5. Here Is Our King
DAVID CROWDER BAND
5
HERE IS OUR KING
“So, let me get this straight…” Ginny ran her fingers round and round one of her blonde curls, perched on the Good Start countertop where she’d been sitting for the past hour, getting every last detail of Sadie’s conversation with Dakota. It had been a slow day in the shop, providing ample time for Ginny’s inquisition. “You’re gonna be nice to each other? That’s it?”
“Mhmmm,” Sadie hummed, wrapping a bright red bow around a pastry box. “That’s it.”
“But he did apologize, right? Like a real apology.”
Sadie nodded, giving her friend a tightlipped smile, and thought about the bouquet of sunflowers now sitting on her bedside table. How she hadn’t—and wouldn’t—fully acknowledge how much the gesture meant. Or how she’d woken up every morning since and been essentially forced to think about Dakota’s smug smile and the way his eyes had intensified for a nanosecond when he’d said, I know. So simple, but so telling.
I know…. The nerve.
He knew how to rankle her, that was for sure. And how to press every single one of her buttons. But when Dakota had challenged her to their friendly game, he’d underestimated her significantly.
Because Sadie knew Dakota Remillard. She knew the recipe for his favorite cinnamon scones from memory. And how he didn’t drink coffee after the morning hours but preferred tea instead, with milk and sugar. Something the other Remillards hadn’t seemed to notice.
But she had paid careful attention in her study of him, without getting too close. Without letting herself fall too deeply into what ifs.
Three years before, when she’d taken the management position at Good Start, she’d known Dakota would be a distraction. An impossibly tall, clean cut, fresh-faced, and extremely charming distraction. One that gave her the urge to ruffle him up. Just a little. She liked to think she’d been relatively successful in that particular endeavor. But what Dakota wanted then—what he had pursued—she just couldn’t give him. Not then and not now. Certainly not without risks Sadie wasn’t willing to take.
She loved her parents and the full, sweet life they’d given her. Both retired professors and lovers of learning, they’d filled Sadie’s childhood with quiet adventures, exploring different countries for months at a time, new schools, research, stories, and books she treasured.
Yet for her entire life, she’d always longed for the loud of hometown football games, slumber parties filled with giggling and pizza, neighbors who knew just a little too much, siblings… cousins… friends. All of which seemed to be out of reach… until she’d grown into adulthood and found herself pursued and giving her heart away for the first time, only to find out the hard way, it had been a mistake. One that had left her broken.
Until Good Start. Until… the Remillards.
Being brought into the Remillard family—into their crazy but loving mess—had felt like joining long lost siblings that she was always supposed to have been with.
They’d embraced her. Accepted her loud in a way she’d never felt accepted before. They were, in many ways, her first true friends outside of her parents. And, most profoundly, God had used the Remillard family to help heal those deep wounds inflicted by someone she’d previously trusted, who’d claimed to care about her.
Sadie didn’t want to imagine a life without any of them and certainly couldn’t risk that loss because of a handsome distraction. Not again.
Even if she did spend more than one moment in her day—everyday—casually daydreaming about the possibility of laughing with Dakota rather than brawling. Wondering what it would be like to share in his wit and to cheer him on openly. To talk so long they’d forget everything and everyone else around them. To hold his hand. Or to…
Ginny waved her hand in Sadie’s face. “Hello… Sadie… What are you thinkin’ about?”
Sadie shook from her thoughts and felt a heated blush spread across her cheeks. “Psychological warfare,” she quipped, earning Ginny’s laughter.
“You’re unhinged with power. I love it.” She jumped down from the counter and came to Sadie’s side, steepling her fingers in front of her face. Nothing more than a Disney villain tapping her manicured nails together while plotting destruction. “So, what's the first move? What are you playing for?”
“The loft.”
“The loft? What?” Ginny’s eyes grew to cartoonish size. “What do you mean the loft?”
Sadie perched her hand on her hip, proudly. “We are playing for Dakota’s loft. Well, I’m playin’ for the loft. If Dakota wins—which he won’t—”
“Of course he won’t.”
“Right. Doesn’t stand a chance. But… if he did—by some strike of the Almighty—happen to win, he gets my car. Anyways, I need somewhere to live and we needed a prize.”
“So you told him about your parents and the move? That must’ve been really difficult, Sadie. And knowin’ Kota, he’d probably just give ya the loft if ya asked. ‘Especially since he knows the bind you’re in.”
