Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Peter crossed the threshold of the Crane Hotel and yawned. It was like his body knew that this was where his bed was and if it hinted hard enough, maybe he’d listen and get some rest.
Last night had been magnificent, but the opposite of restful. Sybil had fallen asleep so easily in his arms, but he’d forced his eyes to stay open as long as possible to soak the moment in. He re-counted the freckles on her nose and noted there were some new additions, and was fascinated by the few strands of silvery white hair on her head. There were six, and it looked like someone had dropped tinsel on her head. Sleep had only just overtaken him when Mallory came home and Sybil kicked him out.
It had been worth the hazy headache he’d had all day.
A good night’s sleep—unless Sybil invited him over again, in which case, fuck sleep—and he could tackle his newest project: convince Sybil he could fit into her life.
“Peter!”
Graham’s voice cut through the fog of concentration, and Peter looked around for his best friend. Graham smiled at him from behind the front desk, a look of bemused confusion on his face.
“Are you okay?” he asked after Peter arrived at the desk. “I said hi a few times, and you looked like you were somewhere else.”
“Just being me,” Peter said. “Off in la-la land. How are you? Any luck on the…?” He let the question hang in the air for Graham to fill in the blank.
“No, but I’m having fun trying. Or trying to have fun trying.” Graham clipped a few sheets of paper together. “I was going to head out soon. Are you coming to barbecue night?”
Peter frowned quizzically. “What is that?”
“Practically a Crane Cove institution. Every Thursday night is barbecue night at Cranberry Brothers. Do you want me to save you a seat?”
“I will be there.”
A Crane Cove community activity had fallen right into his lap. Fate had to be on his side.
Peter returned his costume, went to his room to wash the last vestiges of his character Glenn off his body, and worried over what to wear while he towel-dried his hair. He settled on a very comfortable and extremely casual outfit: jeans, a soft dark blue T-shirt, and his remaining zip-up hoodie. Dressing up for dinner felt very LA, and this outfit said, “I can be a very regular normal person.”
Cranberry Brothers Brewing wasn’t far from Sybil’s coffee shop, which meant it had a sub-optimal parking situation. The parking spots nearest the brewery were full, and he ended up parked on a side street a few blocks away. Thankfully, it was a dry night, so he arrived without looking like he was starring in a pirate film.
Peter had never been to the brewery before, though he knew of it from his friends. Cranberry Brothers Brewing was owned and operated by Connor’s twin brothers, Chase and Cole. From Sam, Peter knew that Cole was an excellent and meticulous cook, and from Jordy, he’d heard that Chase should’ve played professional sports. Graham complained that they were aging him in dog years ever since he moved to town and the twins had decided that he was going to be their best friend. The way Graham described it, they made up the cast of Up , with Graham obviously being the old man.
He didn’t know what kind of crowds the brewery drew other nights of the week, but the place was packed when he stepped inside. A chalkboard said, “We give up. Find your own seat.” Peter chuckled and craned his neck to see if he could spot Graham. And maybe he would have, if he hadn’t seen a red ponytail at the bar. His heart leapt, and he squeezed his way through the crowd as quickly as he could, adopting a serpentine quality to his movement as he dodged bodies.
“Hello there,” he said, putting a gentle hand on Sybil’s lower back. “You made it here quickly.”
She looked up at him, and he realized part of the reason she’d made it to the brewery so quickly was that she was still wearing her makeup from the movie.
“If you don’t get here early, it’s hard to get a seat.”
“Connor doesn’t make his brothers save him a table?”
“Connor can’t make his brothers do anything. He’s tried. They’re immune to his disapproving glares.”
“I’m very familiar with those,” Peter said.
Sybil dropped her voice to a level he could barely hear. “You should stop touching me. People will get ideas.”
“But I like touching you,” he whispered back.
“Save it for later.”
Electric anticipation zinged through his body and his blood crackled. Any lingering fatigue disappeared and he decided he could sleep when he was dead.
Peter put his hands in his pockets.
“I’ve got beers— Hey, Pete!” A giant McMahon—Chase, because his blond hair was short and he didn’t have a beard—put two pint glasses on the bar and held out his hand.
Peter didn’t point out that no one called him Pete because he didn’t want to accidentally offend Sybil. He took Chase’s hand and got yanked halfway across the bar into what was universally known as the “bro hug.” After three chest-rattling pats on the back, he was pretty sure a rib had been knocked loose.
“Good to see you. What can I get for you?” Chase asked after he’d released Peter.
“Umm…” The options were overwhelming, especially for someone who didn’t drink a lot of beer.
“Do you want me to pick? I’m a pretty good guesser,” Chase offered.
“Yes, please.”
Chase grabbed a glass and went down the row of taps, stopping to consider a few, before settling on one near the end. He filled the glass with a golden beer, much lighter than the dark brown and amber beers in the glasses he’d handed Sybil, and came back.
