Page 29 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

It was fun to get out of the office and get my hands dirty. I checked in with my staff at the end of the day, and they all seemed happy with how the day went. It was thrilling to feel the heat of Remy’s gaze as he saw me in my bra. There was the shock of the milkshake mess and the refreshingly cold water from the hose. There was the moment in the garage doorway, and then the worry in Remy’s gaze when he got the phone call from Danny’s day camp.

And this evening, I got to see another side of Remy. A loving father, who stepped up when he needed to. He gave up his marriage—the life he’d built—in order to care for a child who needed him.

I can definitely forgive a messy cutlery drawer in the face of so much goodness. But as I drink my tea and think of the handsome, hardworking, caring man who lives next door, I start to worry that if I spend any more time with him, my feelings will mushroom into something I can no longer control.

Remy might just be the man of my dreams. The only problem is that there’s no room in my life for dreaming when I have to take care of my business, my employees, and myself.

TEN

AUDREY

The Four Cups Café is always busy. It was founded several years ago by four friends who decided Heart’s Cove wasn’t complete without a café and bakery worth visiting.

They were right.

Over the years, it’s become the town’s meeting place and a destination for tourists and locals alike. It’s the pulse point of the town, a place where people start their days and mark their weekends. Jen, the town’s most famous baker, keeps the place stocked with incredible baked goods. I watched her appearance on a televised baking competition a few years ago and couldn’t get over her skill. I, like the rest of the townspeople, am proud to call her one of ours.

I inhale the scent of coffee and delicious goodies, then make my way to the line snaking from the front counter. A young woman stands at the register, her pink tee covered in bedazzled writing that proclaims her a “Heart’s Cove Hottie.” All the other employees wear matching shirts, which are also available for sale for anyone to buy.

The walls are decorated in art from local artists, the chairs are mismatched but coordinated, and the air is buzzing with laughter and conversation.

I join the line and look at the board on the wall to decide what I’ll order. I’m perusing the array of baked goods when my attention is drawn to the corner of the room, where Jen, the baker, is presenting a table of women and men with a tray of something that must be delicious-looking, based on the enthusiastic reaction from the crowd.

Jen doles out squares of something that looks like it involves chocolate until a red-haired woman stops her.

“None for Wes,” the woman says, taking a second plate for herself. “He’s a sociopath.”

“Just because I don’t like chocolate doesn’t mean I have a personality disorder,” he answers, his arm slung around the back of the woman’s chair. He speaks the words with an easy smile on his lips, then reaches up to tug the end of the woman’s ponytail.

She takes a big bite of the chocolate treat and smiles at him, teeth stained with chocolate. “I’m not so sure,” she replies a moment later.

The group laughs, and I shuffle forward. I watch as another woman—glamorous, beautiful, and a little older than me—walks into the café and cuts straight to them.

“Georgia!” the redhead calls out. “We sold one of the paintings this morning!” She points to an abstract piece above her head.

“Amazing!” The beautiful woman beams at the group.

I turn my attention back to the menu board and the display case of baked goods. I’ve never had a big group of friends, so those types of interactions are somewhat foreign to me. Laurel adopted me as her bestie, but apart from that, I’ve had very few close relationships.

I’ve always focused on what I thought was important in life. My grades when I was in school and college. My marriage when I was with Terry. My business after we’d divorced. Friends never seemed to understand when I wanted things to be just right. They told me to calm down when I’d stress over small imperfections. I always felt apart, misunderstood.

My marriage was supposed to be my anchor in the raging sea of life, and that turned out to be a lie. As laughter rings out from the table in the corner, I feel very alone. Strangely, my thoughts turn to Remy. He’s attractive, of course, but he has a good heart. There’s something about him that’s so endearing to me: the way he brought me a milkshake when he knew I must have been overheated, and then tripped over his feet and spilled it everywhere. The way he cares for his nephew. The competent, knowledgeable way he explained what was wrong with my van.

It must be because Laurel has planted the idea of a fling that I see him differently, that I want something more with him. Maybe I’m simply craving some kind of connection.

Sex is connection. Maybe a fling wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“What can I get for you?”

I smile at the young woman behind the counter and put in my order, then shuffle to the side to wait for the barista to make the drinks. I keep my eyes away from the table of friends.

Or I try—until someone says, “The Organizing Goddess lives! How are you doing, honey?”

Turning, I see Dorothy, the elderly hotel owner who has the glamorous twin sister, gliding toward me. She’s wearing a kaftan with a blue-and-white floral print, her hair gathered in a half-up, half-down style. Dramatic earrings dangle from her ears. She looks fabulous.

“Oh,” I answer. “Hi. I’m okay. I’m fine.”

Dorothy puts her hands on my shoulders and stares into my eyes. “We were all very worried about you. And the tree, of course.”

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