My Remedy (Open Door Love Story Book 3) (3 page)

For a minute I wonder if they’re even open yet, but the neon is all on. I cross the parking lot, notice that the side door has a sign on it directing me to the front, something I completely missed last night, and go around to the front. Someone has made a sad attempt at growing flowers in planters on either side of the door. The wilted and crushed petunias are nearly buried underneath cigarette butts.

I go inside and the tinkly bell on the door startles the red-headed woman behind the bar.

“Oh, my gosh!” she says, grinning at me goofily. She pushes her white framed glasses up on her nose, showing off a sleeve of tattoos on her right forearm. “Hardly anyone comes in the front door before noon.” She swipes a napkin off of a stack by the garnish tray and sets it down on the bar. “What can I get for you?”

Jack Daniels, Mirror Pond back. “Nothing, actually.” I don’t even bother to sit down, I just stand behind the bar stool. “I left my phone here last night...”

The woman takes the napkin off the bar and throws it away. She nods. “Sure. It’s back here. Hold on.” She takes out her keys, crouches down, and unlocks a black cabinet underneath the cash register. My phone is sitting on the shelf on top of a bunch of papers.

“That’s it,” I say, holding my hand out.

“Well, just to be sure, lemme ask you a few identifying questions.”

“Really?” I just want to get the hell out of here. “It’s the only phone in there and I’m the only person in here looking for her phone. It’s obviously mine.”

She shrugs and powers my phone on. “Okay, I’m nosy and bored ... ooh! Nice wallpaper. Who drew that?”

The wallpaper on my phone is a pen and ink drawing I did of this Shar-pei, Mei, who was sweet to me on my first day working at the kennel. “I drew it.”

“Niiiiiice.” She extends her hand. “I’m Cera, by the way. You ever draw tats for people?”

I shake my head and her hand. “No. I haven’t ever been asked. I’m Izzy.”

Cera gives me the phone. “I have an idea for a shoulder cap that has an assload of different flowers in it, but I super suck at drawing or even explaining what I want.” She spins, turning her back to me, and lifts up the edge of her flimsy bottle green t-shirt. “This monstrosity is supposed to be a paisley Yin Yang.”

It looks like an amoeba being attacked by tiny penises. “Interesting.”

Cera snorts and drops her shirt. “That shit isn’t interesting. It’s a crime against my person and the tattoo community as a whole. I think the fucker who did it was coming off a two-day drunk.” She comes around the bar and nods for me to follow her.

She’s kind of weird, but I follow her anyway.

We walk outside and she flips off the cigarette butt filled planters, muttering “asshats” under her breath. She goes around the corner and sits down on a small bench, big enough for two people max. She pats the seat next to her. “The show’s about to start.”

“Huh?” I sit down just as the double doors to the CrossFit gym open and a group of people in various types of workout clothes sprint past us, pivot at the sidewalk and then sprint back to the gym before doing the whole thing again.

“Herd of hotties,” Cera says.

I can play. “The Running of the Ripped.”

By their third lap, they’ve spread out some, the slower people lagging behind. The clean cut manager guy from last night flies by us, flashing a quick grin at Cera and giving me a terse nod.

I shrink back into the bench and Cera giggles. “Duncan has that effect on a lot of women.”

“That’s not it,” I say, looking away when Duncan runs past again. “It’s not that he couldn’t have that effect on me, he’s definitely attractive ... he caught me in kind of a compromising situation last night.”

Cera slaps me on the leg. “Uh. Gawwwwwd. That was you?”

I sit up straighter, preparing to defend my slutty character.

“Everyone sleeps with that jackass – me included.” She rolls her eyes. “Did he tell you about the paella? Why the fuck do we, as normally intelligent women, think that just because a guy can cook it must translate into him being good in bed?” She makes a gagging face. “Don’t worry. I’m not judging and neither is Duncan. I heard he tore into Doug and Ricky for talking shit about you. Like, he was all, another disrespectful word out of your mouths and I’ll bust your heads, or something awesome like that. Duncan is good people.”

“Really?” He doesn’t strike me as someone who would defend the honor of a girl who just yelled at him in the parking lot.

“Yeah, really.” Cera raises her pierced eyebrow at me. “You know judgment works both ways. Just because Duncan is Mr. CrossFit military guy doesn’t mean he’s perfect. Everyone has their issues.”

