Last Call (Cocktail #5) (4 page)

“Seriously, this house is like a time capsule! I’ve never seen anything like it—are you sure you didn’t get a designer to re-create 1958 in here?” I gasped, taking in all the kitsch.

“No way. Everything here is authentic, placed here by my grandparents and untouched for years. Even though it was a vacation home, I’m still amazed how well everything has stood up over the years—it’s all still in great shape.”

“I could literally sell every piece in this house to my clients; everyone wants midcentury right now. Jesus, is that a hi-fi system?” I asked, pointing to a large console sideboard with the center piece opened up. A turntable in mint condition sparkled from underneath. I’d had one of these refinished a few years back for a client, but this one was a beauty. Danish design, with clean simple lines; when it was closed it looked like a simple dining room buffet table. Everything I’d seen in this house so far was just full of great details like this.

“Oh yeah, we play records on that thing almost every day. Lucas, get that bad boy fired up!” Chloe called out, bringing her boyfriend out from behind the tiki bar.

“Sure thing, chickie baby,” he replied, and a moment later the smooth vocal stylings of Mr. Dean Martin were pouring forth. “Now, who wants a cocktail? I’ve got zombies over here.”

Two hours later, I’d learned a few things. One, zombie cocktails are lethal. Don’t have more than you can handle, which for me turned out to be two.

We enjoyed dinner on the patio, and after we finished up the great meal Chloe had made we sat around
chatting and drinking coffee, trying to combat the effects of the very delicious but very strong cocktails.

“Might want to go a little lighter on the booze next time,” Chloe told Lucas. “We’ve been working our way through this great tiki bar cocktail recipe book, and some are considerably stronger than others,” she said to the rest of us.

“Especially when you’re the one in charge of the mai tais” Lucas murmured, and I saw a blush creep into Chloe’s cheeks. “So, cousin of mine, when are you two tying the knot? I noticed we haven’t received an invitation yet.”

Sophia patted her belly. “Not sure, but at least six months after the munchkin gets here. I want to get some of this baby weight off first so I can be stunning.”

“You’ll be stunning regardless,” I interjected.

“I mean prebaby-weight stunning. Sorry, I’m shallow. I said it so you don’t have to,” she said.

“You’re not shallow.” I laughed.

“You’re pretty shallow,” Chloe chimed in, with a smirk. Sophia picked up her knife and mimed slitting her throat. “Shallow
and
violent.”

“I told you I liked this girl,” Sophia said to Lucas, who threw back his head and laughed. “Speaking of weddings,” Sophia continued, and my hand froze on its way to pick up my zombie. “When do you two think you’re going to be making things official?”

My ears grew warm, my skin prickled, and my lips
began to compose a retort when I saw that she wasn’t looking at me, but rather at her cousin Lucas. My lungs deflated and I snatched up my glass, taking a big gulp of zombie. Big gulp of zombie, what a great name for a . . .

But why the hell did I freeze? Why did I care if she was going to ask Simon and me about when we were going to get married? We’d get married when we wanted to. I mean, right?

As I shuffled through this mental Rolodex of panic, I caught his eye from across the table. He’d watched the whole thing, and he knew me well enough to know exactly what I’d been thinking. He grinned, knowing he’d caught me. I rolled my eyes and tried to act casual, paying extraspecial attention to the conversation that had continued during my freeze frame.

“Hold on—so you guys aren’t planning on getting married? Ever?” Sophia asked, looking back and forth at Chloe and Lucas.

“Feisty, back off, it’s not really your business,” Neil said, rubbing her shoulders.

“No, it’s cool. We’re not planning on getting married—at least not anytime soon. We were both engaged to other people, both went through the whole wedding planning process, we know what that’s like. We’re pretty happy just as things are,” Lucas said, leaning in and kissing Chloe on the cheek.

“It’s true, why mess with a good thing?” Chloe agreed, leaning into his kiss. “Granted, we were both
engaged to the wrong people, so one day we might decide to tie the knot. But for now? Not for us.”

“I don’t trust a girl who doesn’t want to wear white,” Sophia said, and I slapped at her hand.

“I wear plenty of white. Your cousin here has a thing for pinup girls in white lacey corsets,” Chloe shot back.

