Love, Baby: a Crescent Cove Romantic Comedy Colletion Read online

  “Liquid courage, don’t steer me wrong.”

  I opened my browser and found her email again.

  Normally, I used an email program, but I didn’t want anything tracking back to me right now. I tapped my lip with my wine glass as I read her letter one more time.

  Did I want to keep my manners?

  Did I want to slide into that flirty banter she was looking for?

  That I saw her use with Lucky today. Well, maybe. I wasn’t really sure if she’d flirted with him. But they’d been chatting, and he’d definitely been in his flirt mode.

  My fingers tightened on the fragile stem of my glass. No, I couldn’t go there.

  Not tonight. I’d do something I regretted.

  I set my glass down. Like follow the rabbit hole of that green light next to her name that meant she was online right now.

  That kind of regret.

  My finger hovered over my track pad. Who needed to formulate a reply when there was a chat window available as part of this email client?

  And she was right there.

  Cabin Fortress: Is it too forward to break into your evening with a chat window? Or would you prefer the man with manners?

  My cursor slowly blinked at me without a response.

  I sat back in my chair, resting my glass on my stomach as I stared a hole into the middle screen of my trio of screens. A line of code was still working on the left screen and the right was a series of different projects I was monitoring.

  The center was all for her.

  If she’d speak to me.

  Goodtothelastdrop: If that’s your segue into a dick pic, pass. I can assure you it doesn’t “put me in the mood” for anything but homicide.

  I laughed and sat forward to set my wine on my desk. God, this woman.

  Cabin Fortress: I’d never be so crass. That’s at least fourth chat behavior.

  Goodtothelastdrop: So you’re not a 72-year-old? I wasn’t sure with the super sweetness of your emails.

  Sweet Jesus. No wonder it took a few emails to get her talk to me. She probably thought I was an old man looking to pat her on her head.

  My thoughts were far more carnal than that.

  Cabin Fortress: Definitely not. I’m the youngest male in my family. Just turned thirty to be exact. My mama taught me to treat ladies with respect.

  Goodtothelastdrop: I appreciate it. Manners are hard to come by these days. What are you doing up so late?

  Cabin Fortress: This is my usual time to work. It’s quiet. Just me and the night sounds. Unless I turn on the sound system. Nice thing about no neighbors. I can do what I want.

  Goodtothelastdrop: None? Just what kind of fortress are we talking about, buddy? Do you have an unusual number of shovels and tarps in your shed? Stones making little markers?

  Cabin Fortress: Let me guess? MFM fan? True Crime?

  Goodtothelastdrop: Are you a Murderino?

  Cabin Fortress: God, no. I live in the freaking woods. I don’t need that kind of stuff in my head! Don’t worry, I’m no Ted Bundy.

  Goodtothelastdrop: There’s many other kinds of serial killers. Just like sprinkles and ice cream flavors—lots of different combinations. People thought Ted Bundy was super nice, remember? And hot. Do you fall in any of those categories? Not that it’s a deal breaker. Well, except for the serial killer thing. That’s definitely a no-fly zone for me. Not that you’d probably tell me. Haha.

  I sat back in my chair. I didn’t know how to answer that. Of the Masterson boys, I definitely wasn’t top of the pile. My brothers, Penn and Christian, were the ones who attracted all the attention from the female contingency. From football quarterback to second in command in our sheriff’s department, Christian had literally been the golden boy since he was born.

  Penn, who split from Crescent Cove as soon as was humanly possible, was the dark horse of the family. A graphic novelist, he split his time in New York City and Los Angeles. But he came in to see our mom once every other month. Every time he did, the town went a little crazy in reaction. He was rich, worked with Hollyweird, and looked like he should be a leading man in the stories he wrote.

  Yeah, I couldn’t compete with them.

  But I did have the guy-next-door look she seemed to prefer, at least based on her post. Chris Pratt and I could be brothers. He was a bit more jacked than me thanks to his action star status.

