Dirty Little Midlife Mistake by Lilian Monroe
Candice
Fiona placesa mug of tea in my hands as Simone wraps a blanket around my shoulders. Jen plops herself down in an armchair with a sigh. We’re in the library above the café watching dusk settle over Heart’s Cove.
“How are you holding up?” Fiona asks, sipping her own cup of tea.
“I’m okay,” I lie, not wanting to acknowledge the mess going on in my head. “Are you sure it’s okay for Allie to stay at your place?”
“Please.” Fiona waves a hand. “If we had two extra bedrooms, I’d insist on you staying there, too. The offer’s still open. We can make the couch up for Allie or get her to sleep in Clancy’s room.”
“Wes and I have an extra room as well,” Simone says. “But I think you should take Blake Harding up on his offer.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You have from now until Monday. What day is it today? Thursday?” She counts on her fingers, then glances at me with a gleam in her eyes. “Four days to see where that goes.”
I groan. “I don’t want to think about Blake right now.” Simone opens her mouth, but I keep talking before she can interject. “What’s going on with Wes, anyway? Isn’t he turning forty-five next month? And if he doesn’t get married, the house and inheritance get split up, right? Why don’t you have a ring on your finger?”
Yes, I’m going on the attack to distract from whatever happened between Blake and me today. My house just burned down. Give me a break, okay?
Simone arches her brows. “Stop trying to deflect, Candice. We’re talking about you and Hollywood heartthrob Blake Harding, not me and Wes.”
“You and Wes better get busy and get married, otherwise you’ll be as homeless as I am.”
Simone purses her lips before straightening her shoulders, and I know from the look on her face that I’m about to get a dump truck full of sass shoveled my way.
“What did the firemen say in the end?” Jen asks, saving us all from an uncomfortable face-off. Her feet are kicked up on the coffee table, the smell of chai wafting all the way over from her seat to mine.
“They need to investigate further to find out the cause of the fire. Looks electrical at first glance. They said we were lucky, the fire only spread to the back half of the house. Our bedrooms are mostly untouched by the flames.”
“I heard smoke and water is what really damages property in a fire like that.” Fiona sips her tea. “Have you gotten a look inside?”
I shake my head. “Wasn’t allowed in. Hopefully in the morning, but the fire chief will call me to set it up. Fingers crossed the smoke hasn’t damaged all our things. My wedding photos were in the living room.” My voice cracks on the last word. If I’ve lost all my photos of Paul…
The creak of the staircase interrupts my thoughts. Dorothy pokes her head through the door, a foil-covered tray balanced on her arms. She gives me a sympathetic smile, then casts her eyes around the room. “I’ve missed coming up here.” She lifts the tray up a couple of inches. “Sandwiches, although I’d test them for poison. Agnes made them.”
I grin, shaking my head. I’m not even sure why Agnes, the bookstore owner, and Dorothy are feuding. All I know is it will probably never end.
“You used to have your book club up here when Mrs. Byron was alive, right?” Simone takes the tray from Dorothy’s hands as the older woman drifts toward the bookcases lining one wall. Mrs. Byron was Wesley’s mother, who passed away before Simone started dating Wes.
A soft smile tugs at Dorothy’s lips. “We only called it a book club to the uninitiated.” She glances over her shoulder. “There wasn’t much reading going on up here when we all got together. We used to smuggle the empty wine bottles to the recycling bin in batches so the men wouldn’t catch on.”
I laugh. “What are we doing drinking tea, then?”
In response, Dorothy—the sweet, elderly, slightly eccentric hotel owner—pulls a full bottle of whiskey out of her purse.
Simone whoops as Fiona groans. Jen, ever the pragmatist, just gets up to grab some glasses for everyone. The door opens again and Margaret pokes her head through the opening. Fiona waves her in, and we all take our seats—and our drinks.
Conversation drifts from the fire to more normal things, and my muscles slowly unwind. Clancy is trying out for the school track and field team, and with her latest growth spurt, Fiona’s hopeful she’ll qualify for a few of the running events. I smile. Clancy only moved to Heart’s Cove just shy of two years ago. Grant and Fiona had barely started seeing each other, and Grant was surprised to know Clancy even existed. Now the three of them are a tight family unit, and it warms my heart to know that she’s thriving at school.