“This is a golden Belgian ale made with local apples. I think you’ll like it.”
Peter picked up the glass and took a cautious sip. It was delicious. Dry, fruity, and the carbonation danced on his tongue.
“Wow. That is really good.”
Chase beamed. “Glad you like it. Did you want to order any food while you’re up here?”
Peter looked down at Sybil for help answering that question. She rolled her eyes and sighed.
“Can you add another plate to our table? I think that’ll be easier.”
“I’ll let the kitchen know,” Chase said, and bustled off.
“What am I getting to eat?” Peter asked as he followed Sybil through the crowd.
“Does it matter? It’s food. You’ll eat it.”
They arrived at a small rectangular table that had benches instead of chairs. One bench was filled with Kiki, Graham, and Eloise. The three of them were having what sounded like an impromptu hotel staff meeting, probably so they could write the meal off on their taxes. Connor sat on the other bench, a blank, half-listening look on his face, his eyes following something in the direction of the bar. When they interrupted his sight line, Connor’s shoulders tensed and his eyes narrowed. He slid from the left side of the bench right into the middle, presumably trying to create an immovable barrier between Peter and Sybil.
The joke was on him, because that was exactly where Peter wanted him for phase one of Operation Crane Cove. The name needed work, but that was a problem for when he had more than three working brain cells.
Sybil set the dark beer in front of Connor and lowered herself onto the bench. No sooner had her butt touched the wood than Connor asked, “Where’s the popcorn?”
“Damnit.” She started to rise.
“I can get it,” Peter offered quickly.
She shook her head. “No. I’ll get it. You’ll never make it back, and I’ll have to wrest the scraps of your broken body from your adoring fans.”
Confused, he looked to Graham for an answer after she’d headed back to the bar.
“I don’t understand. No one’s bothered me at all here.”
“You haven’t really spent a lot of time out and about,” Graham pointed out. “You’ve been too busy with the movie.”
“And you were with Sybil, and people are scared of her,” Kiki chimed in, delighted to add her tidbit to the explanation.
“People aren’t scared of Sybil—” Eloise began charitably, but stopped when everyone but Peter stared at her pointedly. She sighed and amended, “There’s an abundance of cautious respect for her in the community.”
Kiki cackled.
“Speaking of the community…” Peter turned to Connor. “Is there a drama club at the high school? Or a local children’s or community theater?”
Connor frowned suspiciously. “Why?”
“It’s customary for productions to give back to the communities they’re involved with,” Peter said. He was pretty sure that was the truth, though he’d never experienced it firsthand. “I’d like to talk to some aspiring young actors. Give them some tips or advice. Or maybe I could come to your class and talk about plays and the theater.”
Connor pursed his lips and his eyebrows drew together.
“That would be amazing,” Eloise gushed. “Maybe you could bring your dad too. Arthur has done plays with the Royal Shakespeare Company, Connor. What an incredible opportunity for the students to hear from award-winning actors about how the things they’re learning in your class are used in the real world.”
“I don’t know if I’d call acting the real world,” Connor mumbled under his breath.
“Maybe seeing the notes on Peter’s scripts could help them with their close reading skills,” Eloise continued. “Or maybe how Charlotte does it as a director.”
“That’s an idea,” Connor said and sipped his beer.
Sybil returned with two metal bowls of popcorn and set them down on the table before retaking her seat on the other side of Connor.
“I found out today that Lorna is leaving,” she began as Mallory arrived with a stack of six plates. “So, if anyone has any leads on a replacement, I’m all ears.”
“I could do it,” Mallory offered quickly.
“I need someone who isn’t planning on leaving in a few weeks to a few months,” Sybil pointed out coolly. “Then I’ve got the same problem all over again. Plus, you’re a bartender, not a barista.”
“I could learn.”
“We’re not talking about this right now,” Sybil said, taking the plates and distributing them around the table.
Peter didn’t understand. He’d seen Mallory work before, and she was fantastic. She struck the perfect balance of efficient and personable with patrons, somehow making everyone feel like her best friend. As far as he could see, she would be a wonderful addition to the Stardust staff and someone Sybil could lean on to get her through the interim period finding a new Lorna, or as a permanent replacement.
But the storm-on-the-horizon look on her face told him this wasn’t the time or place to bring up his opinions.
Cole, Connor’s younger brother and Chase’s hulking twin, appeared at the side of the table, a large, round serving tray filled with food held at shoulder height. His curly blond hair was pulled into a bun near the top of his head and he’d cut his ginger-tinged beard closer to his face since the last time Peter had seen him at last year’s Thanksgiving. He lowered the tray so Mallory could reach the platters, which she put on the table.
Chase came over as Mallory finished unburdening Cole’s tray, and the twins exchanged a suspiciously meaningful look.
