“‘Time heals all wounds’ is total bullshit,” I say as I lather Mr. Goobers with shampoo.
Jolene and Dorothy nod in unison, urging me to keep talking.
I check on Reagan, who is still helping out at the other end of the salon and not causing mischief. Today is our first “bring your son to work day,” and I don’t want it to be our last.
“It’s been ninety-six hours since I left Florida,” I continue. “But I’m missing Evan more, not less.”
Jolene and Dorothy nod again.
“It doesn’t help that he called me.” I sigh. “And texted me, and even wrote a message to me on the Airbnb app.”
“I saw the review he left there,” Jolene says. “Five stars of ‘just take my call, please.’”
I check to see if I’m happy with how sudsy Mr. Goobers is. Because he’s a Komondor, he looks like a mop on a regular day, but with foam in the picture, even an experienced janitor might grab him by mistake and start mopping away.
“Maybe you should take his call?” Dorothy suggests softly.
I start rinsing Mr. Goobers. “As soon as I decided I would, he stopped calling.”
“When was that?” Jolene demands.
I shrug. “A few hours ago?”
“So how about you call him back?” Dorothy suggests.
“I’m not there yet.” But I’m getting close to it. “But enough about me. What’s new with you guys?”
Dorothy exchanges a shy glance with Jolene, who nods minutely.
Dorothy takes a deep breath. “We’re dating.”
“And we’ve wanted to tell you for a while,” Jolene says. “But it never quite came up.”
“You are?” And I’m not jealous at all, I swear on a pack of Bibles. “Who?”
They exchange a confused glance. “Dorothy just told you,” Jolene says. “We’re dating… each other.”
I stare at my friends unblinkingly. “You’re dating. As in romantically?” It was hard to believe they’d collaborated together enough to get me that vacation, but this—
“What can I say?” Jolene shrugs. “Opposites attract.”
“How are we opposites?” Dorothy demands.
“Sexually,” Jolene says without a moment of hesitation. “Also spiritually, temperament—”
“Wait.” I turn to Dorothy. “You’re gay?”
Dorothy blushes. “Consider this me coming out.”
I turn to Jolene. “But… all you do is talk about dicks.” Also, though I won’t bring it up, I’ve seen her leave a bar with a dude more than once.
Jolene grins. “Didn’t I tell you I was pansexual?”
“No.”
She frowns. “I could swear that I did.”
Did she? “You talk about something-sexual so much I sometimes tune you out.”
“And you’re not alone,” Dorothy adds.
“People not listening isn’t my problem,” Jolene says. “All I know is that I’ve always been open about it. I’m attracted to people regardless of their gender… but you’re right about one thing. I do like dicks, which is why I bought one of the best ones for Dorothy to use.”
Shit. This does explain the way they’ve been together lately. Case in point: Dorothy came with Jolene today to pamper Jolene’s dog, something that never would’ve happened in the past. But—
“You promised to be discrete,” Dorothy hisses, bringing me out of my revelatory daze.
“I didn’t mention which of my orifices Toto penetrated,” Jolene counters. “Isn’t that the definition of being discrete?”
They start to argue, and the avalanche of TMI continues, but I’m still too stunned to say anything… that is, until I blurt, “If you two break up, I’m staying friends with both of you and not choosing sides. Ever. I don’t care who does what and to whom. Got it?”
“Fair,” they say in unison.
“But I don’t think we will break up,” Dorothy adds shyly. “Even if we do occasionally fight.”
Occasionally?
To my shock, Jolene grabs Dorothy’s hand and squeezes it tenderly. “I don’t think we’ll break up either. But even if we do, we’ll get back together—the makeup sex will be that good.”
That’s it. Mind officially blown. If this were the first of April, I’d suspect this to be a prank, but I can tell that it’s not—the tender glance they just shared can’t be faked. At least these two are not that good at acting.
“I’m happy for you guys,” I say when I realize Jolene is looking at me expectantly, and Dorothy with a tinge of worry. “I really, truly am.”
“Thank you,” Dorothy says.
“Yeah,” Jolene says. “And I’m sure you and Evan will—”
The salon door opens with a loud chime, and I gape as Evan walks in, looking as dashing as ever.
Wait. Am I hallucinating him because Jolene just said his name? Or is it some weird doppelganger?
Nope.
This is him.
There’s no mistaking those Husky eyes and broad shoulders.
Butterflies start an orgy in my belly.
“That’s him,” I whisper to my friends, still stunned.
They turn in unison, and Jolene whistles, then whispers, “Is he the devil? I spoke his name, and there he is.”
“Neveah!” Dorothy yells. “Can you take over here?”
I shake my head but keep my eyes on Evan, who is scanning the place, clearly seeking me out. “Neveah will make Mr. Goobers look like a poodle.”
“So what?” Dorothy says. “Anything will be an improvement over his current Cousin Itt cosplay.”
“I bet Mr. Goobers will look amazeballs with a poodle ‘do,” Jolene says. “All the bitches will be at his feet.”
It’s possible Jolene says more, but Evan spots me in that moment and strides my way, so I dazedly step toward him, leaving the dog and my friends behind.