Sadie grabbed the carefully wrapped box and cradled it in her hands. “No, he won’t, and he doesn’t. I didn’t tell him. And you aren’t gonna either, ‘kay? I’m gonna win this bet, fair and square, by being so dang friendly it’ll permanently wipe Dakota’s smug smile right off his face.”
“I know the one.” Ginny nodded in agreement but then grew serious. “Listen, Sadie… I really think you should think about this. Ya know? Kota deserves more credit than he gets. He’s ‘bout as dense as Mama’s sour cream pound cake, but he’s surprisingly intelligent, emotionally. Maybe you should consider bein’ honest with him… about everything.”
Sadie did not like the way Ginny emphasized that particular word, and she would certainly not be disclosing any exorbitant information into the competition. Ginny had been the only person, aside from her parents, that Sadie had confessed her entire sordid, sad history to. How she’d put her trust in a man for the first time and how deeply he’d disappointed her.
Like Dakota, Ginny’s siblings underestimated her at times. But not so with Ginny, where she’d found a kinship she wanted to foster. Sadie’s mama, being the wise woman she was, had suggested Sadie trust Ginny with her history. And thus far, she had only offered understanding and, of course, the occasional teasing in regards to Dakota. But she’d never made Sadie feel as if she’d made an irreversible mistake. She, like all the Remillards, simply accepted her fully.
“Dakota’s info-sharin’ is on a need to know basis. Alright?” Sadie raised her eyebrow, looking at the younger woman with fierce affection and what she hoped was a healthy dose of authority. “I don’t plan on briefin’ him on my personal life anytime soon. I’m not… I’m not ready.”
Ginny cleared her throat and hummed Maneater again but nodded in agreement. “Okay, girl. I get it. Respectfully, I don’t agree with ya, but I get it.” She flicked a wayward curl from her eyes and asked, “So, what’s your plan? How do ya plan on winnin’ this thing?”
“Scones,” she answered, standing a little straighter. “First way to a man’s heart… or friendship…” she corrected herself, “is through his belly.”
“Ooooooooo,” Ginny hummed. “Cinnamon?”
“Dakota’s favorite.” She turned on her heel and marched through the kitchen, hearing Ginny’s appreciative, “She’s good,” behind her.
With every step up the wooden staircase, Sadie fortified herself. She could and would be kind to Dakota. In fact, it'd be a welcome reprieve from having to pretend to find him loathsome all the time. Would it be difficult to keep her boundaries in place? The line potentially blurring between loathing and like and lov—? No. No it would not!
Each step up that hallowed hallway led to a step towards her new future. A quaint loft of her own, tucked above the coffee shop she already called home. Her precious car parked neatly outside her window. The fact that she’d potentially be displacing Dakota had barely even crossed her mind. He would most definitely not feel friendly towards her if—no, when—she won.
And she would win. She had to.
She tapped twice on the door and took a deep breath.
You need a place to live. You will not falter. Be nice. So, so, so nice.
The door whipped open, and Dakota stumbled out of it, along with a giant whiff of something citrusy and sweet and far too appealing.
“What are you doing here?” He shook his head, correcting himself, and inadvertently sloshed a misting of water from his dark hair across Sadie’s face. “I mean… hi… Edwin.”
She wiped her face, trying very hard not to notice the distinctly lemon zest scent radiating off Dakota’s damp body or the way his just slightly askew tee seemed to cling to his chest. Like he’d just barely put it on before coming to the door.
Ugh. Annoyance brewed. This was gonna be harder than she thought.
“Why are you wet?” she bit out.
“Umm… I went to the gym after work, and I needed a shower. You must’ve missed me while you were chit-chattin’ with Gin downstairs. Why are you mad? Again?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Seems awful unfriendly of you to barge into my loft then get so affronted by my daily routine.”
She clenched her teeth. But when he raised his eyebrows in the like I said manner she was accustomed to seeing, Sadie loosened her jaw and pasted on a prim and proper smile. “Don’t be silly, Kota! I’m not angry at all. In fact,” she held out the box of scones, “I was just bringing this little peace offerin’ by for ya. Thought it’d be a good way to start our friendly wager.”
He accepted and opened the box tentatively, unwrapping the red ribbon around the box with such tender care it made Sadie wonder if he opened every gift that way. Sadie was a tearer! Using teeth if necessary. Rip it to shreds and get to what's inside!