“Allie didn’t mention track,” I say. “But no doubt she’ll be following in Clancy’s footsteps.”
Fiona smiles and leans over to squeeze my hand, and conversation drifts away from us. Simone has had a few new clients sign on for her online marketing agency, and business is good. Jen is happy baking and catering full-time at the café, but she grumbles about our other chef, Fallon, and his tendency to eyeball measurements that she’d rather weigh down to the gram.
Margaret and Dorothy tell us that the movie staff have booked out most of the hotel but are only using half the rooms. After the movie wraps, the hotel is booking up quickly with summer—and Heart’s Cove’s famous Fringe Festival—on the way. Year after year, Heart’s Cove is becoming a more popular tourist destination, especially in the summertime. It’s gotten a reputation as a great place with lots of outdoor activities as well as a haven for artists.
The hotel, in particular, is a hub for all things that call to artists and eccentrics. That’s where my yoga studio is housed. It’s also where, once a month, Grant models for a nude life-drawing class, to Clancy’s abject horror. Fiona attends religiously, and I don’t blame her.
“I never thought the hotel would be fully booked,” Margaret says. “When my husband died and Dorothy came to me with this crackpot idea, I thought it’d be something to keep me busy in my old age. I didn’t think we’d actually make money.”
“You deserve it,” I tell her with a smile.
Margaret’s lips curl in response, but there’s a sadness in her eyes.
“We’ve prepared the cabana next to Mr. Harding’s for you,” Dorothy says to me as she sips her coffee mug full of whiskey. “I’ve got the keys here, so we can head straight there whenever you’re tired of these old bags.” She jerks her head to the other women.
A chorus of protests rings out, and Dorothy just laughs.
When the noise dies down, I shake my head. “I think I might stay at Simone and Wes’s, if the offer’s still on the table.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Margaret says. “Blake Harding is a handsome man, and I could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to do more than offer you a room next door.”
I gape at Margaret. She’s the last person I’d expect to be encouraging a tawdry romance between me and some celebrity. “Why is everyone so invested in me and Blake Harding? I don’t want to date him. I’m not interested! My house just burned down!”
“Honey,” Margaret says, patting my hand with her manicured one, “no one said anything about dating.”
I groan as more giggles sound. The wall of smutty romances that we inherited with this space suddenly makes sense.
“When was the last time you were with a man?” Surprisingly, the question comes from Jen. She’s been my best friend for years, and we’ve never been ones to talk about intimate things. But her head is tilted, and I know by the look on her face that she won’t let this question go. Once she pulls herself out of her own head and focuses on something, she’s like a dog with a bone.
Still, I try to wave the question away with a flick of my hand. “I went on a date with Rudy last year. We kissed. It didn’t work out. Now every time he comes into Four Cups I feel vaguely uncomfortable.”
“What is this, middle school?” Simone snorts. “We’re not talking about kissing and holding hands, Candice. We’re talking about sex. Doing the nasty nasty.”
My cheeks flush. I shrug and try to make my voice sound normal. It comes out squeaky. “It’s been a while, but it doesn’t matter. That part of my life is over. I’ve accepted that.”
I expect gentle ribbing and teasing laughter, but all I get is silence.
“Sweetie,” Fiona starts, leaning her elbows on her thighs, “that part of your life isn’t over. We know your husband passed away, but it doesn’t mean you’re not a woman, you’re not human. It doesn’t have to be Blake, and it doesn’t have to be right now, but you’re still allowed to have sex and you’re definitely allowed to enjoy it.”
My face heats. I shake my head. “When Paul died—even before that, when he got sick—I accepted it. It’s no big deal.”
A few worried glances are exchanged. Margaret runs her fingers over her pearl necklace before taking my hand in hers. “Candice, darling, you know that’s not true, right? I’m not one to tell you how to grieve, but you know your life isn’t over, don’t you?”
Jen leans forward, her eyes sharp. “How long has it been since you had sex, Candice?”
My throat closes up as embarrassment threatens to swallow me whole. How did we get on this subject again? We were talking about the kids running track a minute ago!
I look at the faces staring back at me, words stuck somewhere in my chest. They all think my marriage with Paul was idyllic. In a lot of ways it was…and a lot of other ways, it wasn’t. But how can I even think that? I’m betraying his memory. He was wonderful. He was!
