Page 14 of Red Hot Roaster

So I shared my observations regarding all things Rafe. Heseemedto be a nice guy, albeit a bit grumbly and short on words. Heappearedto be competent and hard-working, based on one day’s evidence. And my beloved Pete had recommended him, after all.

He wasdefinitelya proud—and protective—papa to sweet girl Princess, who had Pirate wrapped around her dainty paw. I paused for theahhhsfrom around the table.

Last but not least, he wasmore thaneasy on the eyes, what with his muscly and tattooed goodness—an understatement according to pointed looks from Lauren and Mica.

I stopped and said, “Down, girls. Down. Don’t get too excited.”

See, I knew my girls. They were already getting…ideas.

They knew my “love” life since dog butts one and two had consisted of blind dates forced on me by well-meaning people, a couple of hookups I’d rather forget, and secret shower sessions with my favorite toy.

I’d made Finn and the Chocolate Lab my priorities…and I wassonot in a hurry to place my trust in a man again.

Sorry I can’t keep my promise, Mom.

“Ladies, need I remind you that Rafe is only ourtemporarycoffee roaster, until Mike can return in a few months? In fact, Pete told me Rafe likes the rootless life. He’s been traveling from gig to gig ever since he finished training a few years back. He’s probably got his next jobs already lined up.”

“And the problem with that is…?” asked Lauren.

“Yeah, we’re talking about a no-strings-attached fling here,” Jen added.

“You can’t tell us Mister Vibrato is doing it for you!” Mica prodded.Again, I wished she’d keep her voice down.

“Ladies, enough!” I whisper-shouted. “I amnotlooking for somebody here today and gone tomorrow. I amnotlooking for a short-term fling-thing. I amnotlooking for a real-life Mister Vee.”I amnotlooking for love.“Been there, done that, got the T-shirt…actually, the kid.”

That was enough to get my girls to fall silent, at least for now. Then, as one, we picked up our Manhattans and hoisted them in another toast to Mom and her love for us—and to Finn—and to all things doggo.

After that, we finished blowing our frilly-stabby toothpicks into the ceiling, ordered another round and asked Vera for the menus. We had some serious planning to do for Mom’s party tomorrow, including the choice of which Elvis songs we wanted to claim for the karaoke part of the fun. “Hound Dog” and “Return to Sender” topped the list.

Chapter 9

Rafe

What got me was the level of hubbub from all the people jammed in the Chocolate Lab.

From the moment the party started mid-afternoon, people began pouring in the door. Now the level of noise—chatter, laughter, even shouting—was off the charts.

Yeah, there were breaks when somebody or several somebodies stepped up to the mic to sing—usually an Elvis tune since, apparently, Rose’s mom had been a big fan. There was a quiet moment when Finn read one of his grandma’s favorite poems, about dogs, of course. There was another pause when Mateo called for help in pushing tables and chairs back for dancing, and at least half the men groaned. I suspected dancing—and singing—were spectator sports for most guys like me.

Otherwise, hubbub.

From my vantage point behind the counter, back to the wall, safely out of the way, I could keep an eye on everything. Spy what needed to be done. Replenish food platters the kids brought up. Make foo-foo coffee drinks on demand.

Watch Rose without seeming like a stalker.

Now, I’d only met Rose two-and-a-half days ago. But by the time of her mom’s party, I knew a few things to be true.

She was a knockout who couldn’t be any less conscious of her looks. Her honey-colored hair was tied up in a high ponytail with strands falling all around her face. Her creamy cheeks were flushed, bare of any makeup as far as I could tell. Her T-shirt and jean skirt hugged her curvy body, yet were covered by a Chocolate Lab apron. Her long, toned legs ended in scuffed pink sneakers.

She was hands-on, not only in overseeing the party, but like…literally. Hugging shoulders, patting backs, stroking cheeks, ruffling hair. Even handing out kisses here and there to older people like Pete or kids like Noah.

She was kind and generous, not only to a stranger like me but to everyone and everyone’s dog. You could see that people were here not just to pay tribute to her mom, but also to show affection and support for her and her son Finn.

Another thing I knew to be true. Rose could not sing worth shit.

Earlier, when she’d linked arms with her girls in front of the crowd and karaoked the hell out of the old Elvis hit “Hound Dog,” it hadn’t been noticeable.

Now, she was crooning “Love Me Tender,” which she dedicated to her big boy Pirate, and it was evident.

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