Text Appeal

The woman sure has a healthy set of lungs. Every head in the coffee shop turns my way. Some wear hostile stares while others are more curious-slash-embarrassed. My will to live sinks straight through the floor.

Fuck.

The superintendent is puzzled. But then she spies the dueling tip jars and says, “Oh, dear.” Which has to be the understatement of the year.

Shanti snatches the cards off the jars and drops them in the trash. “Should have done that when I arrived.”

“It was supposed to be funny,” mumbles the barista.

“Does she look amused to you?”

The young barista gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“I, um…” is all I have to say. My mouth is as dry as a very dry thing and my brain is also not working. And they’re all still standing there staring at me.

“Connor and I…this is all just…” My cell starts buzzing in my purse and, yes, here is my escape. “Excuse me.”

Through the door and out onto the sidewalk. Out in the open air where I can finally breathe. The number of eyes still burning holes into my back is huge. But I balance the cup and cookie in one hand and retrieve my cell with the other. All while putting more much-needed distance between me and that place. Hooray for multitasking.

By the time I answer, the call has gone to voicemail. The way my luck is going, it’s probably for Connor. Today is turning out to be a great day to get a new phone number. Again. It’s about all I can do to remove myself from this situation. A voicemail message notification appears on screen so I play it.

“Connor, sweetie,” says a woman’s voice. “It’s Grandma. My phone’s almost out of battery. I need you to come get me from the park. My knee is acting up and I don’t think I can go much farther. I’ll just sit on one of the benches and wait for you.”

Dammit. I try to call her back, but there’s no answer. Then I attempt to call Connor’s mom, but there’s no answer there either. What to do? I can’t just freak out and leave someone’s grandmother stranded. The internet confirms that there are at least a dozen parks in the area. Today officially sucks.

Which is when it occurs to me that I do have someone I can ask for help. My new arch nemesis. Not that I had an old one.

Me: If grandma was walking and stopped at a park, which one would it be?

Ava: Which park?

Me: Yes.

Ava: Arcadia.

Me: Thanks.

The large park on the waterfront is only a couple of minutes’ drive. As I get out of my car, I’m again struck by how everything is so vibrant and green here. Even the air tastes different. And sure enough, someone sits waiting near the welcome sign. Her silver hair is neatly bobbed, and a smile lights up her face as she watches children playing nearby.

I don’t have a lot of experience with grandparents. My grandmother died when I was young, and my father hasn’t talked to his folks in years. Of course, there’s still Grandpa with the fire emoji. But he lives alone on the other side of the country and doesn’t encourage visitors. There’s a chance I come by some of my antisocial tendencies honestly.

With a polite smile, I walk over. “Ma’am, my name is Riley. I have your grandson’s old cell number. It was me you called about needing a ride.”

“Shoot. He gave me his new number the other day, but I hadn’t gotten around to putting it in my phone yet. I left the number at home on the kitchen counter. Not that it would matter since the damn phone is dead anyway.” She clicks her tongue. Then she gives me and my Jeep a look over. “It’s awfully nice of you to come help me.”

“Can I call someone for you or give you a lift somewhere?”

“I would love a lift. It’s not far.” She slowly gets to her feet. “Are you a friend of Connor’s?”

“No, ma’am. I just happen to have gotten his old number.”

She frowns. “But I could have sworn I’ve heard your name recently and it was something to do with my grandson. Riley, did you say?”

“Yeah.” This is the part where I wince my heart out. Just experience all the cringe. “There seems to be some gossip going around town about Connor and me.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s ridiculous. We’ve never even met so how could we be dating?”

“That’s what it was. There’s always talk in this town about someone.” She settles in her seat and asks with the sweetest of smiles, “Any idea how this gossip got started?”

“Um…”

Ava misunderstood the situation—that much is certain. But I don’t know. My arch nemesis could be innocent, and it makes me hesitant to lay blame. There’s a small chance she didn’t mean for the nonsense about Connor and me to spread. What if she was just talking to a friend and they blabbed it all over town? Because what does spreading word (real or otherwise) of Connor seeing someone even achieve?

My passenger waits a moment before continuing. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

“I just moved here.”

“Where from?” she asks with the same sweet, guileless smile.

“Las Vegas.”

“You’re a city girl?”

“That’s right.”

“Goodness,” she says. “What a change.”

“It sure is. Where would you like to go, ma’am?”

“Call me Martha. I’m headed to The Mermaid Cafe. Do you know where that is?”

“No, but I can look it up.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll direct you.” And she does.

Martha is adamant about buying me a coffee to say thank you. It turns out the cafe is off Beach Street, only a couple of blocks from my new place. Though almost everything in this small town is. The café is in a narrow, weathered two-story building with a couple of tables sitting out in front. Above them on the exterior of the building is a sculpture of a mermaid. A wooden one like you would see on the front of a pirate ship. One of the tables is already occupied by two women of similar age to Martha. The first is busy knitting while the second works on a cross-stitch.

