17. Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Brandy
I had been parked in my driveway for approximately forty-five seconds when my phone rang.
My car announced that it was Jo.
“Hey—” was all I got out.
“I just got a call,” Jo said without preamble. “From Scott.”
I closed my eyes. “Oh, I can't wait to hear this.”
“He says, and I'm quoting directly here, all they heard was something about the chiefs having a bet about your ass, then something about a bunch of therefores, and then you said, 'This conversation is over,' and stormed out to your car.” A pause.
“He told me so I could check and see if you were okay.”
“I'm fine.”
“Are you?”
I looked at my steering wheel. Then at the spigot on the side of my house that Nick had fixed at six fifteen in the morning with his own wrench because he had nothing keeping him at home. An act I had thought, at the time, was out of kindness.
“No, I'm pissed,” I said honestly.
“On a scale of one to ten?”
“Fifty.”
“Okay.” Another pause. “Come over.”
“Jo—”
“Ruthie says if you don't come over here, she's going to make us cart all the food to your house, which will put her a ninety on the pissed-off scale, officially outranking your fifty.
So, and again, I'm directly quoting here, if you don't want to see lesbian rage, you better get over here.
Also, she'd like me to point out that there aren't any men in this house, so the bitching can freely flow.”
I looked at the spigot again.
Nick's voice popped into my head. Hank's right. You do have a nice ass.
“I'm on my way,” I said.
Ruthie opened the door before I could knock and engulfed me in a hug.
“I was threatened with lesbian rage.”
“It's a powerful thing,” she said. “Food's almost done.”
Jo was at the kitchen table with a beer. She looked me over when I walked in the way she looked over a scene at work. Assessing everything.
“Yep, you look mad,” she said.
“I am mad.”
“But okay.”
“Yes, okay.”
“Good. Get yourself a drink and come sit.”
She pulled out the chair next to her.
Ruthie poured my wine before I'd even fully sat down, which I deeply appreciated.
“Alright, start from the beginning,” Jo said.
“And don't leave anything out,” Ruthie added.
I figured why not? It had been overheard, so it was only a matter of time before everyone knew anyway. I might as well be honest. So I told them everything. Everything.
I started with the date with Hank and how it had gone.
“Ick. He ordered for you?” Jo looked like she'd smelled something wretched.
“Like you're incapable of ordering your own food.” Ruthie shook her head. “And it was a first date. How would he know what you wanted to eat?”
I told them about the rest of the evening and how it ended with us deciding to stay friends.
“Good. Quite frankly, I couldn't ever see you with him,” Ruthie said. “Neither Jo nor I could.”
Jo nodded her agreement.
I continued with how the day had gone. When I got to the part about Nick walking out fresh from the shower, Ruthie made a tsk sound.
“I know,” I said.
“So what? His hair was wet.” Jo looked at us like we weren't making any sense at all.
Then I told them the rest. Right up to Nick lifting and carrying the pallets.
“Oh, that had to be on purpose,” Ruthie commented.
“Who cares?” Jo said. “Of course he needed to move them—”
“Jo, shh.” Ruthie cut her off. “Let her finish.”
I told them about the storage room. The tightness of it. Standing chest to chest among the boxes. Nick saying it was alright about the storage space. And the wink. And my stomach doing the thing that I had briefly wondered might be gas.
Ruthie grabbed Jo's hand and pressed her lips together very hard.
“Are you alright?” Jo asked, eyeing her.
“Yes.” Ruthie smiled at her. “It's like we're living inside a Hallmark movie. It wasn't gas, right?” Ruthie asked carefully.
“No, it wasn't.” I shook my head.
Ruthie let out a tiny squeak.
I picked up my wine, then put it down.
“Then he kissed me.”
The kitchen went silent.
“YES!”
Ruthie jumped up and down, dragging Jo's hand with her.
“YES! Okay, okay, details.”
“In the storage room,” I said. “It was...” I searched for the word, then sighed. “Marvelous.”
“I knew it,” Ruthie whispered.
“Babe, you're hurting my hand,” Jo said, trying to pry Ruthie loose.