“Too much—”

“Awesome!” Sophia and Neil shouted at the same time.

While the table dissolved into corset talk, I thought about what Chloe had said. If things were good, why change it? That was obviously working for them, and it was working for Simon and me, as well. Hmmm . . .

I
stood on the balcony overlooking the ocean, watching the breakers roll in. Starting slow, just outside my field of vision in the black night, each one grew slowly from underneath, swelling to the top and moving relentlessly toward the shore. Finally rearing up, first white around the edges, then throughout as it fell in on itself, crashing onto the rocks and foaming through every crack and crevice. I watched countless waves, following their inevitable path. Each began the same way; each ended the same way. Time after time, unaltered for eons.

Waves couldn’t course correct. They couldn’t simply decide one day, hey, I think I’ll head south toward Mexico, see what’s up down there. The only way they were
going anywhere other than where they were intended was if there was some major event. Hurricane. Earthquake. El Niño. Otherwise, they were heading for the shore. You could set your clock by the tide. Eventual. Unavoidable. It’s what happened.

Deep thoughts. Although it was hard to sit by the ocean and think shallow thoughts, my mind seemed to always go toward the heavy. It would default to melancholy sometimes; why was that?

“Babe, it’s freezing out there, aren’t you cold?” Simon called from inside.

“It’s not too bad, actually. The fresh air feels nice,” I called back. His footsteps grew louder as he came to the door and slid the glass all the way back.

“Seriously, freezing.”

“Seriously, come warm me up, then,” I replied, shaking my bottom at him slightly. Arms were wound around my waist within seconds. He pulled me back against his chest, hands wrapped around my hips, as I snuggled against him. “This feels nice.”

“Agreed,” he said into my hair, nuzzling my neck. “So what are you thinking about out here all by yourself?”

“Just watching the waves,” I said, sliding my hands into his and wrapping them more firmly around my waist.

“You never just watch the waves, Caroline. You’re thinking about something.”

“I do too just watch the waves. Look how beautiful
it is,” I said, scanning the horizon left to right. The waves, the beach, the endless stars . . .

“It
is
beautiful,” he agreed. “But I know you were thinking about something out here. You were sighing every thirty seconds.”

“I was?” I asked, surprised.

“Sure—that’s when I know something’s on your mind. Your sighs are off the chart when something’s up, babe.”

“What? Wait, what?” I asked again, turning around in his arms to stare up at him.

“You think I can’t tell, after all this time, when you’ve got something working up there?” he asked, dropping a kiss on my nose. “So out with it: what’s got you sighing on a balcony?”

I sighed without thinking, causing a crease to appear on his forehead as he tried not to laugh. I looked at his face and rolled my eyes a little. Just the one roll.

“Okay, yes.” I sighed. “And okay, yes, maybe I was thinking some thoughts.”

“Care to share?” he asked, and I took the opportunity to press my face into his chest. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? No sharing?”

“No no, it’s not that. I don’t know that I was necessarily thinking anything—just very vague ideas floating around, not even really thoughts yet. Like, thought . . . adjacent.”

“Oh boy, we are really going all around this one.”
He chuckled. “So let’s start with the thought adjacent. What’s up, babe?”

“Have you ever watched waves and wondered, what if one wave wanted to go in another direction?”

“Watched waves, yes. Thought about assigning intelligent thought to waves? Nope. Can’t say that I have.” He looked more closely at me. “But now I’m curious. What thoughts do you think these waves are having?”

“It’s not the waves, per se. Just . . . the idea that they have no choice. They have their path, and that’s it. All roads lead to the beach.”

“What a terrible road,” he teased, and I socked him.

“You asked for my thoughts; these are my thoughts. I didn’t say they made any sense—they hadn’t gotten to that point yet,” I said, and he held me closer.

“Nightie Girl, your thoughts make perfect sense, considering the dinner conversation tonight.”

“Huh?”

“The panic on your face when you thought someone was asking about us getting married. Now you’re out here worrying about waves making different choices. Not that hard a leap to make. It’s not like I just met you, you know.” I could feel him smiling against my neck, and if it was possible for me to hold him tighter, I wasn’t aware of it.