I put a hand to my cheek and shake my head.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Fiona says softly. “Jen, don’t push her.”
Jen ignores her. “Candice.” Her voice is harder than I’ve heard it. I lift my eyes to meet hers and immediately regret it. She sits back, brows arching. “It’s been a lot longer than three years, hasn’t it?”
Paul died just about three years ago, and Jen knows it. I close my eyes.
“Candice.” The edge is still evident in Jen’s voice, but I look up to see her eyes soft.
Oh, what the hell. We’re all adults here. We know that life sometimes doesn’t work out the way we hope. I take a deep breath. “Nine. Nearly ten.”
Silence settles over the room.
Simone clears her throat. “Nine what? Nine years?”
I put my mug of whiskey between my thighs and cover my face with my hands. Gently, someone—Dorothy—pulls my arm away from my face, fills my mug with more alcohol, and places it in my hand. “Drink,” she orders. “Drink it all, honey.”
For some insane reason, I do what she says, throwing the whole thing back in one gulp. I’m probably hoping it’ll help the embarrassment, but all it does is burn my throat on the way down. I stare at the shocked faces of my friends and let out a long sigh. “Now do you understand why I can’t do anything with Blake? How can I possibly end a nine-year dry spell with a movie star?”
“Why” —Fiona clears her throat— “why so long?”
I let out a long sigh. This is too personal. I haven’t told anyone about this. But here, in this room, surrounded by women who have been nothing but supportive to me, I feel like I might be able to shed this weight that’s rested on my shoulders for an eternity. I hold out my mug and Dorothy dutifully replenishes it. Sipping lukewarm whiskey, I steel myself before speaking.
“Paul and I…slowed down…after Allie was born. I felt like a stranger in my own skin, like I’d gone from inhabiting my own body to this postpartum deflated balloon. I didn’t want sex.”
When my friends try to protest, I just shake my head. They haven’t had kids. They don’t get it.
Taking a deep breath, I keep going. In a way, it feels good to say these things out loud, to admit all the things that seemed so shameful and embarrassing for so long. “When she was a toddler, we still tried, but it just became too hard to have sex. We were both so tired. I thought he might have lost interest in me because my body…”
“Your body is amazing, Candice,” Simone says. “You’re, what, five foot one and a hundred pounds soaking wet? You do yoga every day, for goodness sake. You’re stronger than most men. Deflated balloon, my ass.”
I shrug. “I discovered yoga later. I think I was trying to…make him more interested. Maybe I was trying to just appreciate my body for what it could do. Accept the way it had changed. Allie grew up and it got easier with her, but Paul and I just didn’t… I guess we didn’t try. Then he got sick. We both knew it was a possibility, you know. He’d had leukemia when he was a child, and his lungs were damaged. It had always been a problem. When he was diagnosed with heart disease it wasn’t a surprise. It just kept coming, one thing after another. We were in and out of the hospital so much and sex just wasn’t a priority. We still kissed and cuddled and we were intimate in other ways, but that part of our marriage just…drifted away. I thought I didn’t need it. My libido was so low I just assumed it’d never come back.” Until today. I look at the faces staring back at me and shake my head. “Stop looking at me with so much fucking sympathy.”
Instead of stopping, everyone’s brows just collectively rise, concern—or pity?—written on every face.
“You’ve still…taken care of yourself, though, right?” That question comes from Fiona, her brows tugged together.
My face flushes red. Or, redder, because I’m already burning to the tips of my ears. I shake my head. “Not really. I didn’t want that. I didn’t feel the need. I’m telling you, that part of my life is done. I don’t… It’s gone now.”
“I’m buying you a box full of vibrators for your birthday,” Simone announces.
The tension inside me snaps, and I let out a surprised chuckle. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Start with the ‘on’ button,” Simone deadpans, and another laugh falls out of me.
“Maybe I should get a vibrator.”
Simone freezes. “You don’t have one? Candice, honey.” She shakes her head, then thrusts her finger in the air. “A whole box full! That’s what you’re getting from me.”
My laughter bubbles up, dispelling the horrifying embarrassment that had just been overwhelming me a moment ago.
“Screw the vibrators!” Dorothy exclaims. “How about Blake Harding? Bet his hands could get the job done.”
