14. Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Brandy
“Ugh, why is this so hard?” I said, throwing off my shirt.
“And why is it so damn hot in here?” I crossed my room and turned my fan on high.
The house had central air and, believe me, it was on.
But I still had a fan in every room. “Perimenopause can kiss my ass.” I closed my eyes and lifted my arms in front of the fan, allowing the cool air to blow across my bare skin.
Why did I agree to go on this stupid date?
“Alright, let's try this again.” I headed back into my closet.
The first outfit clearly sent the signal that I was trying too hard, which I wasn't. The second said, here's my boobs, come meet them. A signal I was definitely not trying to send.
He's a good roll in the hay. The grocery store conversation popped into my head.
“No way. Not on your life is that happening.” I picked up a cream-colored shirt, then set it back down. “Besides, I didn't shave my legs, and I can just imagine the gossip that would cause. The headline reads...”
I put my hand up like I was pointing to a marquee.
“Brandy Wilson, new resident to Denture, resembles Sasquatch in bed. Interview on how Police Chief Hank McAllister survived on page two.”
No thank you.
I landed on dark jeans, a soft green blouse, and a pair of kitten heels only because the jeans were a tad too long for flats.
I looked in the mirror.
“Who cares? It's just dinner.”
My reflection looked completely unmotivated. As if to say, I should have said no since I didn't really want to go anyway.
Hank was prompt and picked me up at exactly seven, which I had to give him. A man who showed up on time deserved some kudos.
I couldn't lie. He looked good.
He was wearing a button-down shirt that fit well over a pair of jeans. He smiled the smile of a man who, I was certain, had never once in his life doubted his welcome anywhere.
“You look,” he said, “great. Just great.”
I got the feeling that meant something, but honestly, I didn't care enough to bring it up.
“Thank you.” I locked my front door. “So do you.”
Pins and Grins was exactly what a good local place should be, versatile.
I wasn't sure what to make of it from the outside, but as soon as I walked in, I instantly got a feeling of warmth and personality.
This was a bar with tables covered in white tablecloths and set with actual silverware.
Two pool tables sat just across the floor.
Through a glass wall, I could see a six-lane bowling alley that looked straight out of the sixties.
All of it paired with what I'd seen online described as astonishingly good British pub food.
Dark wood. Good lighting. A large bar along the wall anchored the place.
And a menu that made me forget I was technically in a bowling alley. I liked it immediately.
I'm going to see if Jo and Ruthie want to do a ladies' dinner here.
The server sat us at a table near the wall.
“I've never been in a bar that has white tablecloths,” I said, running my hand over the fabric.
“Sam thought the town needed a tablecloth restaurant,” Hank explained. “He also wanted a bar, and this one just happened to come with a bowling alley. Nick and I come here a lot.”
I picked up my menu, but then saw Hank smile and wave at someone behind me.
“Hank,” a deep masculine voice greeted him.
“Sam.”
Hank stood and extended his hand.
A tall man in a Pins and Grins T-shirt and a white apron appeared beside the table. His short hair was silver and white over a base of dark gray. His forearms were tanned and toned.
“I see your company's improved.” He smiled at me and offered his hand. “Hi, I'm Sam.”
“I'm sorry. I figured you two had met.” Hank gestured between us. “Brandy, this is Sam Woodrow, the illustrious owner of this establishment. Sam, meet our new community ambassador, Brandy Wilson.”
“It's nice to meet you.” I shook his hand. “You're actually on my list to visit this week.”
“I heard you were making the rounds.” Sam nodded. “Count us in for Summerween. I think it's a great idea.”
“Really?” I beamed. “That would be wonderful.”
“Beckett thinks we should make popcorn balls.” Sam shrugged. “Do kids even like those anymore?”
“Oh heck yeah, especially if Beckett makes them.” Hank side-smacked Sam. “And if they don't, bring all the extras to the station. We'd love them.”
Sam laughed. “I'm sure you would, but I heard you had to get bigger Santa pants. Carrie would kick me if she had to order another pair.”
He and Hank cracked up laughing.
The gossip in this town.
“And you.” Sam turned his attention back to me. “I don't know how you got Carson to agree to this party, but good job.”
I swallowed. “Well, he's not completely on board, but he will be.”
“Sam,” the bartender called, waving to him.
“Work calls.” Sam shook our hands again. “Brandy, come see me. Enjoy your dinner, you two.”
He stepped away, covering the distance to the bar in about five strides.
The server appeared with a bowl of popcorn for each of us.
