows.
“I love you,” I declare, not caring who hears.
June’s smile lights up her face. “I love you.”
The room and everyone in it disappears as we gaze at each other.
“Thank you for loving me,” I say softly.
For saving me from a life alone.
For becoming my family.
For letting me be the one who gets to love you every day.
I don’t say the rest out loud, reserving those words for my wedding vows.
Thank you for reading The Last Wingman.
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Note from Daisy
Thank you for reading The Last Wingman.
Please consider leave a review on your retailer of choice, Goodreads, and BookBub.
Jonah’s book marks the end of an era. He and John first appeared in Geoducks Are for Lovers, my first novel. I’ve been writing my Whidbey books for over six years. It’s bittersweet to end the series. I already miss these characters, who feel so real to me. All of the people who inhabit this fictional version of Whidbey will forever hold a special place in my heart.
Thank you for embracing these books and loving my Wingmen. If this is your first Wingmen book, keep reading for the first chapters of Small Town Scandal and Ready to Fall.
This isn’t goodbye.
Be sure to subscribe to my email list to receive updates on my writing and new release alerts for my future books.
See you around,
Daisy
Sneak Peek - One
Small Town Scandal
Chapter One
For the first time in my life, I’m cool.
Turns out goats are a hot trend, which makes me cool by connection.
If I’d known all it would take to be popular was a herd of goats, I would’ve joined 4-H in high school. Or Future Farmers of America.
Apparently, the ladies love the goats. At least in my case, they like the goat herder.
Yes, I’m the goat man of Whidbey.
People honk and wave when they spot my truck and goat trailer around the island. Small children practically lose their minds every time I show up with some goats.
Sometimes some jerk will yell “Goat Boy” at me. Like it’s an insult.
Maybe it is.
I don’t care.
No shame in being a goat boy. I could be a mythical creature. Half man, half goat. How cool would that be?
Although, I can do without the yodeling and the snark about being a lonely goatherd from female friends, especially my brother’s girlfriend and the wives of my friends.
Why does every woman seem to know the lyrics to the yodel song from The Sound of Music? Is this what girls do at slumber parties? Memorize movies? I thought they braided each other’s hair and got in pillow fights. Or tried on each other’s bras. Apparently, they all watch nuns fighting Nazis while singing songs about goats. Us guys watched scary movies and tried to out-gross each other doing disgusting shit, typically involving bodily functions.
Memories of teasing and torturing Ashley Kingston when we were kids skip through my mind.
Maybe if I wasn’t such a guy, I mean if I wasn’t dumb Carter Kelso and she wasn’t so out of my league, she’d still be mine. Instead of becoming the island’s own version of a jezebel, according to the woman herself.
For no reason other than thirst, I pull into The Fellowship of the Bean for an iced coffee.
The coffee hut being owned by Jonah, Ashley’s older brother, is a coincidence of convenience to my current location.
I wait in line behind a black minivan, impatiently drumming my palms on the center of the steering wheel. A woman wearing a green and navy Mariners’ cap leans out of the window of the hut to hand over a whipped cream topped beverage. I frown. I guess I secretly hoped Jonah would be working.
So I could catch up. About stuff.
Not ask about his sister.
I’ve been collecting the coffee grounds from Jonah and Ashley’s coffee huts along with the ones from Erik’s café. Packaged in large bags, we give them out for free to anyone who wants grounds for their compost or garden.
We’re the Justice League of crunchy, earth loving hippies.
Without the patchouli and long hair. Or the mandolin music.
Or free love orgies.
In my rearview mirror, I spot a guy ride up behind me on a unicycle. He appears to be wearing a helmet shaped like a wolf’s head, complete with a snout.
My frown deepens into a scowl.
Falcon.
He pedals past my truck, and cuts in front of me in line. As I glower at him, he stops by the hut’s window, his bare feet working the pedals to keep his balance. Takes me a moment to notice he’s wearing a skirt because I’m concentrating on imagining him face-planting off his clown bike. His rainbow dreads are wrapped up in a loose ponytail, which he tosses over his shoulder as he flirts with the barista.
Something she says must be hysterical because he leans his head back to roar with laughter.
Fall.
Fall.
Fall.
I chant in my head as he leans farther, precariously working the pedals to remain upright.
Then the moment happens.
He tips past the point of balance.
Fall.
I lean forward in delight.
His left leg kicks out to the side, and right before he goes ass over elbows, he catches himself. Hopping off the seat, he easily catches the unicycle in one hand. With a bow, he acts like he meant to do exactly that move.
Hippie asshole.
The barista leans through the window to hand him a plastic cup of pea green matcha. An auburn curl slips from under her cap.
My breath catches in my throat like I’ve swallowed wrong.