Dakota probably unwrapped his Christmas gifts at the seams and then painstakingly folded the wrapping paper afterward. To be used later. Like a sociopath.
When he let that ribbon hang from his finger, just barely opening the lid of the box to see the contents inside, Sadie grabbed the ribbon and threw it on the floor. Completely deranged. No folding today!
“You’re extra batty today, Edwin. You get too much sleep?” He pointed at her face. “You don’t have those dark, raccoon circles around your eyes like you usually do. Rest becomes you.”
A growl brewed in her throat. “I sure hope those scones don’t constipate you again, Dakota Remillard. I’d hate for you to have to spend any extra time in the bathroom, thus interfering with all your routine primpin’.”
Dakota’s eyes softened. “You… You made me scones?”
“Yup,” she said, letting the “p” pop. “Cinnamon.”
“Cinnamon scones are my favorite.”
She could not hold back her smirk. “I know.”
“One point for Edwin.”
“Thank you very much,” Sadie said, offering Dakota a salute and hoping she could quietly crawl down the staircase and away from him before the lemony scent completely consumed her. It smelled like she was taking a summer stroll through an intoxicating citrus grove rather than reality, standing outside Dakota’s loft—her loft—exchanging gentle barbs.
“Well, I’ll see ya when I see ya, friend,” she mumbled as she turned to make her escape.
“Wait!” Dakota called after her. “Do you wanna… um… wanna come inside? I just put the kettle on, and we could share the scones.” He gave the box a little shake.
Did she want to have tea and scones with Dakota like she was in a regency romance without a chaperone? Yes. Very much so.
“I don’t think I should…”
Dakota opened his door wider, holding it open in challenge. “Come on, Sadie. Ya scared? One scone won’t kill ya.”
She walked wordlessly by and entered into his domain. The loft he’d thrown a tantrum over her entering only nights before. They were certainly on new, friendlier ground, indeed.
Maybe she’d paint a wall bright lemon yellow. That would drive Dakota crazy.
Just as on Dominoes Night—and not unlike when his sisters cohabitated there—the large room was in various stages of disarray. Stray dishes and snack foods were littered across the kitchen counter and table. Laundry was scattered like confetti across the living room. A shirt hung over the old, plaid couch. A lonely sock lay forgotten in the middle of the area rug. Jeans… stuffed under a couch cushion?
Sadie raised an eyebrow in silent question.
Dakota merely shrugged. “For a second I thought you were my mama, but she usually hollers from the bottom of the stairs so we have time to hide everything… And you can smell her perfume from a mile away.” He made his way to the sitting area and shoved the jeans fully under the cushion before sitting down and offering her a seat.
“I see. Very astute.” She sat tentatively. “Has it ever occurred to ya to just keep the place tidy to begin with?”
He looked around his space and pointed to the bedroom area. “Nah. But look, my bed is made! It’s called balance.”
Sadie followed his line of sight and found herself surprised by the pristine way in which Dakota had made his bed. Tight corners. No sheets hanging catawampus under the duvet. And zero wrinkles—something she didn’t think possible. All topped with coordinating blue and gray throw pillows.
Sociopath.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” he asked, drawing her attention back. “I usually have one after work around this time of day.”
She smiled to herself, thinking of how Dakota would make himself a cup of Red Rose tea every afternoon when he worked at Good Start. She never mentioned the practice but always found it curious that she’d rarely seen him drink anything with espresso in it.
“Yeah, thank you.” She stood and meandered around the room, hands held behind her back as if she were in a fine arts museum and she was afraid her curiosity might give those hands a mind of their own. A framed picture of Dakota and his sisters, and another of the whole family, hung on the wall by the bed with a vintage Air Force poster framed beside. And a vanilla lemonade candle burned on the bedside table. Lemons…
“So…”
“So?” he echoed, preoccupied with the kettle.
So… what? What was she supposed to say? Your house smells like sunshine and summer and it strangely makes me want to take a nap?
She couldn’t remember a time she and Dakota were alone and civil before that moment, but her silent perusal of his apartment was giving her goosebumps and a craving for a cold glass of lemonade. Her brain reverted to its usual response to Dakota’s presence. Fight or flight! Fight or flight!
But then her eyes blessedly froze on the windowsill overlooking Main Street. And the strange scene waiting there.
“So… you like to have tea time and play with dolls in all your free, big-boy afternoon time, huh?”
Dakota rushed to her side, standing between her and the windowsill, where what looked like an elaborate battle scene of ceramic miniatures had been placed and—most definitely—played with.