The runners do one more lap and then go back inside the gym.

“Military, huh? That makes sense. Where was he stationed?”

“In Afghanistan. He was a dog handler for the Army. He and his dog Gustaf searched for hidden explosives in government buildings.”

“Wow. That’s cool. What’s he doing working in a bar though?”

Cera shrugs. “I don’t want to speculate, but I think having his dog and a Humvee full of his fellow handlers blow up right in front of him probably caused him to haz a sad.”

“Yeah.” Fuck.

She stands. “I better get back to work. If I gave you a rough sketch for a tattoo, do you think you could flesh it out for me?”

“Sure.” I take my phone out of my jeans pocket. “Let me get your numb—”

“I already put it in your phone.”

“Okaaaaaay.”

Cera chuckles. “Don’t worry. My intrusiveness will become endearing after a while.”

I can’t help but smile. “You’re right. It probably will.” I look toward the gym. “How long until the class lets out?”

“Not long. Half hour or so. You thinking about joining the cult?”

“Nah. I just want to thank Duncan for sticking up for me.”

Cera saunters back inside the bar, winking at me over her shoulder. “Uh-huh.”

––––––––

A
fter most of the class has left the gym, I walk over and stand by the doorway waiting for Duncan.

I have a crazy idea, born mostly out of guilt, but a little out of my desire to not be a total piece of shit every day of my life. My aunt and uncle are in need of an experienced dog handler and here is an experienced dog handler that needs a job. Someone with military trained skills shouldn’t be stuck managing a bar.

“Well, hello there,” says a guy wiping sweat from his face with the hem of his gray t-shirt as he approaches me. He resembles Duncan – same olive skin tone and thick dark hair, cut close. “Are you interested in checking out CrossFit? I’m Hector Fieri, I own this box.”

I look around for this box he’s talking about. There is a row of wooden things I guess you could call boxes stacked against the wall. “Uh, that’s cool. I actually wanted to talk to Duncan?” Now that I’m in here and see Duncan is over in the far corner struggling to pull himself up on some rings suspended about ten feet in the air, my idea is seeming more stupid than crazy.

“Slam Dunc!” Hector calls across the gym. “This lovely young lady is here for you.” He turns back to me. “Duncan’s my little brother, so keep in mind he gets the family discount, which I would be happy to extend to you ... his secret girlfriend?”

My stomach drops. “No, no. Nothing like that. I have a proposition for him.”

Hector laughs, covering his mouth with his hand.

I just stand there with my face on fire, imagining zipping myself out of my skin and fleeing the scene of my latest smooth move.

Duncan comes over, doing the t-shirt face wipe too. Abs for days. The color of my face reaches Red Skull territory.

“She’s got a proposition for you, bro,” Hector says, trying to keep a straight face.

I glare at him and he busts out laughing.

Duncan slaps him on the arm. “What’s up?” he says to me.

I take a deep breath. “First of all, thank you for standing up for me last night. That was very nice of you.”

He nods. “No problem. Sorry we had a misunderstanding.”

“Second, uh, Cera told me that you were a dog handler in the Army?”

Duncan furrows his brow. “I was.”

I need to hurry this up. “So, my aunt and uncle own Sunny’s Kennel and they also train dogs at—”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with it. I’ve heard nothing but good things.” He wipes his brow on his shoulder.

“Their trainer, in, uh, training – she’s an apprentice or whatever – just gave her notice. Instead of staying on to work for them like they’d planned so my uncle could ease his way into retirement, she’s going out on her own. And I was thinking with a background like yours that maybe you’d be interested in the job?” He’s about to say no thanks, I can tell, so I keep talking. “It’d be way lower stress than Afghanistan. I mean, sometimes they do work with training police dogs, so that would be something you’re probably familiar with, well, the dogs sniffing for explosives and bombs and what not, probably not the drug dogs.”

Hector puts his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Thanks for the offer, but my brother’s got a good job managing Ringo’s and he’s going to be taking his T1 certification soon so he can help me out when I open another box in Tigard.”

Duncan shrugs out from underneath Hector’s hold. “I can answer for myself.”

“Okay, man. I just thought I’d take the heat so you can still have a chance with this lovely girl.” Hector winks at me.