“I wasn’t panicked; it just surprised me, is all. And then when it wasn’t actually about me, about us . . . I don’t know, I just . . . I wasn’t prepared to answer that question, I guess.”

“What if I were the one asking it?”

“Wait . . . what?” I asked, lifting my chin and looking up at him. In the moonlight, his eyes were the deepest blue, and fixed solidly on me. Studying me, looking for a reaction. “You’re not asking me to—”

“No, I’m not asking you to . . . Just asking you how you feel about it, in the general sense. No panic, please.”

“I’m not panicking. I’m perfectly calm,” I answered, then showed him my best facial tic.

“That’s sexy, babe,” he said, and laughed.

“You’re asking me how I feel about marriage in general, or marriage with someone specific in mind?”

“Either. Or both.”

I leaned back to look at him, his hands still on my waist. “I think marriage in the general sense is something I’m in favor of. I also think there’s something to be said for the saying ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ It seems to be working for Chloe and Lucas. On the other hand,” I said, sliding my hands up his arms to link behind his neck, “I think marriage with someone specific in mind is also something I’m in favor of—although it would depend on who the someone specific is, of course. Is there a candidate?”

“Possibly,” he answered, beginning to slowly reel me back in closer to his chest. “Very possibly.”

“Is he tall? Witty? Charming? Impossibly good looking?” I asked.

“Yes. All of those things.” He nodded, looking very serious.

I smothered a laugh, rising on tiptoe to press a very loud kiss just below his ear. “You tell this potential fiancé of mine that if he wants my real answer, he has to ask the real question. Until then, this is all chitchat on a balcony. And I’ve had enough chitchat for one evening.”

“How about sex on a balcony?”

“See, now that sounds more like it.” I grinned as his hands slid down my back and around my bottom, pressing me into his hips. As his lips met mine, slow and unhurried, I thought about kissing this specific man for the rest of my life. How could anything possibly be better than this? Simon and me, about to be naked and sexy—could anything top this?

And then I had a vision of this moment happening sometime in the future, but instead of Simon unbuttoning my shirt, he was untying my corset. And instead of sliding my jeans down, he was slipping a blue lacy garter down my thigh. And instead of calling me Nightie Girl as he licked a path from my belly button south, he called me
wife.

If he was at all surprised by how aggressive I was with him on the balcony, he didn’t let on. He simply enjoyed it. Twice. Three times . . .

“B
ut three? Seriously, three?”

“It’ll be fun!”

“It’ll be chaos! How in the world are you going to manage three puppies, a newborn, and Neil?”

“I’m nesting. I’m hormonal.”

“You’re psychotic.”

“Also a distinct possibility,” Sophia admitted as we sat in the back of the Rover on our way back to San Francisco. Simon and I had driven back to Chloe’s ranch earlier that morning to say good-bye to her and Lucas and the puppies, and to pick up Sophia and Neil. They’d be heading back down in a month or so, when the puppies were old enough to leave their mother and begin their new city life.

Though I adored the puppies, I thought she was getting in over her head with so much change too quickly. But, as she was fond of telling me, sometimes it was okay to “shut the fuck up and the back the fuck off,” and just let them figure it out. But I still told her she was psychotic.

“Speaking of psychotic, I tried to call you last night to tell you
Psycho
was on the late-night movie.”

“Oh?” I asked innocently.

“Yeah, I called you like three times in a row.”

“Something else was happening, three times in a row,” I said, speaking out of the side of my mouth so the boys didn’t hear.

“Nice,” she said, also out of the side of her mouth, while sliding me a sneaky low-five.

“Yeah, all that marriage talk at the dinner table last night made me a little panicky, which made me go inside my head a little too much. Ended up okay, though. I think Simon might be on the marriage train.”

“Oh, you think? Forget the marriage train, come and join me on the obvious train—he’s totally going to ask you to marry him,” she said, which prompted me to put my hand over her mouth to shut her up.

“Everything okay back there?” Simon called, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

“Totally, how’s it going up there?” I asked, singsongy.

“Awesome, Simon’s letting me drive the radio!” Neil cried out, turning up Def Leppard to an obscene level.

Which thankfully was loud enough to drown out what Sophia was saying, but was even too loud to continue the conversation. So we did what all adult women do . . . we moved it to the text box.