What I really want is to jump on Evan and climb him like a tree, but I still don’t know where he and I stand. Plus my boss is at the register and my friends are behind me—not to mention my son is in the corner. So I have to come up with something tamer, like a weak, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Evan replies softly when he’s a few feet from me. “I—”
“Mr. Wilcox?” Reagan exclaims.
My feet are suddenly glued to the floor, my eyes bulging.
When Evan spots my son, he halts in his tracks, and I can tell he wants to rub his eyes, to check if he’s dreaming.
“Hey, kid,” he says instead. “I’ve already told you: call me Evan.”
“Hold up,” I exclaim, way too loudly. “How do you two know each other?”
Am I being punked? Are there reality TV cameras around?
First, my friends have become a couple. Now my son and my I-don’t-yet-know-what-to-call-him know each other?
Reagan frowns at me. “Mr. Evan is the surfing instructor at the camp. I told you all about him on the plane.”
What is it with everyone chastising me for not listening? To be fair, I was only half listening on the plane. Of course, I don’t know if “Mr. Wilcox” would’ve even registered as “Evan” if I’d been paying full attention.
“Hold on a minute.” Evan’s gaze ping-pongs between Reagan and me. “Reagan is your son?” He turns to Reagan. “Brooklyn is your mom?”
Reagan looks at him with his own super-confused expression. “How do you two know each other?”
How do I answer that without using words like “vacation fling,” “hookup,” and “orgasms?” I’ve never brought a guy home or even talked to Reagan about the possibility of my dating someone, so this is completely new territory for me. How would he react if he learned that his “Mr. Evan” and I have been engaged in something with no labels? Not to mention, we still are in the “no label” territory, as I have no idea what Evan is doing here.
“Your mom was my neighbor during her vacation,” Evan says, and I’m so grateful I could kiss him. Except that would shock Reagan even more, so I just nod and throw my friends a pleading look.
“Ice cream,” Jolene says immediately. “Who wants to go get some?”
Mr. Goobers wags his tail for all his shaggy fur is worth.
“Not you.” Jolene wipes off the soap his tail sprayed her way. “You’re getting poodled. But I will give you peanut butter when we get home.”
Reagan looks at me pleadingly. “Can I go too?”
“Sure, but I have to stay here, so it will just be with Aunts Dorothy and Jolene,” I say magnanimously.
“Okay.” Reagan grins. “Can I have five scoops?”
It’s like he knows he’s got leverage. “Four, but not chocolate, tiramisu, or any other flavor that has caffeine in it.” This last bit is more for my friends’ benefit than Reagan’s.
“Deal,” Reagan says eagerly, making me think his first offer was a negotiating tactic for four scoops all along.
Definitely a lawyer to be.
“Let’s go.” Jolene grabs Reagan’s right hand and Dorothy his left—and he lets them. If I’d done it, he’d stomp his foot and remind me that he’s not a little kid anymore.
Just as they’re about to walk out, Reagan turns to me and grins mischievously. “Bye, Mom. Have fun talking to your boyfriend.”
My mouth falls open, and I want to sink through the floor. It doesn’t help that Jolene cackles like an evil villain, and Dorothy snorts like a horny deer.
Fortunately, the two of them get my son out of the salon before I have to think of a reply.
When the door closes, it occurs to me that if I can get past the embarrassment of what has just happened, there is a bright side. The way Reagan called Evan my boyfriend was so casually teasing that it’s unlikely he minds the idea of us dating. Maybe he even approves of it.
Not that we’re dating. We’re still in the no-labels territory. Or worse, broken up. Except… he’s here.
Why is he here?
Before I can ask, Evan closes the remaining distance between us. “I still can’t believe it,” he says, shaking his head. “Reagan was my favorite student at the camp, and he’s your son.”
I rub my throbbing temples. “Don’t try to change the subject.”
Evan blinks at me. “What subject?”
Ah. Right. Just because I’m thinking a question so loudly in my head doesn’t mean that Evan can hear it. “What are you doing here?”
“Hold that thought.” Evan walks over to my boss, says something I can’t hear, then pulls out his wallet and hands over a few bills. Returning, he gestures at the door. “Let’s go.”
It’s my turn to blink. “What did you do?”
“Paid for a private grooming session.”
For a dog or for himself? “I didn’t think we did those.”
Evan shrugs. “You do when the price is right.”
Okay. I follow him out of the salon, and we cross the street to a small wooded patch that passes for a park in this neighborhood. I take a seat on the bench where I usually eat lunch, and Evan joins me.
I stare at him expectantly.
He takes a breath. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, his eyes matching the clear sky above as he gazes at me.
I dampen my lips. “Oh?”
He takes my hand in his. “I’m sorry about the way I acted when you told me about Reagan. You had every right not to share all the details of your life with me and—”
“No.” I swallow. “I should’ve told you. I wanted to tell you. I just—”
“It’s okay.” He squeezes my hand. “I also want to make something clear: I don’t dislike kids. Not at all. I never would have volunteered at the camp if that were the case. Also, as it turns out, your kid is particularly likeable.”