I know he’s just being friendly/flirty, but I don’t like the way he’s making me feel while I’m trying to have a semi-serious talk with his brother. Why am I even bothering, though?

“So, I’m not totally sure,” Duncan says, glaring at his brother. “I don’t love being a bar manager, although I am grateful to Hector for hooking me up with the job. The hours aren’t ideal and it’s not what I ever saw myself doing with my life. However, as great as what you’re offering me sounds, I’m afraid of ... freaking out.” His voice drops several levels in volume. “I’ve got PTSD that I have been dealing with fairly well for the last six months or so, but it is something that’s going to be a challenge for the rest of my life.”

I hold my hand up. No way do I want to be responsible for messing with his head. “I understand. And you’ve got being a CrossFit trainer—”

“Coach,” Hector chimes in.

“Coach, to work toward.” I back up a step to leave. Fail. I don’t even know what I was saying before about decisions. I don’t make decisions, I make mistakes.

“Well, wait, though,” Duncan says, stepping toward me and gently touching his fingertips to the outside of my wrist to keep me from going. “I’m interested. I just want your aunt and uncle to know what kind of employee they might be getting.”

“Ha!” I say, smiling. “They hired me, didn’t they?”

“Ooh, the plot thickens,” Hector says. “You got a past, girlie?”

Duncan rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have something to wipe down?”

“Whatever.” Hector starts to walk away, but then stops and wags a finger at me. “Let me know when you’re ready to try CrossFit. Once you try it, you’ll get addicted. We’re like potato chips, only good for you.”

Duncan waves him away. “You’re just sad you can’t eat chips.”

Hector nods, considering. “Maybe so.”

Duncan gestures toward the wooden boxes. “Wanna sit?”

“Sure,” I say. “Is Hector allergic to chips or something? I would die.”

“No,” Duncan says, hiding a smile behind his hand. “He’s a carboholic, but he owns a box ...” Duncan must see the confusion in my expression. “... a gym in CrossFit speak, so he has to eat clean and be on the Paleo diet to set a good example.”

“What’s the Paleo diet?” I ask.

“It’s basically you eat vegetables, and lean meats, and eggs, some nuts and berries.” He makes air quotes. “Supposedly, grains and dairy are toxic and making our guts inflamed and unbalancing our flora or something. I don’t know. I just work out and eat whatever the hell I want and call it good. Too much thinking about the minutiae of diet and it sucks the pleasure out of life, y’know?”

“All I know is my dad owns a pizza joint and I have been eating bread and cheese my entire life and I don’t feel particularly inflamed or floral.”

Duncan chuckles and leans in to me. “So, the Beaverton Bakery is across the street. Did you see it? In that old movie theatre building?”

“Yeah. I haven’t checked it out yet though.”

“Well, what I like to do is go over there and get a box full of croissants or donuts, sometimes an éclair, and then bring them back here and sit in the middle of the gym and eat the entire thing.”

“Nice. Scandalous in a totally not scandalous way,” I say.

“Right? If I’m feeling generous, I eat at the bakery and just put a little frosting behind my ear to tease his senses.”

“Is he telling you about how he sweats honeybun glaze?” Hector yells from behind the counter. “It’s disgusting ... and enticing.”

“The two of you have a sort of strange relationship,” I say.

Duncan shrugs. “You must be an only child.”

“I am. It’s true. What you’re telling me is this interaction and spitefulness on your part is completely normal?”

“It is the bedrock on which all sibling relationships are founded,” Duncan answers with faux solemnity.

“So, do you really have an interest in working for your brother, or are you doing it out of some loyalty I don’t understand?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been CrossFitting for years and I had a ton of downtime in Afghanistan – I mean there were days where I didn’t do much besides work with my dog and work out – so it’s a natural fit, I guess.”

“More than dog training?” I ask.

“No, but it’s safer. Being physically healthy helps my mental state. CrossFit has saved me from having to think too much about all the horrible things I’ve seen.”

“Huh. I should probably give it a try. Although, I’m pretty sure the last time I worked out was a few years ago, and then it was more out of boredom than anything.”

“It gives me something to do, that’s for sure.” Duncan smiles. “I promise you don’t have to go on the Paleo diet to join. I’ll even bet that Hector would let you check a class or two out for free. He needs to recruit some more young people to his gym. A lot of super buff but middle aged women work out here.”