Just One of the Guys(50)

“This is my floor. Please excuse me,” he says formally.

“Have a good night,” I say.

He turns and leans in, planting a quick and gentle kiss right on my lips. “You, too, Chastity.” He’s gone before the blush can finish creeping up my neck. I bite my lip and smile. He kissed me. Ryan Darling kissed me. And it was nice. Quick, but very nice.

The doors slide shut once more. “Now there’s a handsome man,” the new grandmother comments. “Your husband?”

“No, no,” I tell her. “We’re…well, we’re dating.” I’m grinning like an idiot.

“Good for you, hon. A doctor and gorgeous.” She smiles and sighs. “Though nothing beats having a grandchild. Patrick is my first, you know.”

My ego, which was kicked in the head by my review with Bev, has been restored by the brief encounter with Ryan. As the woman pointed out, he is an extraordinarily good-looking man, incredibly smart, talented and well-educated and rather charming, actually.

I think about the bathroom incident. The nipple. Trev’s hand. Then I give my head a little shake and recite the mantra I’ve had going for a good long time. Trevor and I are really good friends. We were together once. It didn’t work out. If he’s the man I’d choose, well, sometimes you don’t get what you want. Doesn’t mean I can’t fall in love again. Find someone else. I don’t have to be stuck on Trevor James Meade for the rest of my life.

I go back home, clip the leash on my baby girl and go for a walk. May is such a beautiful month. The cherry trees in front of my neighbor’s house are in bloom, and late tulips nod along the sidewalk. I’ll have to do some gardening this year, too. Buttercup sniffs a flowerbed with great excitement, practically inhaling a grape hyacinth into her nostril. A lilac tree promises to be glorious in another week or so.

I head for downtown, past the Civil War memorial, past the library with its big elm trees and benches. The streetlights shed a soft pink glow, and I sneak peeks up at the apartment windows above the shops that line Main Street. Someone has a big bookcase. Someone’s room is painted red. Someone loves plants. I love these little glimpses into the lives of the residents, love seeing a tiny slice of someone’s life.

Buttercup finds religion at a fire hydrant, putting her bloodhound genes to good work as she sniffs and sniffs and sniffs. She has more energy these days, and it’s not such a trial to walk her, though she is breathtakingly slow for such a big animal. She glances back at me and continues to snuffle along the sidewalk, wagging her tail.

I find myself at my dad’s apartment, though I hadn’t exactly planned on coming. What the heck. I ring the bell.

“Trev?” Dad’s voice asks over the intercom.

“It’s Chastity, Pop,” I say.

“Hey, Porkchop!” He buzzes me in and I walk up the three flights to his apartment, practically dragging Buttercup behind me.

“You can do it, girl! Almost there!” I urge as she threatens to collapse on the second landing. Finally, we reach Dad’s door, which is unlocked.

“Come on in,” he calls from the kitchen.

I’ve only been here once before, last summer. It doesn’t look much different. There’s a futon couch, a TV in the corner, and still a lot of boxes yet to be unpacked. A couple of Eaton Falls Fire Department shirts are draped over the radiator.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” I say.

“Don’t be a smart-ass. Want a drink?” Dad asks. He’s wearing his work clothes still, dark blue pants and a polo shirt emblazoned with the Maltese Cross, the symbol of firefighters. His thick salt-and-pepper hair is rumpled.

“Sure,” I say. “Got a beer?”

“Coming up.”

Buttercup flops down in front of the couch, and I climb over her to sit, draping my legs over her broad back. Dad brings me a beer, a whiskey for himself, and sits next to me, slinging his arm around my shoulder.

“Are the Yanks on tonight?” I ask.

“No,” he says glumly. “Travel day.” He looks at me. “So what brings you here, Porkchop?”

“I was just out for a walk. Thought I’d drop by and see you. How are you, Daddy? Gonna unpack one of these days?”

He sighs. “Well, I never thought I’d live here this long,” he says, removing his arm. He sits silently for a minute, sipping his whiskey. “Your mother is seeing someone, you know.”

I nod.

“Is it serious?” he asks. “She won’t talk to me about it.”

“I…I don’t know, Dad. I really think you should consider retiring, though.”

“Right,” he snorts. “So I can sit around and scratch my ass? Hang around at the firehouse and wish I was still working?”

Buttercup rises, wagging. Her tail nearly topples my beer bottle, but I catch it and scratch behind her left ear. “Rooooo,” she moans in doggy delight. Dad gives a reluctant smile, and Buttercup takes this as permission to climb on the couch next to us. She wedges her giant frame on the space that’s left, then drapes her front paws and head across my lap.

“You are the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dad tells her, stroking one of her thin, floppy ears. Her tail whips in appreciation.

“Getting back to the subject at hand, Dad. There’s so much you could do if you retired. Travel, take up golf, spend a day in the city once in a while…you know. Be a normal person.”