Page 33 of Smooth Talk

Chapter 12

Grayson

I’m sitting on the top step of the front porch to my parent’s farmhouse waiting for my girls to show up for our fishing date. Mygirls, huh. They’re, obviously, not mine, but my readiness for a serious relationship involving not one, but two people, isn’t souring my stomach like it would have a month ago. My life is slowly shifting— taking fewer cases, becoming more active in the community, prioritizing family over work. The true turning point came one night when I realized I had everything the world told me I should want (career, wealth, status), but I still felt like something was missing. Change is essential to life. I’m making strides to a happier more fulfilling one.

It’s five minutes after 8:00; they’re running late, and I have some ground rules to lay out for my wingman before they get here. I look at Gunner who is laying on the porch next to my thigh. “Buddy, I need you to be your usual charming self today. Don’t let me down. I want you to be downright charismatic. Think: Ferris Bueller.” He grumbles next me then yawns, like he thinks my pep talk is as needless as it is ridiculous. Everyone loves him. He’s a chocolate lab toddler who captivates the heart of everyone he meets, even my 72-year-old neighbor Mrs. Lupo— a self-proclaimed cat-person that abhors dogs. She races out of her house every other evening to feed Gun her leftover food scraps, even though I’ve asked her not to. People food gives him diarrhea. She still insists on tossing something to him on our nightly run, and it, in turn, gives him the runs. Huh, maybe she really does hate dogs. She was Oliver’s pick, I blame him.

As part of our trust, we each inherited more money than we’d use in our lifetime along with an eighty-five-acre plot on the east side of town when we turned eighteen. The land sat vacant until seven years ago when we decided to create a neighborhood—New Suburbanism, if you will. There are a few shops, a handful of restaurants, a clubhouse, garden co-op, solar power grid and miles of eco-friendly golf cart track (it’s the easiest way to get around). Sixty lots in all, divided into either four, eight or twelve-acre plots with mature trees, verdant rolling fields, streams and ponds. It’s, essentially, a private gated lake community for our family and a few select others (there’s a rigorous vetting process for all buyers and my siblings and I have the right of first refusal should anyone want to sell). We currently have forty-two happy, quirky residents who provide ample entertainment at every single monthly meeting, which either I or Oliver preside over. The fact that I live at The Enclave is common knowledge; the exact location of my home is not. Some things are best kept private.

I’ve lived there quite happily for the past five years. O finally lent some time to our general contractor a little over two years ago, and his craftsman style manor was completed just six months after breaking ground. Vi is in the beginning stages of building, now I just need to talk the rest of my brothers and sisters into moving back here and building (not only so we’ll be close again, but to handle some of the community responsibilities— some of our residents are ‘quirkier’ than others). We all have large lots, but their current life trajectory is elsewhere. I love the idea of all us being home again, spending time together like we did when we were young. When we all have kids, they can grow up together. One big happy family.

The picture of several kids playing tag in my yard flashes through my mind. The fact that a couple have red hair isn’t lost on me. Shit; am I already in that deep? I need to focus on the here and now. They’ll be here any minute and there’s still a lot left unsaid. I’ve been stroking Gun’s ears absent mindedly; letting my mind wander for who knows how long. I look him in the eye, and no lie; he winks at me. He must know where my thoughts were venturing.

My dog doesn’t need this pep talk, I do. I’ve got to get this nervous energy out before they get here, and this little shit, rolling his coffee-colored puppy eyes at me, is my confidant. I point at him before reaching around to scratch his ears again (you know, so he knows how seriously to take my next words). “Best behavior. I like these girls; I want them in my life.”

He quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head, so I amend my previous statement. “Our lives. You’ll like them too. The little one loves animals and the older one smells like the beach. You love the beach, buddy.” He barks in answer; he really does love frolicking in the surf. I hear the crunch of gravel and look up to see them heading our way. “All right boy, this is it. Make me look good.” He huffs out an exasperated breath, but picks up his head, tail wagging, his ears perking with excitement, observing our guests. Looks like Gunner will be on point today. Fingers crossed we don’t fuck this up.

Harper leaps from the car when it comes to a complete stop, “Hi Mr. Max! I can pets your puppy?” She’s skipping up the steps, wearing navy galoshes with pink whales printed on them over blue and white striped leggings. She’s also wearing a white shirt with pink glitter that reads: A Lady Doesn’t Fish & Tell. Fucking adorable.

“You sure can,” I say as she nears me. “His name is Gunner; he’s very friendly. Just let him sniff your hand first.” She holds the back of her hand out toward his face, with her fingers tucked in, someone’s obviously taught her proper new dog etiquette.

