Chapter 10
TEN
“I may have lost my heart, but not my self-control.”
~Jane Austen, Emma
“ I don’t know how many times I have to remind Wanda from accounting that my pronouns our they/them.” Braedon took their black rimmed glasses off, placing them atop their head before pinching the bridge of their nose.
Elle frowned. Most people at Sloan-Whitney were respectful of preferred pronouns but there were still some that required a repeat lesson in etiquette.
“I’ll speak with the head of accounting,” she offered, twisting the blinds closed to combat the glare from the late afternoon sun that obscured Braedon’s face on her laptop screen. She’d spent the afternoon working with them via video call.
“Already handled. They’ll be sending Wanda to a two-day HR training.” They waved a dismissive hand. “Also, did I mishear you earlier? Are you going to the VFW? That’s a real thing? Not just something in cheesy small town romance novels?”
"It’s real.”
“Go figure.” Braedon’s forehead wrinkled. “Aren’t VFW’s a private club for Veterans?”
“I have a guy.”
“ A VFW guy ?”
“Is there any other?”
They threw their hands up. “I can’t with you right now!”
“ Jealous ?”
“How does one get a VFW guy?” Braedon tapped their chin.
“It’s not as fancy as it sounds. Anyone can be a member of the VFW.”
Elle shifted in the chair, trying to loosen her tight muscles. She may not survive a month working in a chair that was closer to an antique torture device than the comfy ergonomic chair at her desk back in L.A. How had Jane Austen written five novels in a chair like this?
“I’m still going to tell people you have a VFW guy. It makes you sound mysterious.” Braedon motioned at the screen. “Found a great deal online for an ergonomic chair. Want me to have it delivered?”
“I do, but I should probably make sure it’s okay with the owner.”
“I already spoke with Dr. Owens, and he’s signed off.”
“You what? How?”
They gave her an “are you new here?” look. Of course, They’d spoken to Clayton. Braedon was the best assistant.
“I Veronica Mars’d who the owner was and found his contact info. I spoke with him earlier today and explained that I had concerns about debilitating back injuries from that chair. I might have dangled a potential lawsuit to make him see the light.”
“You did not!”
“Nah. I explained who I was and that I was concerned for your comfort. He shared the concern and said he’d go purchase a chair for you and asked me for recommendations. He was very nice and had a ‘hot guy’ voice.” A salacious grin stretched across their face.
Elle rolled her eyes.
“I told him that I would speak with the boss, AKA you, before any course of action was decided.”
“I appreciate your proactive thoroughness. Let me talk to Clayton and I’ll let you know about the chair.”
“Clayton? I see from the blush on your cheeks he has a face that matches that ‘hot guy’ voice.”
“Back to work.” She wagged her finger.
Around six, Elle ended her workday and changed to head to the VFW. Smoothing her sleek low ponytail and throwing on a denim jacket over her mint-green sundress, she stepped into the cool evening. Yesterday’s thunderstorm had popped the humidity bubble that had engulfed Perry for the first few days of her trip.
The cooler weather had been perfect for this morning’s run with Clayton at the Silver Lake Outlet Trail. After their run, they grabbed to-go breakfast at Cassie’s Corner Café. Sitting at the table in the Little Red Barn, Elle spooned up her yogurt parfait, while Clayton ate his breakfast burrito. Comfortable silence and laughter over Fitz’s blatant begging for food flowed between them.
Smiling at the memory, Elle pulled into the VFW’s parking lot. The red trimmed brown building stood on Washington Street, behind Daryl’s Pizzeria. The fragrance of pizza elicited memories of slices with friends, schooling Tobey at pinball, and Uncle Pete raising a glass of Pepsi in celebration of one of her Academic Bowl wins.
Memories flooded her senses as she walked into the VFW. The coo of her mom’s voice coaxing her to smile for photos with Santa, the smell of fish fry dinners, and the feel of dad’s rough hands twirling her across the dance floor during Uncle Pete’s wedding. The VFW banquet room had been the epicenter of so many milestones for her first eighteen years of life.