“This is Riley,” announces Martha. “Meet Noor and Joyce.”

I smile and pause to stretch one of my poor sore calves. Might try and cram myself into the bath tonight. A soak in hot water could be beneficial.

Martha no sooner settles into her seat than a ball of wool and a crochet hook appears in her hands. “Riley was good enough to give me a lift from the park.”

“Was it your knee again?” asks Joyce.

“You know it.”

“As Bette Davis said, getting old is not for sissies,” says Noor.

Joyce turns and hollers in the direction of the open café door, “Two more coffees.”

“Coming, Ma,” yells back someone from inside.

“Sit down, Riley,” says Noor with a welcoming smile. She has a husky voice with a Middle Eastern accent. “Tell us about yourself.”

“She just moved here from the city,” Martha answers for me. “There’s gossip going around about her and Connor.”

Noor raises a brow. “Is that so?”

“I don’t even know him,” I say. “It’s all just a misunderstanding.”

“Hmm.” Joyce peers at me over the top of her spectacles. “Maybe you should meet him.”

I don’t smile so much as grimace and it is awkward as fuck.

“What’s your grandson got to say about all this?” asks Noor.

“I haven’t had a chance to ask him yet,” says Martha. “But what really interests me is who’s behind this rumor that he and Riley are together.”

“You think someone’s stirring trouble?” asks Noor.

Martha stabs her crochet hook in my general direction. “She knows what’s going on and won’t tell me. Which makes me highly suspicious.”

“Harsh,” I mumble.

Noor winks at me in a comradely fashion. “What do you do for a living, Riley?”

“I write for a small business,” I say with a smile. It’s my standard vague non-answer. As much as I love romance books, I don’t always want to go there with people. Especially when we’ve just met. There’s a world full of inherited biases, misogyny, and other assorted bullshit when it comes to the genre. And writing for a small business is basically the truth. Sort of.

Joyce picks up a small plate of cookies. “Try one of these, Riley. My daughter makes them to help with the pain from my arthritis. Maybe it’ll help your leg. I noticed you stretching it on the way over. You also seem a little stressed in general, if you don’t mind me saying.”

I smile. “Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

Guess the universe really wants me to eat a chocolate chip cookie today. The one I bought earlier from the café accidentally got crushed in my rush to the car. This one is buttery-sweet goodness with an aftertaste of hemp. Nice. Getting stoned isn’t on my list of things to do. But it’s been a heck of a day so far.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” asks Martha.

I swallow another bite before talking. “Just sore muscles from moving my stuff. The elevator is broken and my apartment is on the third floor.”

“You should send Connor over to help her,” says Noor.

Martha frowns. “Do you still need help?”

“Oh, that’s…um…no.” It only takes a moment for the sudden heat in my face to be fanned into a flame. The idea of meeting him shouldn’t rattle me to this degree. He’s just another random stranger I happen to share this universe with. “No, thank you.”

“That’s what she did in the car when I asked her who started the rumor,” comments Martha. “You can see why I’m suspicious.”

“The girl gets flustered easily.” Noor has a charming smile. She really is a bombshell with her curves, flowing silver hair, and red lipstick. “So what?”

“Martha, you’ve been reading too many cozy mysteries. They’ve made you paranoid.” Joyce takes a sip of coffee. “If Riley doesn’t want to tell you what she knows, she doesn’t have to. Stop being pushy.”

“Besides which,” says Noor, “Connor is a grown man who would not thank you for sticking your nose into his business.”

Joyce laughs softly. “Like that’s ever stopped her.”

“I do have my reasons.” I finish off the cookie because it would be a crime to waste such great baking. The world already seems softer and less stressful. Like it’s been dialed down a little. I stretch my neck and settle back into the chair with a happy sigh. There’s every chance my to-do list will have to wait while I enjoy this high. “The sky is such a pretty shade of blue today. Don’t you just love clouds?”

Martha frowns some more. Then she perks up and offers me the plate of cookies. “My friends are right. I apologize for my belligerence, Riley. Have another cookie. Your coffee will be here soon.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“Well,” says Noor with a smile. “What shall we talk about on this fine summer’s day?”

An hour later.

“…and then Ava was all like, see you soon,” I tell them in my best evil villain voice.

Joyce snorts and carries on knitting. She’s working on a tiny white bootie for an imminent grandchild.

“But as for the gossip, I mean, what if I’m wrong and it was someone else? What if Ava was just sharing with a friend and they were the one who told the town?”

“Oh, it’s definitely Ava’s work.” Martha taps her crochet hook against her chin. “You can set your mind at ease on that score.”

Noor’s mouth is set in a straight, unimpressed line. “That girl.”

“But how does it benefit her?” I ask. “What does it achieve?”

“She’s trying to push you out of the picture,” says Joyce. “Put pressure on you and hope you buckle. A lot of people love the idea of her and Connor staying together in this town, and she knows it.”