  I smoothed my hand down my torso. The rowing kept the cookies from showing too much though. I did love Vee’s cookies.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Still there? Did I scare you away with the serial killer talk?

  Cabin Fortress: No. You didn’t scare me away. I just wasn’t sure how to reply. I’m okay looking, but no leading man if that’s what you mean.

  Goodtothelastdrop: That doesn’t matter to me. Kind eyes and manners are way more interesting than a guy prettier than me.

  Cabin Fortress: You say that now, but what happens if I look like a guy who escaped from the Alaskan tundra?

  Goodtothelastdrop: A good razor and a shower will fix most anything.

  Cabin Fortress: Not into the mountain man look? I thought everyone enjoyed Aquaman.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Haha. Well, if a woman is breathing, they usually enjoy Jason Momoa. I’m not going to say I’d have a hard time if you look like him, but I wouldn’t want a man to only be interested in me for my looks.

  Cabin Fortress: All women are beautiful.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Now that’s a line. Besides, you already know who I am. Do we know each other? Why the secrecy?

  My fingers paused on my keys. We knew each other by name, but we didn’t know anything beyond that. I wouldn’t lie, but would she still be interested if she knew it was me? Painfully shy Moose Masterson? Not that she called me Moose.

  Her soft voice dripped with a touch of honey when she said my real name. Same as I used her full name.

  There was something sweet and sexy about the full version. I didn’t want to be like all the rest who used her initial.

  I didn’t want to be one of the pack in any way.

  Cabin Fortress: I only know you as much as the next guy who goes to the café. That’s simply the entire town at this point.

  Goodtothelastdrop: All right. So, I’ve served you? And not in the biblical way. At least not yet.

  Good God. She was going to kill me. Because now all I could think about was her serving me. Servicing me. And that was a black hole I couldn’t get into. Not with this much wine in me.

  Speaking of wine. I lifted my glass and finished it off.

  Probably not a good idea.

  Cabin Fortress: Don’t tease a guy, Vee. We’re simple creatures which is why so many of us have come for you already. Why I was hoping we could talk, and I could prove to you that I’m worthy.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Worthy? Chivalry still, Fortress?

  Cabin Fortress: Women hold all the power in what you’re asking. We’re but a small piece of what you need.

  Goodtothelastdrop: I think I need more wine for this conversation.

  Cabin Fortress: I’ve already drank a bottle to screw up the courage to keep on talking.

  We spoke well into the night. I found out her favorite movies, television shows, music. We swapped concert stories and found out we both loved country and rock. I poured myself another large glass of wine and then things took a turn.

  Goodtothelastdrop: It’s easy to talk to you.

  Cabin Fortress: I can type really easily. Spitting out words in real life…

  Goodtothelastdrop: Yeah, I get tongue tied too.

  Cabin Fortress: You always seem so full of life and bubbly when I see you.

  Goodtothelastdrop: So, you do come in a lot?

  Cabin Fortress: I backed into that one. LOL Let’s just say you know me far more here in this little chat window than in real life. Through no fault of your own, it’s all me.

  Goodtothelastdrop: It’s easy to make small talk. Ask a question and most people run with it and are more than happy to talk.


  Cabin Fortress: What if you don’t want to know it all?

  Goodtothelastdrop: So very much a guy response.

  Cabin Fortress: I’m a nice guy. I help my friends and my family. My mama definitely has me wrapped around her finger when she needs a new set of shelves or some project done that she saw on TV.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Much different than my mom. Her idea of a project was up and moving to Fiji for four years then heading to Bali without letting me know her forwarding address.

  Cabin Fortress: Wow. Adventuress.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Something like that.

  Cabin Fortress: You don’t have siblings?

  Goodtothelastdrop: Just me and my mom when she decides she wants to visit.

  Cabin Fortress: So that’s why you’re so independent.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Is that what I am? When I can only think of one thing in my life? A baby.