One of the last big events she’d had here was her high school graduation party. Blue and yellow balloons, an ode to the school’s colors, tied to chairs and tables lined with streamers had filled the banquet room. It wasn’t the intimate pizza party at Daryl’s with her family and her two best friends that she wanted, but her mom had pushed. Well, Jamie, her mom’s boyfriend at the time, insisted saying what Elle wanted was boring. If it was between Jamie or Elle, her mom picked Jamie… Every time.
“Eleanor!” Uncle Pete called, his big hands waving.
Elle slipped into the bar’s seating area. High-top tables surrounded the two dartboards, providing the perfect view of tonight’s action.
“Hope you haven’t eaten. We ordered a bunch of wings,” he said.
“Don’t you own a pair of jeans? That sundress is a little fancy for VFW darts,” Janet, who was dressed in jeans and a floral top, tutted.
“No such thing as too fancy for the VFW,” Elle quipped.
“Eleanor! You’re here,” Jerome’s deep voice boomed as he picked her up in a swinging hug.
The relentless affection was the love language of each member of her little family. There were hugs, kisses, squeezes, and full-body clenches with every greeting, goodbye, and in-between moments. Elle tried to melt into them, fighting her natural impulse to pull away.
“Bear! We talked about this, stop manhandling people,” Tobey scolded, but replaced his fiancé’s arms with his own, drawing Elle close to his firm chest.
“I’ll manhandle you later,” he said with a suggestive wink.
“Not ‘til you’re married,” Pete and Janet warned in unison.
“You look so fancy, Lady Eleanor,” Jerome said, ignoring his parents-to-be and twisting his finger for her to twirl.
Shrugging, she complied catching an “I told you so” look from Janet as she spun. “Not as fancy as you. Is that a team shirt?” she awed at the navy Team Paw Patrol T-shirt featuring a dog and cat with backwards baseball caps. “Tobey, where’s your team shirt?” She pointed at Tobey’s plain T-shirt.
“Dad and I just wear black shirts. It’s our vibe, we’re not so in your face.” Tobey flicked the end of Jerome’s nose. “We are channeling our inner Johnny Cash. We’re Team Walk the Line.”
“I want team shirts, but this one won’t sign off,” Pete grumbled, tussling Tobey’s hair as if he was still a little boy instead of a grown-ass man.
“Team T-shirts just distracts from our can’t lose strategy.” Tobey smirked.
“What’s that?”
“Hit the bull’s-eye,” Tobey and Pete hooted jointly. Their over-the-top high five causing everyone else to roll their eyes.
“It’s the same strategy Churchill had in WWII. Don’t lose,” Janet snarked.
“Nice historical burn, mom.” Jerome fist bumped Janet, whose eyes brimmed with tears.
“Is it the first time he’s called her mom?”Elle turned to her cousin and uncle, who were shaking their heads. “Yep, we’re going to need a lot of tissues for this wedding. She’s going to be in a puddle on Saturday.”
“Just like the Wicked Witch of Western New York that she is,” Jerome teased, placing a kiss atop Janet’s head.
“The moment is over.” Janet pushed him away.
“Do they do this a lot?” Elle asked, her eyebrow cocked.
“Yep.” The tiny group laughed in unison.
“I’m going to need a drink to handle you people and beer makes me bloat, so I’m going to grab something at the bar.”
“They don’t have Dom Pérignon here, Ms. Fancy No-Pants,” Janet bellowed as Elle headed toward the bar.
Zigzagging between the mix of tables and patrons, Elle approached the well-used bar. A blue Dutch door separated the long counter from the banquet room that held so many memories from Elle’s youth. A yellow glow of hanging lamps lit the room with a sense of comfortable casualness reminiscent of a pair of well-worn jeans.
The last time she had been here was a week after her twenty-first birthday. Uncle Pete bought Viet and her their first legal drink here.
“What can I get you, honey?” The backwards cap-wearing bartender drawled.
“Can I get a Ketel One and soda?”
“We don’t have Ketel One.”
“Oh, how about Tito’s?”
“Sweetheart, this is a VFW.” The bartender smirked.
“Vodka soda with whatever you have, please.” Noticing the pitcher of beer at their table was getting low, she thought a refresher would be needed to fuel Janet’s cheers and the guys’ aim. Just like her uncle, she was always anticipating her people’s needs. “Can I also get a pitcher of Genny Lite? Thank you. What’s your name?”
