Give & Take (Redbeard Cove #2)

32. Raphael

Chapter 32

Raphael

T he Rusty Dinghy is quiet on a Wednesday afternoon. There are a handful of patrons in the restaurant and several more outside on the patio.

While I wait to be seen, I take in the space. The bar is beautiful, more like a restaurant, with white walls lined with wood shiplap and hand printed portraits of locals all over the walls. Lana told me it was Stu, that grumpy painter who sits outside all day with his watercolors—the one who let us play on his boat that day—who painted all the pictures.

He’s incredibly talented. These really should be in a gallery.

I look around the restaurant for Lana, but don’t see her, which is good. According to Chris she should be on her last break of the day.

Last night, Mac, Shelby, and Mac’s sister Annie took the girls for a spontaneous special two night trip to Seattle. Annie’s a literary agent who works from home but also travels a lot, and had some conference cancellation but still had the hotel. Mac was the one who suggested going along with Shelby and also taking Nova and Aurora. When he called me, he said it was to give Lana a break. Shelby said in the background Mac wanted an excuse to go to all the kids’ museums.

“That’s just an added bonus,” Mac said. “They’re so cool.” Then he’d cleared his throat. Anyway. “Just make sure she says yes.”

He also arranged it so Lana could have a couple of vacation days midweek, and told me I should spend those two days making sure Lana has the time of her fucking life.

“That’s not a sex thing,” Mac grumbled, realizing his poor choice of words.

I didn’t know Mac knew we were…hooking up, which is a woefully poor term for what we have. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was helping us have alone time.

In any case, I’m here, both to get a glimpse of Lana in server mode, and to surprise her with the trip I’ve organized. I’ve got Cal’s truck packed outside. I just hope she likes it.

Chris emerges from the kitchen. “Oh, hi there,” she says as she heads to another table. “Go ahead and seat yourself.”

She doesn’t recognize me, which means I’ve nailed this outfit. When I told Lana I’d wear a disguise the day I came to see her at work, she thought I was joking.

Though she was distracted by the giant tray of food she’s holding. Now that she’s unloaded it, Chris does a double take and gives me a slightly wary look as she sees me move to a booth on the far wall.

I hope it’s in Lana’s section.

When Chris doesn’t come over right away, I give myself a mental pat on the back, since I was worried Lana would see right through me. I’m wearing a ball cap, wig, thick bushy stick-on mustache, and tinted aviator sunglasses. I’m also wearing a trench coat, which maybe wasn’t a great idea since it’s still the dog days of summer and extremely hot out, even down here on the water.

Chris comes over a few minutes later to bring me menus. I give her a big smile to show her it’s me, just like we planned.

“Am I in Lana’s section?” I ask, keeping my voice low. I wait for her to recognize me.

Instead, Chris takes a full step back. “Excuse me?”

“Chris, it’s me!” I say, now extremely proud of myself. Nailed it.

Chris’s eyes go wide. “ Raphael ?”

“Shhh!” I say, looking around her. Luckily Lana’s still not on the floor.

“Raphael, are you serious?” Chris hisses, stepping back toward the table. “I didn’t recognize you at all .”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“In theory, yes, but this is the disguise you chose?” She looks around, then picks up a menu like she’s pretending to explain something on it.

I look down, tightening my belt. “I was going for 1970s undercover detective,” I say proudly. “Looks great, right? ”

“Raph,” she says through her teeth, the menu covering half her face. “You look like a sex offender!”

“What?” I look down in horror.

“Especially because you’re sweating so much! Who wears a trench coat in the summer? Are you wearing pants?”

“Shorts!”

I am sweaty, despite the shorts. I borrowed this trench coat from Mrs. Brown, Lana’s next door neighbor. She said it belonged to her husband. It’s lined with wool, and is way too small—it pinches at the armpits—but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Can you see how this is problematic?” Chris asks, still behind the menu.

I take in my outfit. Pat my mustache. Then I panic. Because she’s right, I thought I’d look mysterious and sexy. Instead I look like a creep. “Shit!”

Then I say it again. “Shit!” That’s because Lana has come out from the back, and is straightening her apron as she steps out onto the restaurant floor. She glances our way, then frowns in what I’m pretty sure is slight disgust.

Chris turns. She must smile at her, because Lana gives a ‘yikes’ solidarity face back then heads for the tables in her section.

“I thought you had a PhD!” Chris whispers after Lana’s back is to us.

“Not yet!”

“Clearly. It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

I grimace. “Maybe I’ll lose the hat?”