“So, Peter,” Cole began after Chase elbowed him in the side, “we don’t know if you’ve noticed any of the flyers around town, but the closest Saturday to Halloween we host a benefit here?—”
“We call it the Boo-wery,” Chase interjected helpfully.
“Yes. We have a silent auction that benefits the animal shelter,” Cole continued. “So we were going through our list of generous donations, and we were wondering if you and/or the movie would be interested in making a donation to the auction.”
Chase nodded. “It doesn’t have to be anything over the top. Last year Sam donated a guitar lesson.”
“That I bid on so he wouldn’t actually have to do it,” Graham interrupted. “I’m not rescuing you if you donate something like that.”
“If you choose to donate,” Chase clarified, his voice and face full of the kind of hope children have on Christmas Eve.
“I don’t see why not,” Peter said. “I’ll talk to my parents to see what the production wants to do. I’m sure some of the other cast members would be happy to donate something too.”
The twins relaxed in unison.
“Thank you so much,” Cole said. “It really doesn’t have to be anything big or extravagant.”
Sybil put a slab of brisket on his plate. “Put Cole’s meat in your mouth before they get you to agree to anything else.”
The problem with the golden ale that Chase had given him was that it was too good. By the time people at their table started to make excuses for why they needed to leave and over exaggerated yawns, Peter was tipsy and on the downhill slide toward being drunk. Connor left first, then Graham and Eloise, and finally, Kiki. He dug into his back pocket for his wallet and put a bill on the table, then looked to Sybil.
“Do you think that’s enough to cover it?”
She was fighting a losing battle against a smile. “How much do you think beer is here?”
He looked at what he’d taken out of his wallet. “Is a hundred not enough? ”
She rolled her eyes. “You need to walk this off before you drive back to the hotel.” She slipped her arms into her coat and grabbed her purse from the hook under the table. “Let’s go get you some coffee.”
“At your place?” he asked hopefully, trailing after her like a puppy, but he had to double back to get his coat.
“My place of business,” Sybil clarified and held the door open for him. It was still dry outside, but the air smelled like coming rain. “I don’t know if it’s right for me to take advantage of you in your current state.”
“Please take advantage of me.”
Her laugh sounded like a sky full of twinkling stars, and he smiled, falling into step with her as they crossed the empty street.
“I love you,” he sighed, and stuck his hand in her coat pocket to find her hand. She allowed him to awkwardly lace his fingers with hers.
“You might be drunker than I thought.”
“I will concede that I shouldn’t drive for a bit, but I am not drunk.”
“Then what are you?”
“Enamored with you.”
“You’re horrible at being casual, Peter,” she said.
“Is this not how casual people behave?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Hmmm…” He pursed his lips in faux thought. “I guess we’ll have to spend more time together so I can practice being casual. Can I casually kiss you?”
“Putting the word ‘casual’ in front of something doesn’t make it casual,” Sybil pointed out, but diverted their path toward the alley next to Stardust.
The alley was dark, and in a different city with less alcohol in his system, it might have made him nervous. But this was Crane Cove, and the worst thing that might be in that alley was a raccoon.
In the darkest part of the alley, where the shadows cast by lights on either end converged, Sybil rested her back against the wall and pulled him to her. She curled a hand around the back of his neck, and it took only a featherlight pressure to bring his mouth to hers. Bitter hops lingered on her tongue, mixed with a sweetness that was all her, and Peter wondered if Chase could bottle the taste. He’d buy the entire stock.
Sybil’s teeth scraped his bottom lip and a deep sound rumbled in the back of his throat, somewhere between a moan and a growl. He pressed his body into hers, pinning her against the wall, and she made a noise that was a softer, more delicate version of the one he’d made.
Peter knew he wasn’t drunk. He was in control of his body, and he knew what was going on around him. But his impulse control, which was low on a good day, had hit rock bottom and found a drill. His hands roamed her body, exploring her curves through her clothes, and paused at the waistband of her pants. He ran his fingers just under the edge of the fabric.
“I want to touch you so bad,” he murmured against her mouth. He trailed his lips along her jaw, down to her neck. “I want to make you feel so good.” He tugged at the button on her jeans. “Please?”
“Peter,” Sybil whispered, even as she tilted her neck and raised her hips to give him better access. “We’re outside. What if someone caught us?”
“No one is going to catch us,” he reassured her, and sucked gently on her neck until she shuddered. “It’s dark and you’d be sure to be very, very quiet, hm?”
He nuzzled her pulse and finally worked the button through the denim hole. As he lowered her zipper, he nipped her collarbone, then raised his head. Their noses brushed as he slid his hand into her pants.
The jingle of a bell made Sybil tense, and she grabbed his wrist. From the end of the alley where the street was, the sound of laughter and goodbyes filtered toward them. Was that why they were outside in an alley instead of in her office, where he might have been able to already have her bent over her desk, moaning his name while he fucked her from behind? Because her employees had still been inside Stardust?