“I brought you your own, Chief.” She smiled at Hank as she set the bowl down in front of him.
Hank ordered for both of us before I'd finished reading the menu, which I found irritating, even if he ordered what I was going to have.
I can order my own.
“Hold on.” I raised a hand to stop the server from leaving. “Medium on my steak, please. And I'll have the house special salad dressing, thank you.”
“Eww, that's ruining a good piece of meat.”
“Yeah.” I shifted in my chair. “Well, I'm the one eating it, so ruined is just fine with me.”
“Suit yourself. Me, I like it done just enough that a good vet could bring it back.”
Hank chuckled at his own joke.
“Get it?”
I nodded. “I get it.”
Hank took a handful of popcorn and tossed it into his mouth.
“Try it. Beckett, the chef, came up with the seasoning. It's delicious.”
I picked up a piece and popped it into my mouth, then immediately followed it with two more.
The flavor bomb shocked me.
Salty, sweet, a little heat, smoky, almost grilled.
Hank was right. This was delicious.
I had to force myself not to pick up the bowl and start grazing.
“You're right. This is... I don't even have words for how good this is.”
“See?” Hank nodded, popping more pieces into his mouth. “So, I have a question for you.”
He pointed a piece of popcorn at me.
“What's a lady like you doing single?”
“Why can't a lady be on her own?” I countered.
Hank resembled a deer in the headlights, but he recovered quickly.
“She can. Of course she can. For sure, nothing wrong with being single. I'm single.”
“You're not a lady.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
Hank winked at me.
“I'm single because I divorced my husband. Is that what you were trying to ask?”
I ate another piece of the delightful popcorn while waiting for his response.
“He's an idiot to let you get away.”
This man's game is cheesier than a fondue pot. I raised an eyebrow and tilted my head.
“But I wanted to get away.”
“Oh.”
Hank glanced around as if he was looking for someone to help him.
I decided to let him off the hook.
“My husband wasn't faithful. That's why I wanted to get away.”
“Well, he's a fool.”
Hank smiled.
You know, with some work he wouldn't be a bad catch for someone. Not me. But someone.
I was probably going to regret this, but I asked.
“Tell me about yourself.”
Turned out Hank McAllister was a grandfather. His wife died after an ugly battle with cancer fifteen years ago, which was why he played Santa for the hospital fundraiser. I was floored to learn that his daughter, her husband, and their two kids lived in the next town over.
How has nobody mentioned any of this?
The server brought our food, and it looked magazine-worthy.
While we ate, Hank talked about his academy days, which seemed to amuse him greatly.
I figured out that Hank was... Hank. Which, yes, was a lot.
But he was also funny. Genuinely funny. With a big laugh that filled the room and a way of telling stories that pulled everyone in.
He was good-looking in a silver fox sort of way.
But Hank wasn't my type. Hank was like the sun.
Everything naturally orbited him, and he accepted that as the correct order of things.
Only, I'd dated someone who thought they were the sun before. Shit, I even married the sun.
Gary, too, had been everybody's favorite, the life of the party. The man everyone loved to love, some more than others. The thing was, I knew exactly how the sun story ended. At least for me it ended with moving to another galaxy to get far away from its gravitational pull. And I wasn’t interested in being pulled in again.
I was on my second glass of wine and Hank was mid-story — something about a police chase that ended in someone's vegetable garden, I'd lost the thread a little — okay, a lot, when he finally paused and I heard myself say:
“Can I ask you something about Nick?”
“Chief Carson? Sure.”
“Why is he so against the Summerween event? Genuinely, I'm curious and since you know him. Explain it to me, because the others at the fire station love the idea and everyone I talk to in the community adores it too. You like it, Sam said he liked it. But what I can’t for the life of me figure out is his actual objection.”
“Nick just—” Hank started.
“Is it a control thing?” I cut him off. “I don't know if it is a control thing. I feel like there's more to it than that. Like he takes my adding Summerween to Safety Week as a personal attack, only, I'm not attacking it. I'm adding to it and I don't know how to make him see that.”
Hank set his fork down.
“And is he always this—” I searched for the word — “contained? Like does he ever just let something go and enjoy or is everything always SO serious?”
“Brandy, Nick is —”
“Because, and I know this will come as a shock, but I've seen him almost smile. Twice.” I held up two fingers. “And both times he caught himself and poof it was gone. I just think if he would let himself actually—”
“Brandy.” Hank's voice was patient. “You do realize you've been asking me a lot of questions but not listening to what I'm trying to say.”