Page 12 of Grounds for Love

Chapter 5

Rod

Withmysurlyface in place, I plod down the street daring anyone to stop me or make the mistake of telling me good morning. In my current frame of mind, they wouldn’t like the answer.

“I tried, Gracie. She’s not interested,” I mutter. I made a damn fool of myself. That’s the end of it.

When I get to the ferry station, I storm past Barbara, who actually runs the day-to-day business side of the ferry and respond to her sunny greeting with a growl. She’s used to my temperament and has the annoying habit of ignoring the warning signs to leave me the hell alone. Being my sister is probably why she hasn’t up and left my ass years ago.

Paying no attention to the paperwork waiting for me on my desk, I sit down and throw my feet on top of the neatly stacked pile of file folders. Taking a sip of the coffee still in my hand, I scowl at its deliciousness and savor the taste as it flows smoothly down my throat. It’s the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had. And damn it, it will be the last from Uncommon Grounds I ever have.

Why am I brooding about this? What the fuck do I care that she shot me down. Again. I’ve never chased after a woman before and I’ll be damned if I start now. I drain the coffee, toss the cup towards the trashcan, and miss by a mile. I glare at the can and notice that it’s been moved from its regular place beneath the mirror.

Grumbling to myself about the janitorial staff, I drop my feet and pick up the cup and toss it away before putting the trashcan back where it belongs. When I straighten, the face of the man in the mirror has no answers for me either. I lean in to take a closer look. Granted, there is more salt than pepper at my temples these days, but there’s no bald spots or receding hairline.

I run my hand over the scruff on my face and notice there’s patches of gray there as well. I raise my forehead to stretch the skin. I don’t see any wrinkles around my eyes or saggy bags beneath them. I turn my head side to side checking my profile and can’t find anything to complain about. “I’m a damn fine looking man.”

I look up when I hear a muffled laugh to find my sister leaning in the doorway. “Oh, my God, you’ve lost your last marble, haven’t you?”

Damn. But wait. She’s a woman, kind of. So I ask, “Do I look like an old man?”

Her brows pull together. “Since I’m two years older, I am going to say no. You don’t look like an old man because you aren’t an old man. You know good and well how fit and handsome you are. Men have it so easy. A little bit of gray only enhances your looks, where I have a standing monthly appointment with Brandy to get my naturally brown hair touched up.”

I shake my head at her foolishness. Barbara is a beautiful woman and she knows it. I round my desk and take my seat again.

“Where is all the self-appreciation coming from? I must say it’s a new weird, even for you.”

I know I’m going to regret this. “I’m trying to get a woman to go out with me and she keeps turning me down.”

I steady my frown and try not to let it show how interested I am in her perspective. Her face freezes as I’m sure she’s running my words on replay. Then she sinks into one of the chairs in front of my desk.

“Say what?” she asks.

“You heard me.”

With disbelief and awe radiating from my sister, she says, “Wait a minute. You asked a woman out?”

I knew I’d regret saying anything. “Yes, I did. Twice.”

A grin plays around the corner of her mouth and I grind my teeth. “And she turned you down. Twice?”

My jaw tenses. “That is what I said. What I can’t understand is why. That’s what you walked in on.”

She nods in understanding. “You were looking to see if you still have it.”

That makes me sound like an insecure twit. “In a roundabout way, yes. I’ve never given a shit what I look like.”

This isn’t helping.

“Get back to work. I don’t pay you to sit around and laugh at me.”

The smile on her face fades. “Oh no, brother dear, you aren’t getting rid of me. I’ve hoped and prayed you’d show an interest in someone for years. And your hookups with Marley over in Wilmington don’t count. That’s just sex.”

“How the hell do you know about her? And this conversation is over. I’m not talking to my sister about my sex life!” I bellow. A tone that normally puts the look of fear in people’s eyes.

Barbara simply waves it off. “Oh, come on. I’m your sister. I know everything. And it helped that three years ago I was in her shop and overheard her talking to a friend about the amazing night she had with the sea captain. I checked the ferry logs and put two and two together. Now I know every time you, shall we say, visit? PS, she also sees a restaurant owner named Marcel.”

I throw up my hands in surrender. I see a job opening in the very near future. “What the fuck, Barb? Isn’t anything private?”

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