“It’s Laney. You?”
“It’s Eleanor.” She winced. “ Uh…Elle, I mean. Sorry. Legally my name is Eleanor, but I go by Elle.” She bit her lip to stop her runaway blurting.
“Nice to meet you Eleanor uh Elle,” Laney sassed, placing the drink in front of Elle. Then she filled a pitcher with foamy beer.
“Thank you. How much do I owe you?” Elle asked, digging her wallet out of her purse.
“No worries, it’s on him.” Laney shot a glance behind Elle.
She turned to find a sly smile, gray eyes, and a Team Paw Patrol T-shirt hugging a muscular chest. “Clayton.” A far-too-big smile invaded her face.
“Elle.” His was equally large.
“I didn’t see you when I came in.”
“Bathroom.” His voice dipped low, somehow making the word “bathroom” sound sexy. Inching closer, he caged her between his strong arms and the bar. “Let me carry this.” His hot breath kissed below her ear as he spoke.
Clayton straightened, stepping back with the pitcher in one hand and her drink in the other. His gaze was pinned on her, the air between them sizzled.
Calm yourself, Elle!
“I can carry things,” she protested, scrunching her face at the lackluster retort, she took her drink from his hand.
“I know… Just sharing the load.”
Her heart thump-thumped at the flirtatious nature of his tone. “So, you’re the other half of Team Paw Patrol?”
“Will you be cheering for us?” he asked, his mouth curled into a playful grin.
“I’m Team Walk the Line.”
“What would Fitz say?”
“I’ll just give him belly rubs. I hear it’s very effective.”Her voice was breathy. The ghost of Marilyn Monroe was in possession of her again. Leaning into it, she gazed over the brim of her plastic cup and batted her lashes, trying to appear sexy and aloof despite the urge to blanche at the sour taste of what was, no doubt, moonshine.
“Extremely effective.” The deep timbre of his voice vibrated across her body.
They were flirting. She knew this. Men just being nice didn’t have hungry eyes that devoured a woman as if she were the last piece of cake. Clayton looked at her like she was covered in frosting.
“Doc, you want to settle now or after?” Laney’s voice popped their flirty bubble.
She was in the middle of the VFW, ten feet away from her family, eye fucking Clayton. Molten heat flamed in her face. What was this man doing to her?
“After.” He cleared his throat, a light pink dusting his cheeks.
At least, Elle wasn’t alone in uncontrollable blushes. He had promised to be in it with her, and it appeared he was taking that promise to heart. Even when it came to eye fucking at the VFW.
“Well, you know where I’ll be,” Laney quipped, turning to help another patron.
“So, I heard you had the distinct pleasure of speaking with my assistant, Braedon.” Elle said, regaining non-eye fucking footing.
“Twice.” He held up two fingers for emphasis. “Braedon called again as I was parking here to tell me that they had conferred with Ms. Davidson and was awaiting a final decision and that they’d follow up with me on Monday upon your return to the office on the status of said decision.”
Elle placed a hand over her eyes. Oh, Braedon. “They’re an amazing assistant. Maybe a little overzealous at times, but the best.”
“I think I need a Braedon,” he mused.
Warmth fizzed in Elle at both the impressed expression that covered Clayton’s features and with his use of Braedon’s preferred pronouns. In meeting new people, Braedon always introduced themself with their preferred pronouns. There’d be no HR training for Clayton.
She beamed. “Everybody needs a Braedon.”
“How do you think they’d feel about running a small town veterinarian clinic?”
“I will fight you in the streets!” She poked his very firm chest and lost her train of thought over the images of burying her face against that chest. Calm your loins, Elle!
“Consider me warned.”
“We should get back to the table. You have a dart game to lose,” Elle teased with a sassy bump of his shoulder with hers.
“Oof, you wound me.” His hand covered his heart.