He totally is—though I’m admittedly biased. “Now I feel even worse about what I said about you.”
Evan waves it off. “You saw me with a mangled Pikachu in my hand, and I said something about some brat. It wasn’t a completely unreasonable accusation. It just hurt to hear it after we’d gotten to know each other. Plus, you’re not the first woman to say it to me.”
I frown. “I’m not?”
Evan releases my hand. “There’s something I should’ve told you as well. Something private.”
My heart sinks. Is Evan about to tell me he’s married? Engaged? I brace myself for the worst.
“I had a vasectomy,” he says, as if admitting something shameful.
That’s not at all what I expected him to say. A vasectomy? When? Why?
“Women would always break up with me after I told them about it,” Evan continues. “Which is why I didn’t tell you. I wanted to, and I was going to, soon, but—”
“You thought I would break up with you. Like the others,” I say, staring at him.
“Will you?”
Does that mean we aren’t already broken up? And what about the whole no-labels thing?
“I won’t,” I say firmly. Because whatever we call or don’t call this thing between us, his vasectomy is definitely not a problem for me.
“Because you already have a son?” he asks, his face brightening.
“That, and because…” I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “I can’t have any more kids.”
Evan’s eyes widen. “Oh. Are you—”
“Remember my dislike of hospitals because I almost died in one?”
He nods.
“That was when I was giving birth to Reagan.” I take in a deep breath and wipe away the dust that’s gotten into my eyes for some reason. “After saving me, the surgeon told me that I’m unlikely to ever get pregnant naturally again.”
Evan grabs my hand again and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I feel especially fine when he holds my hand the way he does. “If I desperately want another kid in the future, there are options like IVF.” It’s extremely expensive, but everything medical is. “Can I ask why you got the vasectomy?”
As soon as I see the pain in his eyes, I regret the intrusive question, but it’s too late.
“I was grieving for my mother at the time,” he says. “It’s possible I should’ve held off on that decision until later. The thing is, I learned that if I ever had a female child, it would be a near certainty that she’d end up like my mom. I couldn’t imagine that kind of pain, so I went out and got myself the best birth control available.”
I gasp and then envelop him in a tight hug, fighting tears the whole time. “That really sucks. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” he says huskily when I pull away. “Like you, I could have a child if I really wanted one. A vasectomy can sometimes be reversed, and there’s always sperm retrieval.” He shudders a little as he says that last bit. “It’s also possible to screen an embryo’s DNA.”
I nod, and we stare at each other for a long moment. I fight the urge to hug him more, or worse, kiss him. I fight it because he still hasn’t told me one very important thing.
“So…” I clear my throat. “Why are you here?”
I can sort of guess, but I want to hear him say it.
The pain fades from his gaze, replaced by a heated intensity that gives the butterflies in my belly a second wind. Uncorking fresh bottles of lube, they resume their orgy as Evan tucks a tuft of hair behind my ear. “I decided it’s time for me to come to New York for a vacation,” he says with a crooked grin.
“A vacation?” Maybe it’s not an orgy the butterflies are having, but a gangbang?
“One that will last until we figure out whatever it is that’s going on between us,” he confirms.
So… my guess was right. It makes me want to pump my fist in the air and have my way with Evan right here on this bench, for all the aggressive pigeons to see. “And what if it takes a while?”
“I’ll be here as long as it takes.” He scoots closer to me on the bench—and we were already pretty cozy.
My heart further picks up pace. “But what about your real estate?” Has he always radiated this much warmth? It’s like he’s brought the Florida sun with him.
“I listed my house on Airbnb and hired someone to manage it all,” he says.
“And the camp?” Why am I not kissing him already?
His forehead wrinkles. “Vic owed me a favor, so I asked him to take over for me at the camp.”
“Dr. Hugo surfs?” Why am I still misusing our lips by talking?
As if reading my mind, Evan examines my lips hungrily. “The class will feature kayaking for the time being.”
“What about your own surfing?” My nipples are uncomfortably hard against my shirt, so I readjust my bra.
Evan’s eyes heat up—he’s clearly noticed my ladylike behavior. “Rockaway Beach in Queens is apparently a great surfing spot… though I would have come to you even if you lived in the desert.”
“You would have?” I breathe, my chest constricting.
“Yes.” He cradles my face with his big, warm hands. “I realized something. You hold the treasure map to my heart.”
The butterflies in my belly reach a simultaneous orgasm. “Hey, that’s my thing.”
“Then let me put it another way.” He leans in until our lips brush, and I can smell the faint mintiness of his breath. “I love you,” he whispers. “I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but I—”
“I love you too.” I lay my hands over his and stare into his eyes. “You’re like the perfect wave I’ve always wanted to ride.”
“Hey, that’s my thing,” he breathes, and his lips finally clash with mine.
The kiss is scorching and deep. It feels like the combined total of all the kisses we would’ve had if I had stayed. We reaffirm in our dancing tongues all the love we’ve just admitted to each other and make promises of a bright future, one that I’m all too excited to begin.