Page 11 of The Ruse of Romancing
When I got to town, I’d send the owners a message about the issue. Hopefully it was a quick fix. While I could write without internet, I’d definitely need it to do research once the story really got flowing.
Resigned to my fate, I pulled my laptop from my bag and dragged a kitchen chair over to the window that overlooked the driveway. It looked like I was being forced to work sans internet while I waited for Scooter to leave. But I’d be ready to follow right behind him the second he climbed into his truck and drove away.
And if I added sticky notes to my shopping list so I could write my own very helpful notes to my neighbor that wouldn’t be found until it was too late for them to actually be any help at all, no one could really blame me. Right?
Chapter 5
Mason
Thebellabovethedoor into Ed’s jangled as I stepped inside, greeted by the familiar sight of a trio of retired men lounging around, reading newspapers and shooting the breeze. If anyone accused the women of Cascade Harbor of being town gossips, they clearly had never stepped foot inside the town barbershop on a Sunday. The old men occupying the seats lining the storefront windows wearing matching button up shirts knew more about what was going on in this town than anyone else, and they were more than happy to share if you asked the right questions. I’d used their information to my advantage on more than one occasion, especially when it came to wooing the many single female tourists who passed through town. Through the various shop owners around town, they had an impressive network of informants that was borderline scary if I thought about it too hard. Though I still had yet to figure how exactly they collected all of their information.
The only thing these men didn’t know: who originally started Ed’s. Town legend ranged from a mountain man who got tired of the fur trade to a fugitive on the run who changed his name and appearance, using the barbershop to hide from his crimes.
Davie, the shop’s current proprietor, never so much as hinted at the true story. Instead, if you ever posited a theory, he just grunted and responded simply by saying, “Could be,” before returning to his work.
Only one of the barbershop chairs was occupied by a client as Davie finished a beard trim for a hipster I’d never seen before. That was one thing to be said for Ed’s. While the shop’s faded brick facade wasn’t much to look at from the outside, Davie’s skill with a razor was legendary, attracting clientele from as far away as Portland. Though Davie had a policy that Cascade Harbor residents took priority, making any out of towners wait while Davie serviced the locals first.
Davie’s nephew and apprentice, Charlie, sat in the other barbershop chair, staring up at the ceiling as he rocked back and forth. While Davie was a behemoth of a man with tattoo sleeves and bulging muscles that hinted at his life in the military before purchasing the shop, Charlie was a skinny kid who, despite being old enough to have completed all of the necessary coursework to become a barber, perpetually looked like he was skipping class thanks to a certain dreamy quality in his expression.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Art, a man who was at least ninety years old, called from behind his newspaper. A newspaper that, if I was a betting man, he couldn’t read thanks to cataracts and old age, but it didn’t change the fact that he clutched one in his age-spotted hands every Sunday morning I stopped in for my bi-weekly trim.
“I’m surprised we’re seeing you this early,” Marty said from Art’s left. While Art was slim and stooped, Marty was rotund with a belly laugh that carried through a crowd. He claimed tobe twenty years younger than Art, but I didn’t buy it. He looked to be at least in his eighties. “Heard you had some company last night.” Marty’s eyebrows danced as he waited for my response.
“Double company, if Benny’s to be believed. He said he saw a car headed up your road after ten and a different car coming back down right after.” This came from Clyde, a bald man who’d only recently retired as principal of the local high school. From what I could tell, Clyde was spending his entire retirement situated at Ed’s and using his divorced insomniac son as an information source.
“Benny should mind his own business,” I said, leaning against the wall next to Clyde. “Doesn’t he have anything better to do besides watch outside your windows late at night?”
Clyde shrugged. “Wasn’t too late for you to havetwolady friends come calling.”
I snorted, thinking of my second “lady friend.”
“That second visitor was my grandparents’ long-term summer renter. She didn’t get to town until after dark.” I shrugged, pretending nonchalance even as frustration at what my new temporary neighbor had interrupted filtered into my mind.
While Veronica couldn’t sit still long enough to really model for a drawing, she was averyskilled kisser. I’d almost felt bad lying to her about having to go into Portland for a few days. I wouldn’t have minded having her back for a second “modeling” session. But if I’d learned anything about flirtations with the visiting tourists that flooded Cascade Harbor every year, it was that everything was easier if interactions were kept to one, two days max.
Keep things casual and fun and no one got hurt.
Which was why it was probably for the best that my new neighbor had so thoroughly rejected my invitation the night before. I’d completely misread her, something I was blaming on the darkness and my make-out addled brain. Thankfully,summer brought plenty of tourists and opportunities for other modeling invitations with women who’d be more than happy to spend commitment-free time with me. Women who I might encourage to park in the middle of the driveaway, keep my neighbor on her toes.
“Benny said she was easy on the eyes. That true?” Clyde asked.
Both Art and Marty trained their full attention on me, not even pretending to read their newspapers anymore.
I shrugged, pretending like I hadn’t noticed her curves in the dim light of her headlights. “Don’t know. It was too dark to really see her last night. I haven’t seen her yet today. I left early this morning so I didn’t get trapped by Scooter’s truck.”
I’d tried to warn my new neighbor about our landscaper and his inability to park anywhere other than right in the middle of our driveway, but she’d closed the garage door so fast you would have thought a bear was trying to break in. After moving into the duplex, I’d quickly learned to vacate the premises before eight every Sunday morning if I wanted to leave home before noon. How it took Scooter four hours to mow the duplex’s postage stamp yard, I’d never know, but I wasn’t going to question it too closely. Scooter charged a set rate, no matter how long it took him to finish, and his mowing meant I didn’t have to do it.
At this point, Charlie had stopped rocking back and forth in his barbershop chair, training his eyes on me in a way I didn’t like. He had been trying to convince me to let him do my bi-weekly trim for months, despite the unspoken rule between barbers that you should leave each other’s clients alone. Davie had always been available to come to my rescue. Not so much right now as Davie was engrossed in discussing some kind of beard cream with the man in his chair. The fact that Charlie’s eyes were twinkling with mischief behind his glasses told me he’d just come to the same realization, and I no longer had the ability to hide behind Davie.
“You ready for your trim, Mason?” Charlie asked, his voice filled with far too much enthusiasm.
“Yep. Just as soon as Davie’s available.” I hedged. I’d seen Charlie’s first attempts at cutting hair, I wasn’t letting him anywhere near my long locks.
“Come on, Mason! You said once I had more practice, you’d let me give it a go.”
I winced, knowing I promised as much back when I was convinced Charlie’s desire to take over the barbershop one day was simply a passing fancy. I’d made a bet with Marty that Charlie’s efforts would last less than a month. Not only had that bet cost me twenty bucks, but it looked like it was about to cost me today’s appointment with Davie as well.
“I did say that...” I trailed off, trying to buy myself time. If I stalled long enough, maybe Davie would finish with the hipster in time to help me.
