Chapter 19 Cosmopolitan Package
Silas
Normally, the Buffed & Polished gigs are a challenge because I’m thinking about Bailey. But this time, all I can think about is the call from Monica Schaefer.
“Dude,” Morgan says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “You’re supposed to be using the broom, not staring at it like it insulted your mother.”
I blink and realize I’ve been standing frozen in the middle of the living room of the Taylor house, holding the broom, while eight women in tiaras and sashes watch me with varying degrees of amusement.
“Sorry,” I say, flashing them my best smile and doing an exaggerated hip swivel that makes them cheer. Crisis averted.
Kit catches my eye from across the room where he’s wiping down the kitchen counter with far too much enthusiasm. He raises an eyebrow. You okay?
I nod and get back to work, trying to focus on the job.
We’re doing the Cosmopolitan package tonight—bow ties, black slacks, and pink martinis that Kit premixed before we arrived.
The bride-to-be is wearing a sash that says “Last Fling Before the Ring” and a tiara that’s slightly crooked.
They skied all day yesterday, and we’re their last hurrah—a brunch show—before they board a private charter van back to the city.
They keep squealing every time one of us does literally anything.
“Can you flex again?” one of them asks Morgan, who’s loading their dishwasher.
“Which muscles?” Morgan grins, because of course he does. “I’ve got a lot of them.”
They dissolve into giggles and Morgan flexes everything—arms, chest, even his jaw somehow. The man’s a professional.
I finish sweeping and start dusting the bookshelf, trying to channel even half of Morgan’s natural showmanship. But my heart’s not in it tonight. My heart’s in New York City, wishing I was with Bailey.
“Speech! Speech!” the bride-to-be’s friends start chanting, and Morgan immediately hops up on a chair like he was born for this moment.
“Ladies,” he begins, hand over his heart. “On this sacred night, as we celebrate the beautiful Amanda’s last days of freedom—”
“I’m getting married, not going to prison!” Amanda protests, laughing.
“—we must remember the important things in life. Like making sure your spouse knows how to load a dishwasher correctly.” He gestures dramatically at the machine.
“He should vacuum once a week. He needs to do his share of the chores, take initiative, and most importantly . . .” Morgan pauses to flex. “He better look damn good doing it.”
The women are cracking up now, and even I have to admit it’s pretty funny.
“But seriously,” Morgan continues, his voice softening.
“Marry someone who makes you laugh. Who cleans when you’re tired.
Who looks at you the way your fiancé looked at you in those photos.
” He points to where several engagement photos decorate the kitchen table that’s holding the buffet.
“Because that’s the real thing right there. ”
There’s a collective “awww” and Amanda’s actually tearing up.
Morgan hops down from the chair and takes a bow. Kit and I applaud along with everyone else.
That’s the thing about Morgan—he can turn anything into a moment. Make anyone feel special. It’s his superpower.
I wish I had even a fraction of that confidence right now.
We finish up the job, take photos with the bachelorette, and collect our tips. By the time we’re loading up Kit’s van, it’s almost three.
“Good gig,” Kit says, dividing up the money. “Though, Silas, you were kind of off tonight. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” I pull on my hoodie, the March evening cold. “Just tired.”
“If you say so,” Kit says while starting up the van.
“I bet it’s a woman,” Morgan says from the back.
Kit snorts. “I’m not taking that bet.”
I definitely don’t want to be talking about this right now, so I change the subject. “Speaking of women, that was a mighty fine speech you gave back there, Morgan. I bet one or two of those women thought they could get you to settle down.”
“Yup.” I don’t even have to turn around to know he’s smiling. “That’s why two of them gave me their numbers.”
“Ooooo,” Kit and I both say at the same time. It’s not uncommon for any of us to get digits while working this gig, although Morgan gets more of them than the rest of us. Between this and bartending at On the Rocks, he’s a popular guy.
“Are any of them the future Mrs. Law?” Kit asks.
Morgan laughs the idea off. “Do you really see me getting engaged any time soon? Hell will freeze over.”
Morgan and Kit spend the rest of the ride debating whether we should add a Regency-themed package to our offerings (”We could wear cravats!” “No one knows what a cravat is, Morgan”), and I stare out the window, watching Here pass by.
They’re still arguing when Kit pulls into my driveway.
“Okay, who wants to see the dresser?” I ask. Before the Taylor house job I was telling these two about the refinishing project I just finished.
“I’m out,” Kit says. “I’ve got to get two other units cleaned today. But I’m free for a run tomorrow morning.”
“I’m down for a run. And I wanna see your dresser.” Morgan hops out the back. We both grab our things and wave to Kit as he pulls away.
Morgan beats me to the porch and nudges something with his toe.
“Uh, Silas.”
“What is it?” When his foot finally moves, I can see that there’s a box on my welcome mat.
Huh. That’s weird. I didn’t order anything.
Morgan bends down, his backpack falling off his shoulder as he picks the box up. He squints at the label. “Why is there a package addressed to you and Bailey Price?” He stops. Looks up at me. Looks back down at the box. “Bailey Price?”
Fuck.
“It’s . . . I can explain.”
“Why is there a package addressed to both you and Hunter’s sister?” Morgan’s voice is quizzical, but I can see the gears turning in his head. “You two working on some kind of project?”
“Sort of. I mean, not really. It’s complicated.”
Morgan’s eyes widen. “Oh my god.”
“Morgan—”
“She’s the woman.” It’s not a question. “Bailey. Bailey is the woman who’s got you acting weird.”
I close my eyes. “Yeah.”
“Holy shit.” He sets the package down on the porch like it might explode. “Holy shit, Silas. Hunter’s sister? You’re seeing Hunter’s sister?”
