Chapter 25
25
FIONA
At six on the dot, Dottie breezed into my house. I gave up on the locks keeping people out.
“Helloooo!” she called.
“In here,” I replied. I was parked on one of the kitchen stools with a glass of wine. I’d stopped at the store for a bottle after I closed the bookstore. I’d earned it.
“I was going to call, but I decided just to stop in instead.”
She came in and set a reusable sack on the counter. This was the most dressed down I’d seen her, in jeans with some paint stains on them, old sneakers and a University of Colorado gray sweatshirt with a bright blue t-shirt peeking out of the bottom.
“What are you reading?” she asked .
I tipped the paperback over so she could see the cover.
“Back In The Saddle.”
At first, I’d been ready to kill Dax for leaving me in charge of a romance bookstore. The only job I could think of that I am less qualified is a preschool teacher.
But then I realized he’d left me alone and I didn’t have a fake boyfriend snooping into my snooping. I had to agree with him that me going back into the pickle shop now would be a bad idea. But he’d implied the bookstore was across the street and the perfect place to watch the pickle shop.
So I pushed one of the remarkably comfortable chairs to be positioned right by the front window so I could watch across the street. To blend in like a good FBI agent I was trying to pretend not to be, then attempted to listen in to what was going on over there. It took a while to filter out all the usual noise. I eventually picked up a few things.
“–fucking pickle brine. I got it on my shoes. I’m sick of smelling it.”
“You’re taking the shipment across the border, so nothing but cactus and tacos starting soon enough.”
I was called to ring someone up after that and by the time I got back to my spot, I couldn’t pick up any other chatter. The lights were off in the place, and I could see the closed sign on the door from across the street.
There was talk within the bookstore.
Women were talking.
About me .
My hackles went up, completely used to people complaining about me, gossiping.
My father.
Why were you born?
You should’ve been a boy.
You’re worthless.
No one wants you.
My coworkers.
She’s too uptight.
Do we have to invite her to happy hour?
I think her brain tumor made her even less exciting.
Do you think she wears pantsuits to bed?
But when I listened in on the women, I heard something completely different.
She’s so pretty.
I wonder what kind of moisturizer she uses because her skin is amazing.
We need sex tips from her because I want a Dax of my own.
I heard she runs. She’s so strong.
Yeah, all of that. With every catty thing I thought they would say came instead something… kind.
I wanted to hug them all, to invite them for coffee. Mani/pedis. A run. Whatever. I felt… liked. But I couldn’t. Eavesdropping didn’t make me popular at the office, so I knew better than to be an open snoop. I just smiled and wrapped the women’s kindness around me like a cozy blanket.
With nothing to do, I grabbed the first book I got my hands on from the fall display and started reading .
Then I got hooked, only to stop long enough to ring up other customers. I’d even bought it so I could keep reading after closing time.
“Mmm, that’s a good one,” she murmured, pulling a big plastic container from the sack. “Got to the part where they–”
“Yes!” My eyes lit up. “Can you believe there were two–”
“I know,” she countered, fanning herself. “Then the–”
“Exactly. I hope he keeps–”
She set her hand over her heart. “I won’t spoil it for you, but romance books have happily ever afters.”
I sighed. “I gotta get me a cowboy,” I breathed.
“You’ve got yourself a big, brawny boyfriend, although I doubt he knows which end of a horse is front.” She set a second container in front of me. “Eat.”
As I lifted the lid and peeked, she grabbed a fork from the drawer for me.
“Why do you keep bringing me food?”
“Because that’s what people do.”
I frowned. “What? Feed each other?”
She laughed. “Take care of each other, honey.”
I frowned down at the salad she brought. It was a fancy one with several different kinds of lettuce, cubes of cheese, craisins, sunflower seeds, and even pomegranate seeds. The dressing smelled tart and garlicky.
My mouth watered. “Wow, this looks amazing. Thank you so much, but you really don’t have to keep cooking for me.”
She arched a silver brow and gave me a look like I was a kid who was supposed to brush his teeth but only ran the toothbrush under the faucet. “Since when do you cook for yourself?”
I pursed my lips. “Since never.”
“Exactly.”
“I bought wine.” I hadn’t starved yet.
She cocked her head. “Doesn’t anyone take care of you?”
I bit my lip.
“Just what I thought.” She tapped the counter with her finger. “Eat.” She looked around. “Where’s Dax?”
“No idea,” I said, stabbing into the salad. “Had something to do in Denver.”
When he got the call earlier, all I’d heard through the phone was a grumpy guy saying Dax was late. It really could’ve been the dentist, but usually receptionists had a friendlier tone.
“I’ve got his dinner, too.” She gave me a look. “A man like that needs his meat.”
I didn’t disagree. It also meant I didn’t have to share this salad with him.
“How long have you two been dating?”
Since Dax first told Dottie he was my boyfriend? Or did our encounter at the convenience store count as when it started? I went with the armed robbery. “Two days.”
Dottie set her hand over her heart and looked sappy as hell. “Love at first sight.”
I shook my head in a way that would’ve knocked a squirrel loose if it clung to my hair. “No. Nope. No love at first sight.”
“You don’t believe in it?” she asked.
“I don’t think love is really for me.”
She frowned and looked like Tinkerbell when someone stole her pixie dust. “Well, that’s sad. Didn’t your mom and dad show you what it’s like?”
