Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sybil woke up by herself.
Any other day, this wouldn’t have been strange, but when she’d fallen asleep Peter was in her bed and so was the cat, who’d apparently lost all interest in her once Peter left. She would’ve bet her meager retirement savings that nothing short of a natural disaster could have gotten him out of her bed.
Bleary-eyed and yawning, she made her way downstairs to start a pot of coffee before she took a shower. A strange smell hit her as she reached the bottom step. It was like a cacophony of burnt foods: burnt eggs, burnt bread, burnt bacon.
Had Mallory been cooking after work?
Except Mallory could cook. She did occasionally burn things, but they were few and far between.
Wasn’t smelling toast a stroke symptom?
Sybil turned into the kitchen and froze. She’d discovered the source of the smell and he was loading bread into the toaster, despite the charred evidence on the counter that he didn’t understand how the appliance worked.
“What are you doing?”
Peter’s hand stilled, and he looked over his shoulder at her. “I’m making breakfast.”
She’d heard stories of Peter’s culinary adventures from Graham, Sam, and even Eloise, and she was thankful there hadn’t been a fire.
“Step away from the toaster,” she said, and came to the stove to inspect the damage. “How are those eggs raw and burned?”
“They’re sunny side up,” he explained.
She picked up a piece of black bacon from a plate and it crumbled in her fingers.
“Do you like extra crispy bacon?”
Peter winced. “I kind of forgot about it and then there wasn’t any more for me to try again.”
She glanced at the sad eggs that were crispy around the edges but still raw on top.
“How many times did you make the eggs?”
“We might need to go to the store later.”
Sybil sighed and pushed down her annoyance at the mess and the smell. The intention had been good, even if the results weren’t edible.
“I can make us some oatmeal after I shower,” she said and patted his cheek as she passed him to get to the coffee maker, which he miraculously hadn’t managed to touch yet.
“Shower?” Peter repeated hopefully. “I could use a shower.”
Sybil checked the clock on the stove. “There isn’t enough time for us to both take one.”
“We could shower together,” he suggested. “It would save time and water.”
She measured coffee into a filter. “How would showering together save time when I can guarantee you’ll spend the entire time feeling me up under the guise of ‘making sure I didn’t miss a spot’?”
“I promise I will be on my best behavior.” He crossed his heart. “If we shower together, we don’t have to wait for the other person to finish and we can start getting ready to go at the same time.”
“This still feels like a trap.”
Sybil’s hair was still damp and the granola bar she’d had for breakfast while she drove to the high school hadn’t even taken the edge off her hunger. In the passenger seat, Peter searched his empty wrapper for more crumbs.
“I’m still hungry,” he complained.
“Whose fault is that?”
Apparently Peter’s version of “being on his best behavior” included a thorough tongue bath for her pussy. His time-saving shared shower idea had left Sybil with almost no time to dry her hair, and because she didn’t even trust him with the microwave after what she’d seen him do with a toaster, no time for breakfast.
“You weren’t complaining while I was?—”
“I know! I know. I was there.” She pulled into a parking spot reserved for volunteers. “You know you don’t have to do this, right? You could wait in the car. It’s boring, and I don’t think those glasses are doing for you what they do for Superman.”
Peter adjusted the fake glasses he’d pilfered from the movie. “I think they’re giving a certain Clark Kent Effect. The hat helps too.” He tapped the bill of his baseball cap.
“You look like a celebrity trying to be incognito.”
“That’s only because you know it’s me. Maybe if you’d let me wear the mustache…”
“The mustache took the disguise in a direction you did not want to go at a youth sporting event.”
Peter spotted the concession stand as soon as they got near the football field where the race would start and end.
“Are we going to be working in there? That doesn’t seem too bad. Maybe not super warm, but it’s dry.”
“I don’t think you were listening when I said you’d be standing in the rain.”
“I was hoping you weren’t serious.”
Sybil spied Connor tying a string of colorful flags to the poles that made the finishing chute. He looked up, made eye contact with her, frowned, and tapped his watch. His frown deepened to a glare when he noticed Peter walking beside her.
“You’re late,” Connor said when they reached him.
“Only by a few minutes,” she pointed out.
Connor looked Peter up and down suspiciously. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s here to volunteer,” Sybil told him. “You’re always complaining you need more help, so I brought a warm body capable of following directions. Where do you want us?”
Connor looked towards the concessions shed.
“He’s not allowed to work concessions for health and safety reasons,” Sybil said, guessing that Connor wanted to stick Peter somewhere he didn’t have to see him. “Unless you wanted to call the fire department today.”
Connor glowered. “He can be a course monitor. He can’t bother anyone out in the woods.”
“Okay. Where are we going to be stationed?” Sybil put her hands on her hips and looked up at Connor defiantly. “Or he can be a chute monitor, and you can keep me here to do what I always do and pass out the numbers.”
“Fine,” Connor snarled.
Peter’s gaze strayed to the concessions stand. “Is that open yet?”
“I bet if you go ask the moms nicely, one of them will take pity on you,” Sybil said. Peter wandered off in the direction of the concession stand.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Sybil smacked Connor’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but be nice.”
“Ow.” Connor rubbed his shoulder. “I am being nice. I didn’t say any of the things I was thinking.”
“Your face is pretty loud.”
“Why did you bring him?”
“Because he wanted to come.” Sybil shrugged and dug at a piece of loose soil with the toe of her shoe.
“You’re not falling for him, are you?”