“Nice to meet you Gunner,” she says and shakes his paw when he offers it to her (I taught him that trick—such a gentleman).

“He likes his ears scratched,” I whisper. She does just that and Gun sidles up beside her, nuzzling and panting happily.

She throws her arms around his neck giving him a big hug, “Oh! I love him!” She’s practically squealing. It’s exactly how I felt when he was first laid in my arms. Instant besties.

Gunner’s quite taken with Harper and I’ll admit to myself that I can’t fight the draw either. I only met her a week ago, but I can already see how special she is. How a man, let alone his flesh and blood, could turn his back on her is beyond me. She’s just so sweet and enthusiastic about everything, I’d hate to disappoint her. I’d forgotten what it was like to be that young and innocent (if I ever was in the first place).

It doesn’t hurt that she’s adorable. The resemblance to her mother is uncanny. She’s going to be gorgeous when she’s older. Heartbreaker in the making.

The sound of the car door closing pulls my attention to her mom. Poppy steps toward us wearing a soft gray tee-shirt with a plaid flannel tied around her waist over leggings tucked into duck boots. Her casual attire does nothing to diminish her beauty. Her long red hair is gathered high on her head in a ponytail; a few tendrils are down, framing her angelic face perfectly. Don’t get me started on those leggings. They’re doing amazing things for her long, toned legs and giving me all kinds of ideas. I’d like to peel them down just past her plump ass and wrap that ponytail around my fist while I drive into her from behind. And there goes my dick.

I need to slow my role. Date not Fuck. Maybe if I talk to myself like the caveman I am right now, I’ll get him to see reason. As much as I want to slam inside that woman; I want a relationship with her too. On our picnic last weekend, she told me it’s been a while since she’s dated anyone. I read between the lines. Poppy isn’t the type to go for casual sex. She may be attracted to me, but it doesn’t mean she’s going to jump in my bed either. She has some three-date rule thing. I remind myself to be patient. Besides, there’s a kid two feet away from me. Petting my damn dog. I need to keep my thoughts in PG territory. Which I’m finding hard to do when Poppy’s around. Very. Hard.

I turn away trying to get a grip on my wayward thoughts. Mentally changing course while she’s walking toward us and mention some ground rules to Harper. “You’ll have to help me keep Gun quiet and away from the water down there. He likes to bark and splash around. The fish won’t bite if there’s too much going on; they scare easily.” I take another quick inventory of her clothing, “those boots you’ve got on are perfect, it gets a little muddy by the lake, but you’re going to need a few other things to look the part,” I say reaching behind her to grab the gear I’d purchased. I put the hot pink fishing hat on her head (it matches the glitter on her shirt perfectly) and hand her a sparkly pink rod and tackle box.

“Oh, Fank you! Dey’re so pretty!” She’s so polite. And so stinkin’ cute. It won’t take long before I’m wrapped around her tiny little finger.

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

“You didn’t have to do all that, she could’ve just used whatever you had here.” Poppy somehow snuck up behind me as I talked to Harper.

“How do you know I didn’t just grab this stuff out of the barn,” I nod my head toward the sturdy red wooden structure behind the house.

“Oh? You keep glittery pink fishing supplies in the barn?” I just smile in reply. “Besides,” she whispers, “There’s a tag on that box thingy she’s holding.”

I turn the tackle box in Harper’s hand, trying to get a better look. I thought I got all of them, “I must’ve missed one,” I whisper absent mindedly.

“Ah hah! So, you did just buy all this stuff.” She’s beaming, pleased with her sleuthing skills.

“Poppy Monroe, you are quite crafty. I’ll have to keep my eye on you.” I narrow my eyes playfully at her. She just smiles and steps up to the top of the porch, making us the same height, and kisses my cheek, catching me totally off guard.

“And you, Grayson Maxwell, are very sweet. Thank you for Harper’s gear. I hope she gets more than one use out of it.”

Me too. We haven’t even left yet, and I’m already planning future expeditions. I’d be happy to take them fishing every weekend just to spend my time this close to Poppy. I inhale her sweet coconut scent. Her proximity is enough to make my head spin, but I make a concerted effort to keep it in the game. “It’s my pleasure, and you’re both more than welcome to use the lake here any time the angling urge hits.”

She smiles her appreciation at me, and I have the overwhelming urge to kiss her. I take a step back (thank god I’m not so distracted I realize the step back is an actual stair and I don’t bust my ass in front of her). I’m not sure how she feels about public displays of affection in front of her daughter. Sure, she just kissed my cheek, but the kiss I have in mind is more PG-13 rated. I’ll have to be patient, hopefully an opportunity for more than a peck will arise at some point today. I plan to be vigilant.

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