I chuckled, then took a swig of my wine. “My life’s not a romance book. It’s more like a true crime podcast.”
“I’m all ears if you want to share,” she said.
I studied her as I stabbed a cube of cheese and ate it.
Dottie was earnest. She didn’t seem to have an ulterior motive behind being nice. She just was.
She seemed to be a good listener and truly was interested in knowing about me. What the hell, right? “When I was five, my mother tried to get us away from my father. We got as far as the first stop on the Greyhound before he found us, and we were brought back. When I woke up the next morning, I found her dead at the bottom of the stairs. I had on my pink pajamas with rainbows on them.” I swallowed. I remembered her crumpled on the dark carpet, her arm bent the wrong way. Her eyes had been open and vacant and staring at the ceiling. I have no idea how long I tried to make her wake up.
“After that, I was alone with my dad.” I didn’t bring my father up because my few friends and every single person in the Denver field office–and quite a few in other locations–knew the details. I was the one who’d joined the FBI to get justice.
Dottie didn’t. She pulled out a stool and sat beside me, remained quiet and patiently waited for me to continue.
I picked a craisin out of the salad and nibbled on it. “I’ll just say he wasn’t a nice man. I studied hard, got a full ride for college, and entered the FBI so I could put him in jail.”
“Did you?” she whispered, her eyes wide, full of curiosity, not pity. I didn’t miss the way her fists were clenched, as if she wanted to pop him in the nose.
I laughed and gave her a big smile. “Oh yeah.”
“Of course, you did.” She patted my hand that rested on the counter. “You’re so strong and brave. Good for you, honey.”
Strong? Brave? That was what she thought of me? She seemed… proud?
I wasn’t sure what to do with that. “So love? Nah.”
I returned my focus to my salad. Took a big bite. My story was sad and not in a boohoo sort of way, but totally sucks-to-be-you. I was pretty sad.
“Don’t you want to find Mr. Right?” she wondered.
I shook my head. “I don’t need a man in my life to be happy.”
“No, of course not. But a man’s good for some things. I can think of a few from Back In The Saddle alone.”
It was impossible not to roll my eyes. “You mean Dax.”
“If he makes you feel amazing and crazy at the same time.”
Did he? He made me feel and that was a first .
I shrugged. “I’m fine with Mr. Right Now.”
She leaned in close as sharing some state secret. “If Mr. Right Now talks to you like he read that book during storytime this morning, you’re one luck lady.”
I blushed. I could feel my cheeks practically on fire. I didn’t know what Dax read at the bookstore, but I did know what he sounded like when he was deep inside me and telling me I was his good girl for taking it so well.
She waggled her eyebrows. “He’s the talk of the town.”
“Oh?” I returned my focus to the delicious salad.
“The ladies are acting like it’s the Second Coming and their men aren’t too keen on it.”
I shook my head. “The men should be thrilled.”
“How so?” she wondered.
“These women are all hot and bothered and need to take care of that with someone. The guys should be buying him beers and sending him thank you cards for all the action they’re going to get tonight.”
Her lips quirked. “I never thought about it that way.”
I wanted some action tonight, too. But I shouldn’t rely on Dax for sex, or even showing up. While the orgasms were real, our dating was fake.
I liked Dax, when he wasn’t annoying. When he didn’t interrupt me in the pickle shop. Or say he was my boyfriend. Or make me keep that going at the bookstore. Or leave me in charge of the place.
It was when we didn’t talk that I liked him the most.
But love? No way .
“Don’t you want some?” I asked, changing the subject and pointing to my salad with my fork.
She shook her head. “No dear. I already ate with Mr. Dotson. You finish up because we’ve got to get going.”
Going?
“Where?”
She rubbed her hands together and her eyes lit up. “Craft night, remember?”
Oh boy.
I held up my non-fork hand in a stop gesture. Because I definitely wanted her to stop.
“I don’t think that’s my thing.”
With a wave of her own hand, she brushed off my words. “Nonsense. It’s all a bunch of fun to get away from our husbands.”
I hadn’t met Mr. Dotson yet, but I had a feeling he was a nice guy.
“I don’t have a husband,” I reminded, hoping that would exclude me.
“You need some fun in your life,” she countered.
“I think we have different definitions of fun,” I muttered. “Mine is target shooting and running five miles.”
She started to laugh. “It’s time to try some new things on your vacation.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. “Craft night, though?”
She pulled one more thing from the bottom of the bag. “Yes, craft night. Here’s your shirt.”
I took it from her and looked down at myself. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? ”
“Nothing, but tonight it’s a team craft competition. We’re painting pumpkins for Halloween.”
“Painting? I thought people carved them.”
“Halloween’s not for two more weeks. Carved ones go bad too quickly. Plus, critters like to eat them, and we don’t need another family of moose in town snacking like two years ago.”
Okay, then.
“This is a big night. There’s an overall winner who gets a cash prize, plus the winning team will have their pumpkins displayed in front of city hall for the rest of the month.”
It seemed they didn’t skimp on craft night in Coal Springs.
“Eat up. We need to get there early because I don’t want Rosemary Gecker to hoard all the googly eyes.”
Painting pumpkins? Googly eyes? I felt like I was in an alternate universe. Then I unfolded the blue shirt and read the front.
“ Team Artsy Fartsy? ” I shook my head hard once more. “No way, Dottie. Absolutely not.”