“I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem.” She studies me a moment, then covers her mouth. “Honestly, I can’t even look at you.”

I realize she’s now trying not to laugh.

I groan.

“Okay listen,” Chris says. “I can tell Lana I need her to take my table. I’ll tell her you’re harmless. She might not believe me though, as I think we have different creep thresholds.”

“Oh no,” I croak. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what she means by creep threshold. While I’m sure neither woman would put up with anything remotely too lascivious, I can see Chris rolling her eyes or plainly telling someone to leave. I can see Lana, meanwhile, punching me in the nose and kneeing me in the crotch before physically throwing me out.

I inadvertently hover a menu over my family jewels. Even though I’m a tiny bit proud at the fact that Lana would suffer no creep, even for a moment.

“Just…try to act natural,” Chris squeaks out, then turns around and leaves. “I’ll figure this out.”

I keep my eyes on Lana as Chris walks over there. She pulls her aside to whisper something to her.

Both of them briefly glance my way. I jerk the menu up over my face so she can’t see me staring.

But the sudden movement reminds me of how hot I am. I let out a breath and wipe my forearm over my upper lip, forgetting about the mustache and almost peeling it off. I pat it back in place. Yes beggars can’t be choosers with free trench coats, but now I wish I’d been at least a little choosy.

Luckily I’m sufficiently distracted a moment later as I watch Lana head to a table with an older couple. Her smile is radiant. The woman laughs at something she says. Then her husband says something and they all laugh, and for a moment the world goes still. It’s not the big, throaty laugh I got, and for that I feel this burst of petty victory.

But it’s still beautiful. Everything about her is beautiful. Seeing this side of her though, it makes me realize that I’m actually the luckiest man in the world, because what she’s doing now—it’s a performance. It’s not disingenuous; I truly think she’s enjoying herself.

But I get to see the real her. The one with the little frown line when she’s annoyed. The one with the real smile she tries to hide.

The one who looks at her most vulnerable and open when I have her naked next to me in bed, her expression soft, her eyes earnest and sweet.

Or closed, with her mouth open as she?—

Fuck, a boner in this outfit would be pretty much the worst thing ever in the history of bad things. I think of greasy fries and airport delays. Baseball. No, tennis, a sport I actually used to watch when I was a kid because my mom liked it. Her favorite player was this blond guy called Jude Kelly who she said she loved because he was sweet and goofy like me.

Okay crisis averted.

I feel calmed down enough to look back at Lana. She’s done with the older couple; she’s at the point of sale machine, tapping something into the screen. She tucks her pen behind her ear, and lifts her foot up to brush something off her ankle.

I find myself mesmerized. The movements are unconsciously beautiful, and I wish I had some way of hitting rewind on the whole interaction, just so I can watch them over and over again.

Then again, that’s kind of a creepy thing to think.

Oh fuck me. Lana’s done and is heading my way.

I’m nervous, my heart pounding. Or maybe that’s just because the heat I feel is unbearable now. I keep my face down so she can only see the brim of my hat as she approaches.

Slowly, I notice. Almost cautiously.

“Hello,” she says, a friendly tone in her voice I’ve never heard before. There’s something else in there too. Some kind of…sympathy, maybe?

“My friend Chris tells me you needed a little extra time with the menu?”

I keep my voice down. “Yes, thank you.”

“Do you think you’re ready to order?”

Oh shit. I’ve been holding the menu in front of my face for a full ten minutes and I couldn’t tell you a single thing that’s on there. I try generic.

“I’ll have a…uh…burger.”

“Is that the special burger? Or the plain burger?”

Something’s definitely off. Her voice is gentle, like she’s talking to a child.

“Plain burger,” I say. “And French fries.”

Who says French fries? “Fries,” I clarify. “Plain fries.”

“You got it, honey.”

Honey? I snap my gaze up. Only the movement is a little too fast for my overheated brain, because I suddenly see spots. My stomach goes queasy .

“Sir are you…” She leans forward, steadying me with hands on my shoulders. “Sir…”

She frowns. Then she gasps, and rips off my mustache.

“Ow!” I say, only it comes out like a little squeak because I’m so out of it. The world’s starting to spin.

“ Raph ?” Lana asks, incredulous. “What the hell?”

She whips my hat off and the hair goes with it.

“It’s meeee!” I say. I actually feel my eyes rolling up in my head. But I don’t care at this point, all I care about is that I’m face planting into the blessedly cool cup of ice water she’s set down in front of me.