  Cabin Fortress: You know what you want. What’s wrong with that? Takes a strong woman to go after what she wants.

  Goodtothelastdrop: I’ve got everything else.

  Cabin Fortress: And you don’t want a partner?

  The cursor blinked. Her name still had a green light on, but there were no little letters saying typing. No response.

  Had I pushed her too far?

  Wanted to know too much for a nameless man on the internet?

  Goodtothelastdrop: I’m tired of waiting for the traditional order of things. To see if we have the same morals and sexual compatibility. I can usually find one or the other, but not both at the same time.

  Cabin Fortress: Which do you want for this project?

  Goodtothelastdrop: Right now, I want a little fun and I want a baby. Making a baby doesn’t have to be a dry process—definitely not dry. Haha.

  Cabin Fortress: LOL I’d make sure dryness was not a possibility.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Is that right?

  Cabin Fortress: A good man makes sure his girl is well satisfied. Anything else is rude and selfish.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Does that include nights where it’s just a girl and a guy scratching an itch? When she’s not your girlfriend?

  Cabin Fortress: Goes double. If I only have one impression, I’m going to make it a lasting one.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Well then. That is a good answer, Fortress.

  Cabin Fortress: Good enough to keep talking to me for more than one night?

  Goodtothelastdrop: I guess we’ll see. However, I do need to go to bed. I’m the baker and that means I have to get up in a few hours.

  Cabin Fortress: I’m sorry I kept you up.

  Goodtothelastdrop: It was worth it. Goodnight, Fortress.

  Cabin Fortress: Can we chat again?

  Goodtothelastdrop: Yes.

  I pushed back in my chair and spun it around. “Yes!” I quickly rolled back to my desk.

  Cabin Fortress: Looking forward to it.

  Goodtothelastdrop: Me too.

  Cabin Fortress: Sweet dreams, Vee.

  Goodtothelastdrop: You too.

  I leaned back, my arms dangling off the sides of my chair. Speaking to a woman on the internet wasn’t unusual for me. There would be few women in my life if I didn’t go the online route. I was a programmer as well, so the computer was my natural habitat.

  But this felt different.

  A peek into Veronica that I didn’t usually get. And yes, it wasn’t really fair she didn’t know it was me, but in this instance, I needed all the help I could get. There were far too many men interested in her post.

  I sat back up and reached for my keyboard. I dashed off a quick note, adding a link to a song I thought she’d enjoy.

  Keeping me in her mind with a song was a good first step.

  Just before I sent off the note, I noticed that I’d addressed it to Veronica. I quickly corrected it to Vee. She’d never used her full name in the few times we’d written to one another.

  I could only hope that one day we would reach the stage where both of her names came into play. For now, I would take all of Vee I could get.

  Six

  Vee, I’m glad we got to chat last night. I haven’t enjoyed myself like that in a very long time. However, I’m sorry I kept you up late. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with those who look forward to your perfect little confections at the café. Especially the brookies. They’re my fave. Can’t wait to chat again. Until then, here’s a song by one of my favorite singers. Yours, Fortress

  Link: Baby Be Crazy, Brantley Gilbert.

  I smiled as I reread the message that contained my new favorite song then hit replay for probably the hundredth time over the last week and a half.

  If there was such a thing as being addicted to online chatting, I was on my way to finding out.

  We were talking so much that it was becoming the favorite part of my day. After I took a shower, I’d bundle into a robe, wrap my hair up in a towel, grab a glass of wine, and sit down to talk to Cabin Fortress.

  As the days progressed, we both relaxed. We talked about everything and anything—and sometimes we veered toward crossing the line from polite conversation to making each other moan.

  We were so close to going to the next level. Cyber moaning would lead to real life moaning—and hopefully, procreation.

  Assuming we could just climb this last little hump of hesitation.

  I was all in. Mostly. It was foolish to pin my hopes on one Murphy Masterson ever noticing I was pining for him like a virgin every time he came in and ordered from anyone who was not me.

