Page 4 of The Ruse of Romancing
Thegrocerystoredoorsopened with a whoosh as I glanced down at the list in my hand. It included an odd assortment of items, all things my grandparents insisted I needed to purchase for the rental half of the duplex I lived in and managed for them. While the last-minute shopping trip wasn’t how I’d originally planned to spend my Saturday morning, it was a small price to pay for living on the Oregon coast rent free. My grandparents had purchased the duplex as an investment property years ago and, when they were no longer able to keep up with the maintenance, I was more than happy to help in exchange for a place to live, even if it meant running random errands on the weekend and getting weekly comments from mygrandma about how much she disliked both my beard and my long hair.
This time around, the vacation rental had been rented by a long-term guest, our first since my grandparents had completed their ill-advised renovation. Somehow, Grandma had gotten it into her head that thrift store chic was a good idea, transforming the slightly dated rental that looked like it was from the early 2000s into something straight from one of her old movies, complete with bright color-blocked rooms, silky couch pillows, and bulky gold lamps.
I’d thankfully convinced her not to repeat the same renovations on my side of the duplex. The colors would have most definitely interfered with my creative process as an artist and graphic designer.
I pictured trying to work on my commissions in a pea-green room and shuddered. I was quite happy with my clean white walls and furniture that hadn’t been pre-owned by at least five people before me.
I grabbed a cart and started my trip up and down the grocery aisles, snagging instant coffee and bargain-brand bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Just because my grandparents had added it to the list, didn’t mean I had to purchase top of the line products. The duplex looked like it was a time capsule from the fifties, no reason for it to have fancy coffee or shampoo bottles that cost as much as a tank of gas.
Though I made sure to grab the shampoo that did not smell like vanilla. I’d had my fill of female tourists who smelled like vanilla to last a lifetime. Strawberry was a nice, safe aroma. Strawberry didn’t spell trouble and heartbreak.
“Mason, I thought that was you.” A cheery female voice called as I started making my way to the checkout line.
I looked up to find the local baker and my favorite person in the entire coastal town waving at me from the pharmacyarea. Joane had the physique of someone who enjoyed her own baking, meaning she gave the best hugs of anyone I knew, with the exception of my own mother, who lived several states away in Utah. Add to that the hint of mischief that always lurked behind Joane’s glasses, and exchanges with her were guaranteed to be entertaining, making them some of my favorite conversations when I was in town.
“Joane! How is the prettiest lady in all of Cascade Harbor?” I asked, giving her my biggest grin as I pushed my cart over to her so we could chat more easily.
Joane blushed as she reached up to smooth back some gray hairs that had escaped from her ponytail before returning her hand to her cart. “Oh, you flirt! Don’t think I don’t know just how you use that smile, sir. You could weaponize that thing.” She swatted my arm, but there was no sting in the motion. It was more an affectionate pat.
“This smile,” I smiled wider and stroked my chin, the soft yet slightly coarse feel of my beard reminding me I’d skipped my bi-weekly barber visit last week and needed to stop in tomorrow morning. It was probably time to trim my hair as well, touch-up the ends so my grandma couldn’t claim it was getting unruly and unkempt. “How do I use this smile? If you ask my mother or grandmother, it’s too deeply buried behind stubble to be visible.”
While I kept my beard well-groomed, my mom was convinced any facial hair was too much. She regularly lectured both me and my brother Grey on our need to shave.
“The long list of leggy blondes, brunettes, and redheads I’ve seen you chatting up at the beach tells me exactly how you use that smile. And if Spencer is to be believed,” she raised an eyebrow at this, “those interactions don’t stay exclusive to the beach.”
“Now Joane, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” I said. I was going to have to have a chat with my best friend about not sharing all details from my personal life with his mother.
“Who said you were a gentleman?”
I placed a hand on my chest in mock outrage. “Are you saying I’mnota gentleman?”
“We both know the answer to that question,” Joane said, pushing her cart a couple of steps away before turning to add, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my favorite customer. Make sure to stop by the bakery this afternoon. I’m trying a new white chocolate cranberry sourdough recipe, and I need your feedback.”
“Joane, you’re killing my physique,” I called to her retreating back with a chuckle. I was going to have to make a second trip to the gym today if I added a visit to Sugar and Sea Bakery to my plans.
Joane just waved at me over her shoulder, knowing full well I would be stopping by. No one said no to Joane’s baking, at least no one with functioning taste buds.
As I walked away, I tried to dismiss Joane’s comments about my not being a gentleman but her words continued to play on a loop in my mind. Normally comments about my flirting ways didn’t bother me, but something had shifted lately, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. When I’d first moved to Cascade Harbor, I’d been young and naïve, opening myself to heartbreak each time a tourist caught my eye. That summer, I’d let one tourist too close. I could still hear her laughter in my ears when I’d asked if we could stay in touch when she left and she’d told me about a boyfriend who was waiting back home, ready to propose the second she landed.
Now I kept exchanges with women casual, be they locals or tourists. And it worked for me, chasing away the loneliness thatlurked around the corners of my life. Or at least, it had until the last few months, though I’m not sure what triggered the change.
Shaking my head, I pushed aside thoughts of relationships and loneliness from my mind, refusing to look too closely at my emotions, knowing they never led anywhere good.
I quickly finished my shopping, reaching the checkout line right behind three women in their early twenties who were laughing and gesturing animatedly as they talked about their plans for the day. Their wardrobes were a combination of cutoff shorts and long-sleeved tops that hinted they’d come for the beach but knew Oregon beaches and California beaches were not the same thing. One of them looked my way, her flashing smile contrasting with her dark skin and drawing attention to her dancing green eyes. Her expression filled with interest as we made eye contact.
Joane was right about one thing, my skills weren’t limited to the beach. And this woman looked like the perfect distraction from thoughts of self-reflection and memories of women who smelled like vanilla and left my heart shattered in a million pieces.
“Hello, I couldn’t help overhearing, it sounds like you ladies could use a lunch recommendation.” I gave them my biggest smile, grateful my hair was currently pulled back into a bun and that I was wearing one of my many flannel shirts that hugged my arms and chest. Women loved their lumberjack fantasies, and I was more than happy to provide it for them with my appearance. As a bonus, my career meant I also had the sensitive, artist angle covered.
Women came to Cascade Harbor looking for an escape and distraction, two things I was more than happy to provide.
The woman who had made eye contact turned her full attention to me, cocking a hip and brushing her long black hairover her shoulder. “And you’re confident you have one that we’ll all enjoy?”
“Sugar and Sea Bakery has an amazing lunch offering. I’ve yet to meet someone who doesn’t enjoy it,” I said. The least I could do was use my smile to send some business Joane’s way. If I played my cards right, we both could benefit from this exchange in the checkout lane. “Their sourdough sandwich bread is legendary.”
Just thinking of the thick slices of soft, tangy bread Joane used as the base for her sandwiches had my mouth watering.
“What if we need something with gluten-free and vegan options?” This came from one of the green-eyed woman’s friends, an Asian woman wearing cutoff overalls with a cardigan, whose voice carried a slight accent.