“Oh, sorry.” Ruthie released her immediately. “Brandy, go on.”
“And I kissed him back.”
“Naturally,” Ruthie said.
“And it was...”
I stopped again.
“Good?” Ruthie offered. “Wondrous? Fantastic?”
I looked at her.
“Oh no. It didn't suck, did it?” Ruthie gritted her teeth. “Did he have horrible breath?”
“No. It was like... good, good. You know what I mean?”
Ruthie sat back down.
“Yeah.” She glanced at Jo. “Like our wedding kiss.”
Jo leaned over and kissed her wife's cheek. “That was a great kiss.”
“And then,” I said.
“No. Not the ‘and then’.” Ruthie made a face like she was in physical pain.
“Yep. And then, when we stopped, he cleared his throat.” I picked up my wine.
“Shit. He spoke, didn't he? Why do they always have to speak? It ruins everything.” Ruthie rolled her eyes in disgust.
“You know,” I told Ruthie, “for a baker, you have a very good perspective.”
“Thank you,” she beamed.
Jo held up both hands. “Can we please hear the rest?”
“Alright, alright. When we broke the kiss, he had one hand on my shoulder and the other on my ass.” I patted the spot where it had been. “And he said, ‘Hank's right. You do have a nice ass.’”
Silence. Absolute, complete silence.
Jo closed her eyes and put her face in both hands.
I didn't think it was possible for Ruthie's eyes to get any bigger.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.
“And get this,” I said. “His hand was still on my ass when he said it.”
“NICK CARSON!”
Ruthie's wooden spoon hit the counter.
“I KNOW.”
“After that KISS—”
I nodded.
Jo still hadn't removed her face from her hands. She appeared to be processing something at a deep, fundamental level.
“So I called him out about it,” I said, and this was the part that landed differently, without the comedy. “The chiefs discussed me, and it seems I was some sort of bet or conquest.”
The kitchen was quiet again. But differently, this time there was anger in the air.
Ruthie picked up her wooden spoon with one hand and reached across the table and put her other hand over mine.
Jo finally lifted her face from her hands. Her expression had shifted from processing to something much more direct.
“For the record,” she said carefully, “I think what he said was uncalled for. And I mean, read the room, dude. But I have to say, Brandy, I don't think that's what it was.”
“Jo—”Ruthie and I said at the same time.
“I'm not defending what he said. I'm not. What he said was...” She seemed to choose her words with specific care. “Not good.”
“It was terrible,” Ruthie said.
“It was terrible,” Jo agreed. “But Nick Carson isn't a player. He really isn't. Hank, that's another story. But not Nick.”
I looked at her.
“Don't get me wrong, he's an idiot,” Jo continued. “But he's not a calculating idiot, and there's a difference. I just don't see him being hurtful like that. Matter of fact, I bet he's mortified that you're angry, but he's totally confused as to why you're upset.”
“Jo's right. I hate what he did, but it really doesn't sound like Nick.” Ruthie held up both hands as if surrendering.
“Now, he shouldn't have opened his damn mouth to speak.
Kiss, yes. Talking, no. Totally on him. One hundred percent.
But I just can't see him being part of some sort of who-can-bag-her-first bet.”
I thought about that throughout the dinner of burgers and fries.
“Brandy, you've been so quiet.” Ruthie put her fork down. “Please don't take what we said as us siding with Nick. We're not. We're totally Team Brandy. We just had to be honest.”
“Yeah,” Jo added. “What kind of friends would we be if we didn't tell you the truth?”
“I know.” I smiled. “And I appreciate both of you.”
We finished eating while making small talk about their day.
While cleaning up, I announced, “Men suck.”
“Amen.” Jo raised a fist covered with soap suds.
“All of them,” Ruthie agreed. “Why do they always have to talk?”
We ate warm chocolate chip cookies and ice cream for dessert.
Ruthie said quietly, “You know the whole town's going to hear about this.”
I looked at her.
“All the guys heard it,” she said simply. “They'll tell others.”