  And I had not been a virgin in a very long time. Going back to feeling that fumbling and clueless was no fun.

  Cabin Fortress made me feel the opposite.

  “Hey, Vee, can I get a raspberry caramel macchiato, please? Heavy on the whip.” Steve smiled. “Changing it up today. Need a little extra sweetness.”

  I yawned and shuffled to fill Steve’s drink order. He was a regular and normally, we chatted easily while I fixed his coffee and bagged his blueberry muffin.

  Today? I was so tired I could barely stop yawning long enough to make change.

  Last night, I’d talked to my rustic Casanova until almost three a.m. I’d taken a leap and asked if maybe we could talk on the phone this weekend, and he’d diverted me by saying he felt as if we’d learned so much about each other that we might as well have already spoken on the phone. Then he’d mentioned having a weakness for blonds with rainbow streaks in her hair and I’d let it go.

  And…sent him a selfie in my hair towel and robe, making sure a little bit of wet cleavage showed.

  I wasn’t hugely endowed, but I was happy enough with my bounty from nature. From the way he’d sent back a tent emoji and a few eggplant emojis along with a half dozen heart icons, he must’ve been okay with how I looked too.

  He knew who I was after all. I was the only one in the dark here.

  Not that I minded the mystery. Much.

  Okay, it was bugging me as much as wondering why Murphy had gone one hundred percent mute in my direction. And I knew that was disingenuous, having a thing for two men at one time. But they both intrigued me.

  At least I had some kind of chance with Cabin Fortress. With Murphy? Haha, nope.

  “Vee? Are you okay? You don’t seem like yourself.” Steve coughed, his ears turning pink. “How are you doing on your, um, journey to, um, motherhood?”

  God, did anyone not know of my Facebook post in this town? I was beginning to think not.

  With a weak smile, I passed Steve his bagged muffin and his coffee. “Fine. Great. Thank you. Have a nice day. Please come again. Tomorrow. Bye.”

  Steve flashed me a quizzical look and left.

  I filled orders methodically for a couple of hours until my break. Lucky showed up just before I was about to step into the back to have my lunch, and he convinced me to sit with him at a table in front instead with a cup of cocoa and a pita pocket sandwich stuffed with sprouts and chicken salad, one of the new offerings in Macy’s ever-expanding product li
ne.

  We’d been talking for a few minutes—while I ignored the far too interested looks of some of the customers seated around us—when I decided to go on a little fishing expedition.

  “So, you live alone?”

  “Am I supposed to admit now that I have a wife and kids stashed away?”

  I shrugged and picked off a corner of bread. “Just making friendly conversation.”

  “Hmm. Yeah. I live alone.”

  I set my chin on my fist. “That’s nice. I do too. I have an apartment here in town. Right up the street actually. Are you in the town proper?”

  “Actually, no, I’m outside a bit.”

  “Oh, is that so? How far outside? Not all the way to near Syracuse? Surely you wouldn’t commute that far?”

  “No. Other side of the lake.”

  My stomach twisted and it wasn’t because the chicken salad had gone bad. “By the woods or near the older houses right by the water?”

  “Other side of the lake,” he repeated, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “Are you angling for an invite to my place? Because if so, you don’t have to try that hard, beautiful. You’re welcome anytime.”

  I laughed it off and picked up my pita pocket, taking a big bite so I didn’t ask any more probing questions I probably didn’t want the answers to anyway.

  If my mystery man online was Lucky, then clearly, he had a hidden sweeter side. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was a hardship to look at. He’d make a cute baby.

  That was all I cared about, right?

  Right.

  The door opened and I swear, the molecules in the air charged and buzzed. I knew it was Murphy without looking. And I also knew I wasn’t going to sit here with Lucky when I could speak to the occupant of most of my thoughts lately.

  Take the bull by the horns, Dixon. Or the horn. You know what to do.