Noor stabs the needle through her rude cross-stitch with much zest. It says “live, laugh, fuck off.” The woman is a whole vibe. She has, however, stuck her needle in the wrong spot. There’s much muttered swearing as she carefully works it back through to undo the damage.

“Little does Ava know you’re not some meek mouse to run at the first sign of competition,” says Martha. A preacher in a pulpit never spoke with such conviction. I am surprised the ground doesn’t shake with her vehemence.

“That’s right,” agrees Noor.

Joyce nods. “Riley will show her!”

I wrinkle my nose in confusion. “You do all remember I’m not actually dating Connor, right?”

The three women exchange glances. Then Noor says, “We might have gotten a little overexcited.”

“This batch of cookies sure has a kick to them. Gosh I’m hungry,” says Joyce. Then she yells through the café door, “We could do with another plate of the buckwheat scones, honey!”

“So that’s why the whole town thinks you two are dating.” Martha sighs. “Ava and Connor have known each other since they were children. They used to be good together. But they outgrew each other a long time ago. That’s the truth of the matter.”

“As you see it,” says Joyce. “Connor could well feel differently. Though him changing his phone number is interesting. I’ll give you that.”

Martha grunts.

Noor is staring into space with a peaceful expression on her face.

“It’s a damn shame you two aren’t dating,” continues Martha. “Maybe he wouldn’t fall straight back into old habits with you-know-who for a change.”

“Yeah. I don’t think so.” I smile in amusement. “When was the last time Ava was home?”

“Christmas.” Martha sighs. “Connor’s been in a bad mood ever since.”

“He has not been himself,” says Noor. “He was always on the quiet side. Now he stomps around with a scowl.”

“That’s true,” agrees Joyce. “He was always such a pleasant, helpful boy. But every time I’ve seen him lately, he’s got his head down and his shoulders up.”

More sighing from Martha.

“I better go.” I rise to my feet. “This has been great, though. Really.”

“We’re here most mornings,” says Joyce. “Come and visit us again, Riley.”

Noor blinks and returns to reality. “Yes. You should. We do mimosas on Fridays.”

“I’d like that,” I say.

“To quote Ava, we’ll see you soon.” Martha does a great evil cackle. The woman has talent.

I give her finger guns in return. No idea why. Then I walk back to my apartment, apply a whole lot of coffee to the situation, and get pulled into my word count.

My cell chimes with an incoming text at around eleven pm. Which is fine, since I often stay up to write. It feels like there’s more room to think and breathe when everyone around you is fast asleep and the world is quiet.

Ava: Grandma okay?

Me: Yeah. Thanks again for your help.

Ava: Was Connor away or what?

Me: Not a clue. Martha got confused and called his old number.

Ava: You’re still sticking with that whole you don’t know him story?

Me: Why are you so convinced I am lying?

Ava: Guess I’m jaded.

Me: What’s so great about him anyway? The whole town seems to think you’re some epic love story. But if that’s so, why do you keep breaking up and getting back together?

Ava: You asked around about me, huh?

Me: I didn’t have to. Word of this alleged love triangle is all over town. Don’t suppose you had anything to do with that?

Ava: Oops. Were you and Connor supposed to be a secret?

Ava: What’s great about him is he’s always had my back. Out of everyone I have ever dated he loved me best. And he still does.

Me: Okay.

Ava: Okay? That’s it?

Ava: You are so strange.

Me: What are you going to do when you get to town and find out I haven’t been lying to you all this time?

Ava: Guess we’ll both see soon enough.

Ooh. Another ominous statement. She needs a healthier hobby. Something less threatening/annoying to those around her.

I hear a knock on my door. My music is playing low, and I haven’t been unduly loud. No stomping or screaming. My neighbors do not have cause to complain. But what else could it be at this time of night?

The view through the peephole is of a large male. A stranger. He’s tall and wearing a baseball hat. Due to the low lighting in the hallway and the way he’s standing, there’s not much else to see.

“Martha sent me,” he says, as though he knows I am right there. “She wanted me to move your car back in front of your building in case you need it. If you’re okay with me doing that.”

Shit. This must be Connor. It’s true I told his grandmother where I was living. Though it’s an odd time for gentleman callers.

“I know it’s late, but I was on my way home and saw your light on,” he continues in a deep voice with an edge of grump. Like he would much prefer to be home in bed. “I can come back tomorrow if you prefer. Or not at all. Your call.”

Love how yoga pants and a navy and white striped tee can be both casual clothing and bedtime wear. Because comfort matters. This, however, is not how I would choose to meet the man. I undo the deadbolt and open the door.

I am about average height and weight. But he’s six-foot-something with longish blond hair and a face that belongs in Hollywood. He’s all square jaw and sharp cheekbones. The dude belongs on the cover of one of my books, and not even the shadows beneath his tired eyes can detract from his appeal. How he sets my loins afire.

“Hey,” he says, removing his ballcap.

And there I stand in silence with my mouth hanging open.

“You must be Riley.” There’s a hint of a smile on his face. “I heard we were dating and thought we should meet.”