Hilary Fields - Bliss

Speaking of things I can’t control… Sera’s eyes widened as Malcolm barreled out of the store, dusted head to toe in white plaster and cursing up a storm.

“I canna go w’ye today, and that’s all there is to it,” he blurted out, his brogue thicker than the dust that blanketed his coveralls. “Damn plaster won’t set right and these idjits”—he waved back toward the shop, where his crew of day laborers were doing their best to ignore him—“wouldn’t know spackle from shite if I dunked their fool heads in a bucket of it. So dinna give me no grief, woman. ’Tis impossible.” He stopped short when he saw the two older women. His florid face was all set to fall into a scowl at the sight of Pauline when his gaze was arrested by the shorter, grandmotherly Hortencia. Malcolm rocked back on his heels, one hand self-consciously moving to dust off his long ponytail and smooth stray strands back from his whiskery cheeks. “Och, sorry, Miss Alvarez. I dinna see ye there.”

“Hello, Mr. McLeod. Do I take it from your disheveled appearance that you need to reschedule?” Hortencia was cordial, no more, but Sera could see even that much warmth was too much for Pauline. Sera’s aunt moved closer, slinging an arm ostentatiously around her lover’s shoulders. Hortencia shot her a disbelieving look and shrugged out of Pauline’s clutches.

Malcolm’s eyes traveled back and forth between the two older women, assessing. “Afraid so,” he allowed. “I hope ye’ll not hold it against me.”

Sera was more worried about flaky plaster than flaky contractors. She took a step forward to see what was going on inside the store, but Pauline grabbed a handful of the back of her jean jacket. “Certainly not,” Pauline said crisply. “I’m quite sure we can manage without your”—she looked the dusty Scot up and down—“assistance.”

Sera had never heard Pauline sound quite so schoolmarmish. She gave her aunt a smooch on the cheek for being so cute—and for keeping her from obsessing over what was going on inside her half-demolished place of business. “I’m sure we’ll be fine on our own,” she said. “C’mon, ladies, let’s get a move on.”

“Did you need help with something, Bliss?”

Asher’s voice brought Sera up short. But then, she always felt she came up just a little bit short when her landlord made an appearance.

It was Pauline who answered Asher. “Hey there, hot stuff. As a matter of fact, we could use a little help here, if you’ve got an hour or so to spare.”

“Oh, no, Pauline, really,” Sera protested. She turned reluctantly to face Asher. Sometimes just the sight of his handsome face socked her in the gut with a feeling she could only describe as “sucker punch.” Today was one of those days. Asher stood leaning on his porch rail, sporting a white linen shirt, untucked, collar open to reveal the heavy silver chain around his neck. If there was ever a man born to wear white linen, Sera thought, it was Asher Wolf. Khakis and scuffed motorcycle boots completed the look, and his hair was an artless tussle of gold-bronze spikes. Tucked under one arm was Silver, tongue lolling. The puppy barked a greeting.

“Ash, Sera needs a man. Today.”

Even Hortencia winced at Pauline’s pronouncement, shooting Sera a sympathetic look.

Her landlord straightened up. Was it her imagination, or did he look alarmed?

“Aunt Pauline!” Sera cried. “I do not!” She turned to Ash. “Seriously! I’m all good. No man required. Happily man-less here!” Her voice was a squeak, her face redder than a chile ristra.

One corner of his generous mouth quirked up. He hefted the pup higher, and Silver, snugly ensconced in his master’s grip, gave him a snuffly puppy lick on his ear.

Sera understood the impulse.

“Nonsense,” Pauline snorted, slapping Sera on the back rather harder than necessary. She shot her niece a look Sera wasn’t the least tempted to try to interpret. “Weren’t we all just saying how important it was to have a swinging dick around on a mission like today’s?”

“Actually,” Hortencia began, “you were pretty firmly against the whole ‘swinging dick’ agenda, if I remember back as far as fifteen minutes ago.”

Sera felt a little faint. Was there something about passing through menopause that made women unutterably crass?

There was nothing for it but to grab the… well, grab…

“Ash,” she blurted out, striding up to the railing between them, “I’m trying to buy a car. These two got it into their heads that we should ask a man along, to help us check out the vehicle and make sure the dealer doesn’t take us for the proverbial ride. McLeod was going to tag along for backup, but he’s, ah…” She looked at the pie maven, who had turned back to the store and was gesticulating rudely at some of the workers inside. “Occupied,” she finished lamely. “Anyhow, it was just a thought. We should be fine on our own. I’m sure you’re far too busy…”

And I’m far too dizzy, when you’re around…

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “Never too busy to help a friend, Bliss. Lupe can mind the store.”

“I can?” The sylphlike saleswoman stood in the doorway of the jewelry store, hands on annoyingly curvy hips. The glare she shot Sera could have curdled lemon mousse.

“I’m more than confident in your ability to run the shop for the rest of the afternoon, Lupe,” said Asher, giving her a warm look. “You have such a way with the tourists.” Sera privately doubted that, but was glad to see Lupe’s mollified expression. She didn’t need to go accruing enemies out here—the one she had back in New York was enough to last her a lifetime. “You won’t mind closing up the shop for me this evening, will you?” Asher asked his assistant. His green eyes were limpid, innocently inquiring.

Lupe wasn’t immune to their blandishment. She drew herself up to her full height, dwarfing Sera, at whom she shot a “my boss trusts me with important matters” expression. “You can rely on me, Asher.” She gave him a molten look. “Always.”

“That’s great, Lupe, thank you so much.” Asher was already turning away. “Hey, Malc!” he called. Malcolm left off berating his day laborers and turned around. “Can I ask you to drop off Sascha and Silver at my place on your way home? Key’s under the mat.”

“Aye, if ye’ll promise the little runt won’t take a shite in my truck.”

“He won’t,” Ash called back with a grin. “I hope,” he muttered too softly for Malcolm to hear, winking at Sera.

“What happened to the other pups?” Sera asked, noting their absence for the first time.

“They were old enough for their new owners to take them home, so I had to let them go.” Asher sounded a bit wistful. He ruffled Silver’s gray-and-white fur and plopped an unself-conscious kiss on the top of the pup’s head. “It’s just him, his mama, and me now, until we find just the right person to take our little rapscallion in.”

Sera reached out a tentative hand to pet Silver, and received a generous tongue bath for her reward. “I’m sure you’ll find someone soon,” she said, feeling a pang at the thought of no longer seeing the little pooch around.

“Are we petting puppies or buying cars here?” Pauline’s voice interrupted them. “C’mon, before all the hybrids are gone.”

Sera sighed, knowing a nice, sensible vehicle—probably a Subaru, if Pauline had anything to say about it—lay in her very near future. And while she was excited about owning her first-ever automobile, she couldn’t say she was psyched that she’d be buying something so boring she’d probably have trouble picking it out in the parking lot. Still, she reminded herself. This is what sober people do. They make sober-minded life choices, and buy sober-minded cars. Suck it up, Sera.