“They aren’t dolls! They’re collectibles.” His entire face had turned the color of her mama’s blooming pink azaleas, bright and bold. And she took far too much delight in the way that color flushed down his neck.
Sadie had to physically hold back a gleeful squeal. “They’re precious.”
“They’re manly.”
She squirmed around him to get a better look. “Are they… animals? You set up tiny ceramic animals for war? It’s like Narnia down there! These definitely weren’t here Saturday night!” She lowered her voice to a faux-terrified whisper. “What is this?”
“There’s no chance you’ll pretend you never saw this and keep it between you and me?”
“Zero chance.”
Dakota grabbed her arms, turned her around, and guided her safely back to the kitchen, far from the brutal evidence of his secret shame. Snatching a brand new box of Red Rose off the counter, he carefully unwrapped the plastic and opened the box, pulling out a miniature ceramic bird hidden within the tea bags.
“This,” he said, holding the bird out and placing it in Sadie's hand, “is a piece of the Wade Figurines collectible set. One comes in every box of Red Rose and I…”
“Drink Red Rose,” Sadie interrupted.
“Yes.”
“And you play with your miniature Wade figurines while you drink afternoon tea?”
He hung his head, as if this really and truly brought him the utmost embarrassment. “Please stop calling it playing. But… yes. My grandma used to give me the figurines from her box when I was little. We always drank afternoon tea together and she said…”
Sadie bit her lip, nodding expectantly.
He rolled his eyes, but admitted, “She said it could be our secret. That she’d save them just for me, and then I guess… I started collecting them. It’s, ummm…” He shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “It's comforting, I guess. Relaxing.”
He took two tea bags out, placed them in mugs, and poured the hot water.
Comforting? A tiny nudge of awareness bristled at Sadie’s heart, wondering for a fleeting moment why Dakota needed relaxation, or comfort, as he called it. But she brushed the thought away, now playing with the small blue bird in her hand, tracing the delicate details with the tip of her finger. “Dakota? Who else knows about your little hobby… I mean… this? Your siblings?” She had an idea brewing.
He handed her a cup that said Grits are Life across the middle. His own was printed with BBQ 4-Eva.
“No one else knows.”
“Okay, then,” she said, all matter of fact. “Looks like I just earned two points on the Cordiality Count!”
He took a sip and leaned back against the counter. Sadie wished she could ignore the way his casual stance—arms hugging his chest, one hand holding a mug the other gripping his bicep, legs crossed, barefoot—somehow made her feel at home. Like having an afternoon tea party with Dakota Remillard, looking far too cozy in a worn basketball t-shirt and shorts, was commonplace.
He adopted his usual bravado, forgetting any earlier embarrassment. “What makes you think you have two points on the… What did you call it?”
“The Cordiality Count.”
“Sure. That. No way you're two points ahead.”
Sadie sipped her tea before answering. Make him nervous. Win this thing. “Scones and secrets, Remillard.”
He laughed but grabbed a scone from the box and ate half in one bite, groaning as soon as the goods touched his mouth and sending an unsettling chill of awareness down Sadie’s spine.
Momentarily senseless over a man eatin’ a scone? She needed a hobby.
She watched his throat bob as he swallowed the giant bite, and then that old familiar, sanguine smirk spread across Dakota’s face. “You said they were a peace offering.”
“Meh.” She shrugged. Totally unaffected. To.tall.y, she preached to herself, clapping between each syllable. “Still counts. I want the points.”
“What about me? Do I get a point for having you over for tea and scones?”
“And entertainment…” she said, wily.
Dakota grunted. “Well, do I?”
“No way! Ya can’t piggyback off my acts of kindness, Kota. Get your own stuff!”
Dakota sighed deeply, like he’d begun to question what he’d gotten himself into. Sadie, on the other hand, had a total Marie Kondo epiphany.
Do Dakota’s exasperated sighs spark joy? Yes. Decidedly, yes. Keep them.
He ran a hand through his still damp, espresso brown hair, leaving it disheveled and—Sadie would admit to no one ever—absurdly appealing.
“And you're gonna… You're not gonna tell anyone… about Wade?” he asked.
“No, Kota.” She tucked the tiny ceramic bird in her pocket and thought to herself, it would be just another thing she knew about Dakota Remillard that maybe no one else did. “Gotta keep my enemy close and all that. Your secret’s safe with me.”