I snort, then laugh, and snort again. Then giggles fill the air, and pretty soon everyone is laughing. I lean my head against Margaret’s shoulder as she wraps her arm around me. Fiona, on the other side of me, puts her hand on my thigh.
When everyone quiets down, Jen lets out a long sigh as she stares at me from her armchair. “You should take the room at the hotel, Candice.”
This surprises me. I’d expect it from Simone, from Dorothy, from Fiona. But Jen? I wouldn’t think she’d prioritize sex over comfort.
I stare at her and gently shake my head. “Blake Harding has a new woman on his arm every week. I’ve seen the stories about him,” I say. “He’s not the type of man I want to get involved with.”
“So? Doesn’t that make it better? No chance of catching feelings.” Simone shrugs and sips her drink. “He’ll be using you, and you’ll use him right back.”
“This is ridiculous. We’re all assuming that Blake Harding is interested in me. He’s a Hollywood movie star!”
“I saw the kiss, Candice,” Fiona says, brows arching high. “I know for a fact he was interested. He chased you all the way to the café afterward!”
“I’m not ready to date anyone. It’s too soon.”
“Treat it as an experiment,” Dorothy says, flicking her long silver mane over her shoulder. “He’s a handsome man in his prime, he’s obviously interested in you, and you are in need of his…services.”
I catch Simone biting her lip to stop her laughter. She shrugs at me. “She’s right. It doesn’t have to be some deep connection. It’s just sex.”
“This is ridiculous.” I throw back another mouthful of whiskey and slam my mug down on the coffee table. “This is crazy. This isn’t happening. My house didn’t burn down, and I didn’t kiss Blake Harding this morning.”
“Stay at the hotel until Monday, then move into our rental,” Margaret says. “You’re welcome to stay there rent-free until your insurance pays out your claim. Then we can talk about you staying in the place long-term, or you can move out to rent somewhere else.” Margaret pats my leg, her pink pantsuit still somehow unruffled. “That gives you four days to explore whatever is happening between you and Mr. Gorgeous.”
“I can’t believe you’re encouraging this, Margaret. I thought you of all people would be reasonable.”
“Nine years is too long for a woman in her prime,” she says with a gentle smile. “Now, Dor, give her the room keys and let’s go home and go to bed.”
Dorothy hunts through her purse and hands me a silver key with a big wooden keychain with the number two carved into it. “Good luck.” She winks, then follows her twin out the door.
As soon as it closes behind them, Simone lets out a little giggle. “I love this town, and I love those women. I mean, Margaret? Really? She wears a Chanel tweed skirt suit in the height of summer, and then she turns around and encourages you to have freaky movie star sex. Amazing.”
“I don’t think she mentioned anything about freaky movie star sex,” I hedge.
Simone ignores me. “We better hear every sordid detail, okay, Candice?”
“You worry about your own man and the fact that he should be taking you to the courthouse tomorrow so you don’t lose your home,” I snap, then groan as I take in Simone’s wide eyes. I lie back on the couch. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Totally rude.”
Simone lets out a sigh. “It’s fine, Candice. You’ve had a hard day.”
“Maybe I do need to get laid.”
“Damn straight,” Fiona huffs. “I mean, ten years?”
“Nine.”
“I had to resort to sleeping with my ex-husband, but that was still better than going nine years without any nookie!” Simone shakes her head and pours herself more whiskey. She winks at me, clearly not cut up about me being rude.
I love these women.
I extend my mug toward her. “Top me up. If I’m going to get hot and heavy with Blake Harding, I need some liquid courage.”
“Atta girl,” Fiona says with a laugh.
Jen just smiles at me and lifts her cup in a silent salute.
I throw the drink back and sink into the couch, surrounded by my three best friends but thinking of the man who shook me to my core this morning.
The truth is, the thought of sleeping with Blake excites me. A lot. It scares me, obviously, and vaguely, it makes me feel like I’m betraying Paul’s memory, but it definitely excites me too.
If I know for sure there are no feelings involved, maybe I can do this. I can end the dry spell of the century and see if that part of me still works. After all, Blake will be gone in a couple of weeks, and he’s not exactly known for getting attached.
I’ll sleep with him, scratch the itch, then walk away. Even if it ends up being a huge mistake, it’ll be over faster than I can blink.
Easy…right?