“Of course not. I’m horny, not stupid,” she half-lied. She was definitely horny, but when it came to Peter, she was also incredibly stupid. “I did try to talk him out of it, but he insisted. Maybe if you were nicer to him, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to make you like him.”
“Maybe if he wasn’t trying so hard to make me like him, I would be nicer to him.”
“Is this what it’s like trying to talk to me? Because if it is, I’m starting to understand why I’m not the most popular person in town.”
Peter trotted back across the field with his hands full of snacks. An apple, a banana, a plastic baggie of orange slices, granola bars, and some fruit leathers overflowed his fingers.
“How did you get all that? Did you pretend you had a gun?” Sybil asked as she examined his bounty.
Peter shook his head. “I just said hi and asked if they had any snacks they could spare.”
She exchanged a look with Connor. It didn’t surprise her that strangers had outfitted Peter with provisions like he was setting out on the Oregon Trail. He had pretty person privilege, and the only reasons she didn’t resent him for it were because he seemed oblivious to it and it benefited her.
Sybil relieved him of the apple. “Has anyone ever told you no?”
“You do all the time,” he reminded her, stuffing the granola bars and fruit leathers into his pockets for later.
Connor handed Sybil the remaining bunting. “Finish hanging this,” he told her, “and you need to talk to my parents because Dad wants to know when you’re borrowing the truck, and Mom wants to know if you’re coming for dinner tomorrow.”
“I’ll call them later,” she promised.
Connor nodded, glared at Peter one more time for good measure, then headed toward the school.
“What’s happening tomorrow?” Peter asked, following her to the end of the chute.
“I need to go out to the McMahon farm to get my old coffee cart ready. I store it out there.” She tied the string around the last stake and moved forward to do the same to the next stake. “Greg lets me borrow one of his trucks to haul it.” She studied the bunting across the chute so she could match the tension between the stakes. “Plus, on Sundays, Bitsy does a big family dinner, so I’ll get fed.”
“Do you want help tomorrow? I’m free,” Peter offered.
It was how he phrased the question that made all the difference. Want versus need. Did she need his help? No, not particularly. Did she want his help? Did she want him around while she cleaned and organized?
“That would be great.”
A giant smile that warmed her like summer sunshine spread across his face.
Halfway through the morning, Sybil realized she was in trouble.
Contrary to what Peter believed, it was obvious to her that everyone knew who he was. Luckily, everyone who had approached him had been very respectful and hadn’t let on that they were in on the secret. The first few people to approach him had set her nerves on edge and she’d been prepared to run them off at the slightest provocation, but they’d only wanted to talk. And Peter could talk. A lot. He talked to anyone and everyone that came up to him, like his calling in life was idle small-town chitchat. Hell, he fit in better than she did.
How could she keep telling him that he wouldn’t like living in a small town when he looked so damn happy standing in the rain at a youth sporting event?
Guilt curled around her insides like a prickly vine. She could never reciprocate his level of enthusiasm and ease at one of his events. Walking a red carpet, having people shout at her to look at them while cameras flashed all around her, was the kind of nightmare she’d wake up from in a cold sweat.
Then he’d look her way, like he was checking to make sure she was still there, that she was okay, and she’d give him a tiny smile to reassure him, and he’d flash her one of his award-winning grins, and she knew she was in trouble because her heart did a triple backflip every single time.
“Did you get your name on the ballot for mayor?” she asked as they walked back to her car after the runners had gone home and the course had been cleaned up.
Peter took her hand and laced their fingers together. “The current mayor still has two years left on her term, plus I think she’s pretty popular. I think I could poach a city council seat, though.”
“If you keep Mitch Appleton from ascending the throne, I will personally sponsor your campaign.”
“Who’s Mitch Appleton?”
“Local asshole,” she explained. “He’s the jerk who made Lacey’s life hell here.”
“Then I wouldn’t worry about fundraising for my campaign. Sam will bankroll me in a heartbeat.”
“Don’t tell him I said this, but I think Graham should run.”
Peter opened her driver’s side door for her. “Why don’t you want me to tell him you said that?”
“Because then he’d know I think he’s a competent businessman and a semi-decent human being with a good head on his shoulders.” Sybil shuddered dramatically, which made Peter laugh.
“You don’t think letting him marry your best friend already went to his head?”
“I didn’t let Eloise marry him. She’s stubborn and ungovernable. Don’t let that sweet facade fool you.”
Sybil glanced around the parking lot. There were a few lingering vehicles, but none of them were running and she didn’t see anyone walking to any of them. She stretched up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
“What was that for?” he asked quietly, a little stunned.
“To say thanks for being such a good sport today. This can’t have been your ideal way to spend a Saturday.”
“No, it wasn’t, but that’s just because my ideal Saturday is being naked in bed with you. A very close second is literally any other activity with you.” He caressed her cheek with a cold hand, and she pressed her face into his touch. “We do still have some Saturday left. We could go back to your house and snuggle with Agatha.”
Sybil sighed. “Why would you suggest something so wonderful? I need to go to work. I’ve hardly been there all week.”
“We can do my thing second. Maybe I can make you dinner too.” Peter walked around to the passenger side and got into the car.
Panic shot through her nervous system as visions of his failed breakfast attempt flashed before her eyes.
“Your kitchen privileges have been revoked until I have a signed note from Sam that your skills are up to his standards,” she said as she sat down in her seat and started the car.
Peter looked crestfallen. “That’s impossible.”
It was impossible, but it was the only way to keep her kitchen safe. She patted his thigh reassuringly.
“Nothing’s impossible if you put your mind to it.”