“Could you maybe not say that quite so loud?”
He lowers his voice to an aggressive whisper. “How long?”
“A few months.”
“A FEW MONTHS?” The whisper breaks on the last word. “You’ve been secretly hooking up with Bailey Price for MONTHS?”
“We’re not just hooking up—” I stop myself. What are we doing? We haven’t defined it. We haven’t talked about the future. We just . . . keep finding excuses to see each other.
Morgan runs his hands through his hair. “Does Hunter know?”
“Absolutely not. And he can’t. Not yet. We’re still figuring things out.”
“Figuring things out,” Morgan repeats. “Silas. Come on. You can’t keep this from him forever.”
“I know. I just need more time.” I take the package from him, keeping it close to my chest like I’m protecting evidence. “We both do.”
Morgan studies me for a long moment. Then he sighs. “You really like her.”
“Yeah.” There’s no point in denying it. Not to Morgan, who’s known me since we were kids. “I really do.”
“Of course you do, ’cause she’s fucking awesome. Does she know? About how you’ve felt about her since forever?”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Only to everyone except Hunter, apparently.” Morgan shakes his head, but he’s smiling now. Small, but it’s there. “Man. Bailey Price. I did not see that coming.”
“Neither did I.”
“So what happens now?” He gestures at the package. “What’s this even for?”
“I don’t know. It just showed up today.”
“You’re not going to open it?”
I look down at the box. “I should probably wait. Talk to Bailey first. It’s addressed to both of us.”
Morgan nods slowly. “Okay. But Silas? You need to figure this out. The whole thing. Not just what’s in the box. What you two are doing. Where it’s going. Because keeping this secret from Hunter? That’s only going to get harder.”
“I know.”
“And for what it’s worth?” He claps me on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you. Even if you are an idiot for thinking you could keep this quiet in a town this small.”
I laugh despite everything. “Fair point.”
Inside, Echo howls at us in excitement, happy to have Morgan to talk to. I show him the dresser and he appropriately oohs and aahs over it while Echo is curled up in his arms.
“You did good,” he says, scratching my cat’s head. “I might have to recruit you to fix my back steps.”
I straighten up. “Why? What happened?”
“Eighty pounds of golden retriever barrels into it every other day and one of the posts has split. The whole thing is sitting crooked now.”
“Princess is too enthusiastic.”
“She is. And with the ice we had this winter—” Morgan cuts himself off and fishes his phone out of his pocket. Echo’s ear flicks and her eye squints open. Morgan looks at the screen and rolls his eyes.
Only two people elicit that kind of reaction from him: his very punchable brother or his enabling mother.
I’m not close to my mom, but she’s always been more checked out than toxic.
I don’t know why Morgan tolerates having the two of them in his life.
Eventually, Graham will do something so stupid Morgan will finally cut ties, but hopefully it’ll be something that’s not too dangerous or expensive for my friend.
“Your brother?” I guess.
Morgan shakes his head. “Mom.” He puts his phone back in his pocket. “Probably needing money or something.” He huffs a laugh. “How am I ever going to get to buy my own bar if my family keeps draining my pockets?”
Before I can answer, Morgan gives Echo a kiss on her head. “I better get home to Princess.”
I grab my keys and drive him home, and just before he gets out of the car, Morgan says, “Silas?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t wait too long to tell Hunter. The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be when he finds out.” He pauses. “And he will find out.”
I watch him walk away, Princess bounding up to greet him at his door.
He’s right. I know he’s right.
Back home, I set the box on my kitchen counter and stare at it. There’s no return address. Just our two names printed on the label.
Silas Montgomery and Bailey Price.
Someone knows about us.
I look at the mysterious package. Someone in Here knows about Bailey and me. Someone who thought it was worth sending us . . . what? A gift? A warning? A joke?
There’s only one way to find out.
I grab scissors from the drawer and cut through the tape, pulling back the flaps. Inside is tissue paper, and beneath that—
I start laughing.
It’s a vibrator. Someone sent us a brand-new, still-in-box vibrator.
There’s a card tucked inside. I pull it out and read: “Welcome home, Bailey. You belong Here.”
No signature. No clue who sent it.
But someone in this town knows our secret. And instead of exposing us, they’re . . . encouraging Bailey to move here? With a sex toy?
I’m still laughing when I text Bailey and explain about the package.
Temptress
So I opened it.
And?
Someone in Here knows about us.
The three dots appear and disappear several times.
Temptress
How do you know?
Silas
Because they sent us a vibrator and a card that says “Welcome home, Bailey. You belong Here.”
WHAT
Are you kidding me?
WHO WOULD DO THAT
No idea. It’s anonymous. No return address.
This is mortifying.
Also kind of funny?
Mostly mortifying.
At least they’re rooting for us?
With a SEX TOY, Silas.
A thoughtful sex toy.
I hate you.
No you don’t.
The dots appear and disappear for a long time. Then:
Temptress
No. I don’t.
But we need to talk. About this. About us. About what we’re doing.
I know. Come up this weekend? We can figure it out. Together.
Together. Yeah. Okay.
And Silas?
Yeah?
I’m scared.
Me too, temptress.
But I want to do this. Figure it out. Together.
We will.
I set my phone down and look at Echo, who’s watching me with her big green eyes.
“Someone knows,” I tell her. “And soon, everyone’s going to know.”
She meows, which I choose to interpret as encouragement.
This weekend, Bailey and I will talk about the future. About what this is between us.
And then—soon—I’ll tell Hunter the truth.
Because Morgan’s right. The longer I wait, the worse it gets.
And Bailey Price is worth fighting for. Worth being honest for.
Even if it means risking everything.