Soft pressure on his shins made him look down.
The cat from earlier was rubbing against his legs again.
“Get the cat,” Sybil hissed.
Peter hurried to obey, which was likely his downfall. He swooped down to grab the cat, who was startled by his sudden movement and tried to bolt. In his slightly inebriated state, Peter lost all spatial awareness and lunged. His hands clamped down on the furry body at the same time his head collided with the wall.
The sound registered before the pain did. The hollow thud, a delay of a second or two, then sharp pain that spread through his skull like fingers of lightning.
But he had the cat.
He staggered as he straightened, and turned to show Sybil his triumph.
“Peter!” She stretched on her tiptoes to try and examine him. He liked her fussing over him. “Are you okay? Do you have a concussion? How do we know if you have a concussion?”
He shrugged. “Ask Jordy?” He held up the cat. “I got the cat.”
“Yes, you did,” she said soothingly, and buttoned her pants. “Let’s get you some ice.”
Sybil unlocked the front door to Stardust, led him by the elbow to the office, sat him down in the chair, and ordered him to stay put.
“You’re sexy when you’re bossy,” he said with a goofy grin.
She rolled her eyes and left.
He scratched the cat behind the ears and under the chin. The cat purred and followed his fingers every time he tried to stop.
“You’re a sweet kitty,” he cooed.
Sybil returned with a bag of ice and gingerly placed it on his head. He winced. The miniscule weight of the bag stung.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “If I’d known you were going to take your cat-catching duties so enthusiastically, I would’ve done it myself.”
“I take everything you want seriously.”
She kissed his forehead, and his heart fluttered. He’d headbutt a thousand walls if she’d brush her lips against his skin.
“You’re a little too good at taking directions,” Sybil teased. “How are you feeling?”
“A lot like Wile E. Coyote.”
“Got an urge to chase roadrunners?”
“Get me an ACME catalog and my credit card.”
“Beep-beep.” She grinned when he laughed. “Let me grab the cat carrier and we can go back to my house. I want to keep an eye on you for a little bit longer.”
“I’d be happy to let you keep an eye on me for the rest of my life,” Peter called after her as she left the room again. He looked at the cat, who was looking up at him with peridot eyes. “One of these days, that’s going to work, and you’ll have a two-parent household.”
The cat responded with a doubtful meow.
Sybil returned with a small, soft-sided pet carrier, the kind he usually saw on airplanes.
“I ordered this a while ago,” she explained. “I never thought it would take this long to catch the cat.”
Peter lowered the cat inside, and Sybil quickly zipped it before the cat could escape. It yowled in protest.
The vocal complaints continued the entire walk to Sybil’s house. He convinced her that she needed to hold his hand so he could cross the street and managed to distract her so she didn’t drop it when they reached the other side.
Sybil didn’t lock her front door. It took a moment to register that she’d opened the front door without inserting a key first, and the brief panic was waylaid when he remembered Graham didn’t bother much with home security either and his big house was a much more attractive target for a burglar than Sybil’s Craftsman bungalow.
They took the cat to a small laundry room, and Sybil unpacked cat supplies hidden in a cupboard. She really had been preparing for a cat. Litter was emptied into a litter box, dry food was scooped into a small bowl, and wet food was left on a little plate. She left briefly to fill up a water dish. The whole time he stood there holding the cat carrier with the ungrateful cat inside.
“I don’t know when I’m going to find the time to take her to see Chris tomorrow,” Sybil said after they’d left the cat in the laundry room.
“Dempsey could do it,” Peter offered. “I don’t send them on enough errands.”
“Would they mind?”
“It’s part of their job description…I think. They could have rewritten their job description when I wasn’t looking.” A thought from earlier tickled the forefront of his mind. “Why won’t you let Mallory work for you?”
“Because she’s immature, irresponsible, and flighty.” She walked to the kitchen, and he followed. “There’s no point in me training her since she’s going to leave whenever she feels like it, and then I’ll have to find someone new.”
“Graham seems to like having her as an employee,” Peter pointed out while Sybil got him a glass of water. “No one has ever accused him of being an easy person to impress.”
“That’s different.”
“Not really. A lot of those skills she uses as a bartender seem transferable to me. Would it really be so bad to give her a shot?”
“Yes, it would.” She crossed her arms. “It’s all good and fine for Graham, and Moonie, and the twins to have someone who pops in and out, but I need someone that’s going to stick around.”
“You won’t even consider her as a stop-gap option?”
If looks could kill, he’d be a cloud of dust. Peter held up his hands in surrender, and a little water sloshed out of the glass and onto his wrist.
“Forget I said anything. It’s not my business.”
“You’re right. It’s not your business.” Her eyes flicked to his glass. “Drink your water.”