Page 3 of Your Two Lips
“The Boathouse across the street okay?” she asked.
“Sounds great.”
A casual hump day drink with my new boss in my new hometown. I was settling in, seeing Perry Harbor through the eyes of someone who lived here, rather than the tourist I once was.
As a kid, summering in the San Juan Islands meant easy warm days out of the city crush, family dinners packed with local produce, mornings on the deck with my brother and me eagerly scanning the water’s surface for a whale’s waterspout or tail fluke, and sunsets slowly turning the blue sky above the Salish Sea to orange and pink. Dad worked less, and Mom’s laughter filled every room of our summer home set high on the rocky Washington coast.
Now, the Pacific Northwest harbor town about seventy miles north of Seattle was my fresh start. Seattle had too many reminders of life before the hysterectomy. Images of the life I’d expected with Joel.
I had little contact with him in the last year or so. He wasn’t the man I thought he was, and I didn’t miss him. My body was healing, and it was time for a new place and a new version of me.
Not in the magic house on the hill, though. We sold it a couple of years after Mom died. The market was high, and it was the right time to sell, the accountant said as if it mattered. As much as we wanted to hold on to the house and its memories, none of us could cross the threshold without feeling the loss of Mom. She’d been happy here. Maybe I could be too.
I pulled on a pair of stretchy, soft jeans that tapered to the ankle and hugged my lean hips. I was tall, a bonus when going to concerts. My breasts were small, meaning I didn’t have to wear a bra all the time. And I rarely wore makeup, making quick changes as snap.
I squirmed out of my sports bra and pulled on a simple white cami top with a stretchy lace shirt over it. I smoothed back my blonde hair, redid the ponytail, and stomped into my favorite gray ankle boots as I headed out of the changing room. In my light jacket to ward off the early May drizzle, I waited while ReeAnn placed the small chalkboard Closed sign on the French doors off the posh inn’s lobby.
The spa provided premium services to the wealthy tourists and year-round residents of Perry Harbor and the surrounding San Juan Islands. Most of the islands were small, either privately owned by the boat and seaplane crowd or uninhabited. The larger ones included small towns and farms, marinas and resorts, and naval bases of the past and present. The traffic was light, and the air was fresh.
“They make tasty cocktails. Have you been yet?” ReeAnn nodded toward the bar across the main street in town. String lights weaved through a pergola out front and lit up the large picture windows.
“Not since I moved here,” I said.
“I went to Perry Harbor High with the guys who own it now. Good guys if you’re into tall and tattooed.” ReeAnn winked.
It was crowded for a Wednesday, and I paused at the door to take it all in. The decor had changed from years ago, another reminder I was new. I took a deep breath, willing my anxiety back under control. I was glad to be creating this updated version of myself, trying to make the best of the hand I was dealt, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared.
Warm dark wood tables, exposed brick, and industrial light fixtures gave the open space a casual, minimalist vibe. A couple of wooden boats hung high from the rafters, and on the walls were posters of boating knots and sailboats. A large, signed photo of an America’s Cup team midrace hung above the bar, and there were pool tables in the back lit by green glass lampshades hanging low.
ReeAnn and I settled onto a couple of stools at the end of the bar and stowed our jackets on the silver boat-cleat hooks under the bar top.
“Hello, ReeAnn and friend,” greeted the bartender. “You two look lovely tonight. What can I get you?” His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and both forearms were heavily inked with shapes and designs. They looked like waves on the ocean and appeared to move and ripple with his muscles as he wiped off the bar.
He was kinda hot in that bad boy way. Part of the new-me plan involved dating again. Like others had a sleep debt, I had a sex debt. I wondered if Mr. Ocean-Tattoo could help me with that.
ReeAnn ordered a margarita on the rocks, and he looked at me. “A Buffalo Trace Manhattan,” I said with an attempt at a flirty smile.
“Comin’ right up.” He shot a glance back at ReeAnn with something like appreciation or desire before he headed down the bar. Well, that answered that question. He only had eyes for ReeAnn.
She taught yoga at the spa in addition to managing it and was usually the picture of serenity, never ruffled by an entitled or demanding customer. But the energy around her had shifted with Mr. Ocean-Tattoo. Interesting.
“One of the tall and tatted owners, I presume.” I raised a brow at ReeAnn.
“That’s Jake. He and his brother own the place.”
“Hey, guys.” ReeAnn’s friend Carrie squeezed onto the stool next to her. I had recently met Carrie and liked her instantly.
“Hey, girl. What are you doing here?” ReeAnn reached out to hug her friend.
Carrie nodded to the back. “Lucas is in town for a few days, so the guys all got together. Dan’s playing pool. I’m just hanging out. Jake is looking fine tonight, don’t you think, Ree?” She elbowed her friend and waggled her eyebrows.
“Careful there, you don’t want Dan thinkin’ you’re interested in Jake,” ReeAnn teased.
“Oh, Dan knows he’s the one. But I am not blind.” Carrie turned to me. “Jake is swoon-worthy. ReeAnn is the only woman who pretends not to think so.”
The man approached with our drinks.
“Jake and I are friends,” ReeAnn said as she smiled at him.