Shaking her head, she stepped around him, threading through the crowded bar. Falling in step, Clayton’s hand found the small of her back, guiding her to their table. Heat rippled from where his hand was pressed, traveling up her spine and reverberating everywhere. Reaching the table, his hand remained fixed until she sat in the chair beside Janet. He stayed close, just a step behind her. The heat radiating from his body to hers warmed her in an unfamiliar sensation of belonging, like they wore matching team shirts. It was foreign but not unwelcome.
“Owens!” Both Elle and Clayton looked to see Noah strolling their way.
“Wilson.” The two men greeted each other with the standard male back slapping hug.
“Elle.” Noah bent, hugging her.
“I di… didn’t know you two knew… were…” Clayton stuttered.
Elle fought the urge to grab his hand that rested on the back of her chair and twine their fingers. To squeeze away whatever had tripped up his words, letting him know they were in it together. That would be too brazen. Leaning back, she allowed her ponytail to drape over his arm, the silky tendrils kissing his skin.
“I had drinks with Elle on Tuesday at the Wine Down,” Noah said.
“Correction. I was having drinks with Carmen when Mathew and you crashed.”
“Clayton!” Jerome waved dart filled hands to get his attention.
“I should go.”
“Good luck,” she murmured, touching his arm causing him to turn and mouth thank you before joining Jerome.
“Yeah, I should get over there. I’m playing with my dad. I’ll see you ladies Saturday.” Noah strolled away.
Aunt Janet elbowed Elle. “Either would be a good choice.”
“Excuse me?”
“They’re both good looking, successful, good looking, nice, good looking, single?—”
“And live in Perry,” Elle interrupted Janet, who was counting their attributes on each finger.
“Pish-posh, logistics. Did I mention good looking?”
Janet was the Perry version of Willa or maybe Willa was the Long Beach version of Janet; both were obsessed with Elle’s love life. The term love life was probably too generous for Elle’s romantic interludes, as that’s all they were. There were brief moments of non-starters or quickly fizzled out relationships.
There had been a time when she daydreamed about romantic picnics with Noah in the park, when she’d been open to the idea of love. Open, but knowing that the frizzy-haired, glasses wearing, and heavyset girl wasn’t the heroine of anyone’s love story, not even her own.
It wasn’t until she moved to Los Angeles for grad school with Viet that she learned that may not be entirely true. Leaving the emotional baggage in Perry, Elle felt it was time to lose her physical baggage. She’d started keeping a food log, making healthier choices. Just a slow walk on the treadmill, but after a few months that slow walk became a jog, then a sprint. In one semester, Elle had lost thirty pounds.
More confident, she’d attended a party with Viet wearing a red V-neck top that he’d picked out. The fabric had hung in a way that flattered Elle’s transforming body. Drinking white wine out of a red solo cup, Elle had flirted for the first time with Devon, a first year law student. Walking arm-in-arm with Viet to their small apartment near campus, she’d lamented giving Devon her number and said if he asked her out, she’d say no.
Viet had rolled his eyes, telling her that there had been many men who’d wanted to date her, even before the weight loss, but she’d pushed them all away. With a frown she’d protested, but when Devon called two days later, she’d turned him down.
“I’m just saying they are both worth turning the bedroom TV off for,” Janet said, winking and pointing a chicken wing at Elle before biting into it.
“Oh, I’m sure Uncle Pete would love to hear that.”
“Honey, I always turn the TV off with your uncle.”She puckered her lips suggestively.
“I lost my appetite.” Elle dropped the wing she’d been about to bite onto the plate.
After darts, as she pulled into the Little Red Barn’s driveway. A happy fizz in her belly from the night of endless affection from her people and those stolen glances with Clayton. When was the last time her chest fluttered from the flirty quirk of someone’s lips?
Smiling, she jumped out of the car and into the darkness outside. Her vision drawn by the distant white glow of the farmhouse’s front porch light where Clayton stood, back turned to her, unlocking his door. Before entering, he pivoted and faced her. Was there enough moonlight for him to see her leaning against the car door watching him? Could he make out the rise and fall of her chest? Could he see how she nibbled her lower lip, biting off the urge to invite herself into his home?
She watched as he looked into the dark where she stood. He waved. With a shaky smile, she waved back making out his lips mouthing Goodnight.
“Goodnight,” she whispered into the dark before turning to go inside.