Chapter 34 #2
I can’t help the sigh that escapes me. The host is not wrong.
I’m not opening the door to Patrick. Well, I just did—but not the door to a friendship or whatever it is he’s trying to pursue with me by bringing me coffee and mopping my shop and fixing my water heater.
I feel like I do know the whole backstory. But it’s possible I don’t.
M&M: Maybe you’re right. But I think if you knew my neighbor, you’d be on my side on this one.
BTTP: I have no doubt I’d be on your side. You’re reasonable when it comes to forgiving people.
M&M: What makes you say that?
BTTP: You forgave me.
M&M: Are you sure?
BTTP: We’re talking again. That shows me you’re not one to hold mistakes against people unless they deserve it. Your neighbor probably deserves your anger. But leave room for the fact that there might be a part of the story you still don’t know.
M&M: Cryptic. But also, you make a valid point.
M&M: Anyway, enough about him. You mentioned Pizza Den. Has it occurred to you that we may have seen one another around town for years? We may know one another better than we think.
BTTP: It definitely occurred to me.
M&M: Have you tried to puzzle out who I am? Like, have you combed back through our messages to figure out who I might be?
BTTP: I have.
M&M: Me too. I’m not ready to give you another face-to-face chance quite yet, but I know I will be eventually.
BTTP: When you do, I won’t take it for granted. I’ll show up.
His cursor blinks for a while after that. I wait for more.
BTTP: I hope you’re not disappointed when you see me.
M&M: Do you have a giant wart on your nose or something—like, one that’s bigger than a mushroom? Not that I’m saying that would be a deal breaker. Just … not sure why you’d think I’d be disappointed.
BTTP: No mushroom warts.
M&M: Well, then rest easy.
BTTP: I think you need to reconsider your standards of what constitutes a deal breaker.
M&M: Looks aren’t everything.
BTTP: True. I agree wholeheartedly. But they do account for something. I’m glad to know you’ll stick with me if I ever get a wart infestation, though.
M&M: I’m snort laughing.
BTTP: I’m chuckling. But, so you know, snort laughing is not a deal breaker. As a matter of fact, it might be a green flag for me. Depending on the snort—and the snorter.
M&M: Good to know.
M&M: I’d better go to sleep. I have work in the morning.
BTTP: Yeah. I’d better go lie down in my bed, stare at my ceiling and think of ways to win a woman over after standing her up and disappointing her.
M&M: Yes. Get right on that.
BTTP: Will do.
I’m getting ready for my second day working at the library. The telltale thunk of Patrick’s boots carries across the porch floorboards. Only, instead of going down the steps, the thumping comes uncomfortably close to my doorway. And then it diminishes.
I wait ten minutes, finishing my coffee and rinsing the mug. Then I cautiously open the door.
My eyes scan the front yard. Patrick’s car is gone. I’m about to shut the door when something catches my eye on my doormat. I’d recognize that pink bakery box anywhere. There’s a note taped to the top of the box from Baker From Another Mother.
I already have a very certain feeling as to who delivered this box to my doorstep. Despite the fact that he’s awful and his family has brought me nothing but grief, I still pick up the box. I mean, it’s Baker From Another Mother.
I pull the note off the box.
Daisy -
I messed up. Again. I’m trying to outgrow old habits.
You don’t even have to be patient with me.
I don’t think I should make you any promises at this point.
Maybe cookies will help. They rarely hurt.
- Patrick
I set the note down on my entry table. “Patrick O’Connell,” I mutter. “I don’t know what to make of you. You’re a walking contradiction wrapped in muscles and a stellar jawline.”
“He brought you cookies,” I tell myself.
“He also basically agreed to support the building of condos on my property.”
Stopping myself from further self-talk, I open the box. It’s an assortment. Gourmet cookies—the good ones, soft, some frosted, others with various chips or fruit. I stick my face at the edge of the box, take a big long inhale, and sigh.
BTTP’s words about forgiveness haunt me, so I grab a chocolate chunk cookie, chew off a mouthful and literally moan around the bite.
Okay. Okay. I’ll thank him. I don’t have to become his friend. And I won’t. But I can thank him.
His family is out of line. And he’s confusing—disturbingly so. And he’s a spineless fence-sitter. He might be able to bench press my car, but inside, he can’t even lift a two letter word and let it slip over his lips.
No. It’s that simple, Patrick. Just say no.
Mustering my courage, and taking a fortifying bite of chocolate chunk cookie, I open my door and stroll over to Patrick’s front door.
“He’s not home,” Mrs. Hellman shouts from her porch next door.
Does she live out here?
“It’s his work day—every other day, you know?” she reminds me. “Fireman schedule.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Gotcha somethin’ from the bakery, huh?”
I think she’s trying to wag her brows, but she ends up looking like she’s an exotic bird doing a mating dance. Her whole head and neck gets into the action.
“Yes. He brought cookies. Do you want one?”
“Oh, you don’t have to.” She’s already walking down her steps in my direction.
“I want to.”
“If you insist.”
I bring the box out and let Mrs. Hellman pick whichever one she wants. She fusses over each one, naming it and oohing and ahhing.
She finally settles on what looks like pumpkin-spice cake with cream-cheese frosting, then toddles off across the yard shouting, “Thank you, Daisy!”
“You’re welcome.”
It’s not like I should eat the whole box myself.
I could. But I’d rather share.
I’ll make a point of thanking Patrick tomorrow, when he’s home.
Before I take off for the library, I DM the host of Burning Through the Pages.
M&M: You were right—my neighbor actually surprised me today.
I don’t expect an answer, but our DM pings.
BTTP: I’m assuming it was a good surprise. Maybe the people we think we hate are just the ones we haven’t seen in the right light yet.
M&M: I’m right to be hurt and angry. But I guess people can change. Or maybe they’re not all bad. Or … I really don’t know. Your words helped me loosen my grip on some of the bitterness.
BTTP: I’m glad to hear you say that.
BTTP: Oh! I almost forgot. Promise me you’ll listen to this week’s episode—please.
M&M: Okay … why? Grisham?
BTTP: You’ll understand everything after this episode.