No wonder Falcon put on a show.
Ashley Kingston’s laugh is worth making a fool of yourself.
I should know.
I’ve been doing it most of my life.
Annoyed and still thirsty, I tap my horn. Not like someone in Seattle cut me off, but harder than a friendly honk.
Ashley leans farther out the window and Falcon says something to her as he puts his cash in her hand. With a friendly wave, he hops on his wheel and pedals away.
I make sure he’s gone before easing off the brake and pulling up to the window.
Resting my elbow on the door, I give her a friendly smile.
Not surprisingly, she frowns at me, her happiness fading. “Carter.”
“Hi.” Ignoring her frown, I wave.
“Was the honking necessary?” She doesn’t ask what I want as she scoops ice into a large cup.
I stare at her profile while she works. A universe of freckles dot her high cheekbones and nose, which has a slight swoop at the end. Pink colors her cheeks and I’m not sure if it’s makeup or too much sun. Long, dark lashes frame her ever-changing hazel eyes. Even in the baseball cap, her fiery hair hidden, she’s beautiful.
“Falcon looked like he was going to perch on your counter for the day. Didn’t want him to scare off honest customers.”
She pours black coffee into the cup of ice, leaving about two inches at the top for milk. “Ha ha.”
Her laugh lacks any warmth and the fake sound bruises my ego.
“Where’s Jonah?” I ignore the way my palms get clammy with rejection.
“He’s working with Erik, roasting a new blend.” Again, without asking, she adds cream to my coffee and then presses on a lid.
I should probably know this, but I’m not my younger brother’s keeper. Not since he moved out to live with his girlfriend, Cari, who’s way too cool for him.
Ashley hands me the cup and I pull out cash to give her. With a flick of her hand, she tells me, “Falcon bought your drink.”
“What if I don’t want him to buy my coffee?”
“Why wouldn’t you want a free coffee?”
“I don’t want to be indebted to a guy who can’t afford a bicycle with two wheels.”
Her frown deepens. “What do you have against him? He’s legitimately the kindest guy on this island. Did you know he’s on his way to give a free show at the senior center? He creates balloon animals and does magic tricks.”
“He’s a one man sunshine brigade,” I mumble as I take my coffee from the counter and leave the ten-dollar bill. “Pay that forward to the next customer.”
Fucking Falcon. He probably lives in a tiny cabin in the woods without running water and bathes in a spring fed creek, drying off with moss before namastaying his naked salutation to the sun. She can’t be sleeping with a wood sprite with the same name as our high school mascot.
Can she?
“Anything else I can get you?” Impatience flattens her voice.
“Any coffee grounds to pick up?” Despite this being one of our worst conversations among many awkward ones, I don’t want to drive away.
“Oh, right. Let me grab the bag.” She steps away.
A few moments later, she walks around the corner of the cedar-shingled hut, holding a large garbage bag against her chest. I open the truck’s door to help her, but she shakes her head and mutters, “I’ve got it.”
Ignoring her, I step out of the truck and jog around the front in time to push the bottom of the bag over the side into the truck bed.
“I told you I had it,” she says, drily.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m not saying thank you. I didn’t need, or want your help.” To emphasize her words, she crosses her arms and widens her feet. She’s either bracing for a fight or trying to appear bigger in the presence of a threat.
A small snort escapes my mouth at the thought of her going up against a grizzly.
Poor beast wouldn’t stand a chance.
In her apron, she looks like a beautiful, fierce, but pantsless warrior.
Note I left off the princess part.
Don’t call Ashley Kingston a princess.
She will kick your ass like an adorable raccoon who happens to have rabies.
I speak from experience on that one.
Summer after fifth grade.
I have a scar on my elbow from where I fell onto the gravel after she pushed me for asking if she had a soul. In a flower print dress her mother probably picked out, she managed to be fierce. More Princess Leia than damsel in distress.
“You’re welcome.” She brushes her hands on her green apron. “Tell Jonah he needs to be back here before closing. I have to catch the five-thirty boat.”
“Hot date tonight?” I shouldn’t ask. I don’t want to know.
“Hopefully.” Her smile shows all her teeth but it doesn’t warm her eyes.
“Well, good luck with that.” I flick the brim of her hat.
We stand facing each other for a few awkward beats before a car pulls up behind my trailer.
She walks ahead of me to the side door and I stare at her ass covered in a pair of faded jean shorts.
Watching her walk away from me is the story of my life.
At least it’s a nice view.
After dropping off the ten goats at their new job site, I find Jonah and Erik in the warehouse of Whidbey Joe’s, their coffee roasting business. The two of them are bent over a roaster, examining a scoop of beans. Some days I envy their working bromance.
