Page 6 of Enemies in Earnest

Acacia regarded me for a long moment. I saw something ticking behind the deep indigo hue of her eyes. For a second it almost looked like she was going to say something nice. She licked those sensuous lips of hers, her mouth relaxed in a sheepish smile.

But rather than say whatever was on her mind, she busied herself with the beer fridge behind her. Bent at the waist, sorting through the various bottles displayed on those shelves, any normal human being would focus their attention on the baseball game on the television, or the gorgeous horizon just beyond where we sat. Me? I couldn’t take my eyes off her luscious peach of an ass pressing against the denim of her overalls. With her leaned over as she was, the cuff of those shorts creeped up to reveal just the beginning hints of her satin panties. She was not a thong girl. Which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. To be honest, I thought for sure she’d be a boring, white cotton, granny panty kind of gal. Instead, I was surprised to see what appeared to be a pair of gray satin cheeky panties based on how well they were lifting and separating her derriere.

“You may want to slow down there, partner.” She placed the beer in front of me with a wink. “That’s two whole drinks you’ve consumed in my bar. I think you’re about to set a record for length of time spent in this establishment.”

“Surely you saw my mother stand and shimmy her hips and use words likeeye candy.”

I studied her like a kid cramming for a surprise exam. I watched her eyes leave mine, flit over my shoulder and land in the general direction from where I’d just come. Her lips tipped into a smile, and her nose did this cute wrinkle I assumed when she spotted my mom.

“Aw, she’s having fun. She really looks forward to this time with the ladies.”

“That reminds me, why exactlyisthis meeting being held here?”

“Because I’m on the planning committee?” Her voice went up at the end in question, as if any moron knew that.

Figures.

“Well, planning committee member, perhaps you heard that I’ve been stripped of my duties for the holiday light boat show. Apparently, the ladies want the newer, sleeker version.”

I toss my head in Klaus’ direction. Presently, he flexed for one of the fawning women who’d taken hold of his arm. Obviously he was super uncomfortable with all the attention. Just then, he stood, raised his t-shirt just slightly to give all the biddies a little show of his well-defined abs. Even his fiancé was egging him on tossing dollars at his feet.

“Aww, poor Faulkner.”

Acacia tilted her head, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. Her barfly friend, Dr. Asher Krane, still sat perched where he always was, sipping his Negroni. At Acacia’s esoteric comment, Krane chortled into his drink.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, looking toward Krane, since I was sure Acacia would not bother to enlighten me.

“Oh, come now, son. The notorious rivalry between Hemingway and Faulkner? Surely someone who lives on this island and slings trivia all day long to the tourists knows even the most basic information about its most famous resident.”

That was a no. I knew the bare minimum. I’d read a few of his books. Not saying they weren’t decent. Guy could tell a good tale. But I wasn’t Acacia. I didn’t fawn and faint over every fork he touched or tree he pissed on.

“What did they teach you at Party U?” Acacia pointed to my Florida Gators t-shirt. “Beer pong? Hangover remedies? How to stack your parties to keep the best buzz going?”

I realized at that moment while I searched for a comeback, there was little I knew about Acacia. She bought the bar about ten years ago. That I knew. Her father was a famous entomologist who studied rare bugs that only existed in the Keys. Her mom and dad lived up north, near Destin. But we rarely had any kind of conversations where we learned about one another. Most of our conversations were about taxes, the cost of that month’s utilities, and commentary on the success or lack of from the different pitches and yaw of the tourist season. One would assume based on her obnoxious little dig, that her educational pursuits must have been higher reaching than that of a state university.

“No state colleges for you then, I assume. And what apex of educational pursuits did you deign to attend?”

Dr. Asher Krane failed at his attempt to hide his surprised chortle. Rather than reply, Acacia chose to busy herself with wiping down the bar and ensuring all of her glasses aligned just so in the holster above her head. It didn’t matter to me. Her attempted dig at my intellect was reaching at best. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

Just because I was out of work, and now not even the preferred choice for the city’s Santa Claus, meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. I was a successful business owner. Not having a boat was a minor setback. My boat would be back in no time.

ChapterSix

Maybe I tookour banter too far. I wasn’t exactly the queen of undeterrable confidence and witty repartee. My experience with banter came in the form of a handsome hunk of a man in the latest romcom I streamed from my living room while eating gelato. Or the swoony, heartrending romance of the varied literary eras. My own romance? That well was so dry, my body submitted a rezoning permit to Death Valley. Because that was about as likely as finding a man in Candy Cane Key. Or any of the keys really. Hell, I’d even settle for a commute to Miami.

The Miami men were too urbane. They wanted collagen and six-inch fuck me heels, and nights spent being seen at the trendiest club. All of which sounded as pleasant as being covered in honey and eaten by fire ants.

The Keys men were…well, they just lacked something. Not to group them all together, but each man I’d taken interest in was too much of something or not enough of another. I never thought I was a picky person. I didn’t think my requirements were too much. Well read, and it didn’t even matterwhatthey read. Military history, sci fi, popular fiction—just so that they were experiencing something from the written word. This desire seemed to be the crux of every single potential suitor I’d found. No one reads anymore.

Maybe that was why I found Asher’s company so pleasant. He always had an observation or discussion at the ready on any number of books from the literary greats to the most recent thriller. Unfortunately, a nearly forty-year age gap wasn’t really my thing.

But I’d been on Candy Cane Key for nearly ten years. In the beginning, I thought maybe Edwin and I could be a thing. We were closer together in age. Beforethe incidenthe’d been able to hold up his end of a conversation at any number of community gatherings.

And then there was this one time when I’d gotten so absorbed in my plans for Hemingway Day that I’d lost track of time. It was the day of the boat parade, back when Old Man Withersby was still our Santa, and all of the traffic down to the marina boxed me in and cemented me in place. The day had been shit. I just wanted to go home and soak in the bathtub with a glass of wine and an audiobook.

Edwin saw the light on in the bar. I’m ninety percent certain he’d intended to participate in the boat parade that night. The outfit he’d been in looked like the beginning of a pirate’s costume. Though he said he’d gotten stuck by the influx of visitors, as well. He brought some blankets from his boat and set them out on this sad little patch of grass we had between the property lines along with some champagne and a bag of Twizzlers.

Not to be outdone, I grabbed some of my easier to prepare appetizers and we created a mini picnic right there on our little grassy knoll. It was just a boat parade and fireworks. Nothing spectacular. But for those few magical hours, we felt likesomething. Sure we hadn’t the kind of intense, cerebral conversations that I had with Dr. Krane, but the conversation never lagged or stuttered. I hadfun. At the end of the night after the last firework popped and the cheering from the banks died down, Edwin helped me to my feet, and I swear there had been a moment. It happened so fast that over the years I’ve nearly convinced myself it never happened. That I’ve created it in my head. But I swear, he wanted to kiss me. Our mouths were so close. If I’d just leaned in, or looked up at him, or bit my lip—any of the things the girls do in the movies when they want a guy to know they’d totally be down for a lip lock. But I am not the kind of person that does well with subtle cues.

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