“And pretty soon everyone knows,” Jo finished.
I put my spoon down.
“Welcome to small-town living.”
“Just wait until tomorrow morning,” Ruthie said, not unkindly. “You know this story is going to be something else entirely.”
I did know. I'd lived in Denture for three weeks, and I already absolutely knew. Damn it.
The next morning, I opted to go to my office instead of the fire department.
After a night of sleep, I was inclined to side with Jo and Ruthie that it probably wasn't a bet or anything like that. And that the dumbass was probably trying to pay me a compliment that came out all wrong.
I was ready to admit that to myself.
Was I ready to let Nick off the hook? Nope. Not at all.
I was sitting at my desk with my second coffee, working on the Summerween promotional materials, when my office door opened and Mayor Rich Stevens walked in. He was staring at the floor. He closed the door behind him.
“Come on in,” I said.
Eyes still down, he sat.
“Won't you have a seat?”
He looked up from the floor.
“Brandy,” he said. “I'm going to ask you something, and I'm not entirely sure how to ask it. But I need you to be honest with me.”
“Of course.”
He folded his hands a couple of times.
“Is it true that Chief Carson insulted you, then you dosed each other with fire hoses, and you punched him in the nose because he touched your ass?”
I stared at him.
“I'm asking because I believe in women's rights. They were very important in the election, and I want to hear your side before I call him in for disciplinary action.”
“First,” I said, “on behalf of women voters, thank you.” I leaned back in my chair. “Second, let me make sure I got this right. We dosed each other with hoses, and I punched him for touching my ass?”
“Yes.”
Well, I mean, he had touched my ass. That part was technically accurate. But since my face had been completely attached to his at the time, I was going to keep that particular information to myself.
“Rich,” I said evenly. “None of that happened.”
He looked at me.
“None of it?”
“Not one bit.”
“Not the hoses?”
“Nope.”
“Your ass?”
“Nope.”
He sat back. Something that might have been relief crossed his face.
“Well.” He straightened his jacket. “Oh my. This town and the gossip. How does something like this get started? Good grief.” He let out a huge sigh.
“I'm very glad I came and addressed this issue.
We can't have any of my departments at war.” He pointed at me.
“I need unity, Brandy. A united front with departments working together.
That's what this community needs, and that's what I—”
“Rich.”
“—need to project to the voters—”
“Rich.”
He stopped.
“Nothing happened,” I said. “It's all good.” This was not entirely true.
Rich nodded slowly.
“Good, well, it’s alright then.”
He stood and moved toward the door then stopped and turned back as if he'd just remembered something.
“Besides, what a silly thing to spread since you're dating Chief McAllister.”
I looked at him.
“Wait. You didn't punch him too, did you?”
“I didn't punch anyone,” I said. “And Hank and I are not dating. We're just friends.”
“Ah.” He processed this. “You're not with either of them.”
“I am not. And I didn’t punch either one of them.”
“Right.” He nodded and pointed at me. “Keep up the good work.” Then he was gone, closing the door behind him.
I sat very still for a moment. Dosed each other with hoses? The ladies were right.
I went back to work on my promotional materials, but then stopped and looked out my nearest window. Somewhere in Denture right now, this story was growing, mutating as it traveled. Picking up details that had never happened. By tomorrow it would be completely unrecognizable.
I laughed as I thought of Helen, Edith, and Fern and the version they would eventually hear. Probably something involving international intrigue.
My phone alerted me to a text message.
Ruthie: Have you heard the latest version?
Me: The Mayor's involved. Apparently Nick and I dosed each other with hoses and I punched him in the face. What have you got?
Ruthie: Apparently you and Nick had a secret relationship that started before you moved to Denture and Hank found out, which is why there's tension.
I stared at my phone.
Me: We've never met before I moved here.
Ruthie: I know that.
Ruthie: People in town don't.
Me: Well, so far, that's the one to beat.
Ruthie: Give it five minutes.
In a town of eight thousand people, the gossip network could compete with any professional intelligence agency.
I uncapped my pen and went back to work, awaiting the next update.