Chapter 13
Theo
Fable: Things you left at the A-frame:
Fable:
Theo: In case you get thirsty.
Fable: ew
Theo: We’re a couple. We can share drinks.
Fable:
Theo: So you have something to sniff when you miss me.
Fable: ew
Fable:
“Come back in next week and we’ll see how that hot spot is doing,” I tell Hal and Omar as they follow me out of the exam room. Their beagle, Elphaba, is wrapped in a blanket in Hal’s arms, a giant plastic cone circling her head.
Omar sticks out his bottom lip and pets her muzzle. “Got the cone of shame, baby girl.”
“She’ll be out of it in no time,” I assure them.
Hal shakes my hand. “Thanks for fitting us in.”
“No problem.” I’m waving goodbye when Garrett rounds the corner with a wide grin.
He has a paper bag with a Ladybug Café logo in one hand and two large drinks tucked into his other arm. “I got us lunch. You still like their Italian sub? No tomatoes?”
Surprised, I reach for the drinks. “Yeah. Perfect. Thanks.”
I follow him into his office, where my gaze immediately cuts to his wall of pictures.
He and his wife, Piper, moved here after college, and they’ve been an active part of this community ever since.
If I didn’t like the guy so much, I’d be jealous of his ability to fit in here so easily.
But it’s hard to hate him when he’s exactly the kind of guy I’d love to go into business with.
Thoughtful, patient, respectful to anyone who comes through those doors.
Instead of being jealous, I admire the hell out of him.
He empties the bag on his desk and nudges my sandwich toward me. “Here you go.”
“Thanks. You really didn’t have to get me lunch.” I take the seat across from him and open my container.
“Thought it might make our planning meeting more fun,” he says, blue eyes twinkling.
His chair creaks as he reaches behind him to grab two papers out of the printer.
“I typed up everything I have already for the adopt-a-thon, but I was hoping we could chat about making this year’s event a little bigger. ”
“Absolutely.” I scan the full page, my throat going dry. There’s already so much here. Vendors, volunteers, donations from local businesses. “This is . . . Wow. You’ve made a lot of progress.”
He nods, peeling the wrapper away from his sandwich.
“Since it’s happening the same weekend as the Thimbleberry Festival, I wanted to get a head start on reserving things.
” He chews through a bite. “I’m in a bowling league with Carl, over at Premier Rentals.
So, we started talking the other night about tables and chairs, and he volunteered to bring some over that morning.
Then we ran into Mrs. LaGrande at the diner the other night, and her team is going to make like ten dozen scones for us. ”
I blow out a slow breath. “That’s great.” And by great, I mean shitty. Because I’ve officially done nothing to help with this project, while Garrett has already handled most of it. I’m at a disadvantage without the same community connections he has built over the years.
Historically, the adopt-a-thon is a small event.
They set up a few portable fences in the town square and let the animals lure in the parade attendees.
From what I hear, the timing has worked out well in the past, ensuring they have a great turnout, and Garrett says last year, every single pet got adopted.
But this list—with tables, chairs, food, a few sponsors—seems a lot more extensive than in the past.
Garrett sets his sandwich down and wipes his hands on a napkin.
“How do you feel about reaching out to some local rescues and shelters in neighboring towns to try and get as many animals adopted as we can? Might run into some issues with transporting them here, but if we can coordinate enough volunteers, it could work out.”
I grab a pen from a cup on his desk to write down the rescues and shelters I know off the top of my head. “Sounds great. I can get that started this afternoon.”
“We could also use some advertisements in local towns.” His shoulders lift. “I’m not great with social media, but maybe Jenna can help with that.”
“Yeah, I’ll chat with her. Get as many people here as we can.”
While we eat, we brainstorm a few more rescues I can reach out to.
Then Garrett surprises me when he asks, “Is Fable coming to the parade?”
My heart trips over a beat. The adopt-a-thon is included in our contract, but I didn’t register until this moment that it was right after the parade. And given our history, I don’t know the answer to his question.
It was an embarrassing event for both of us for different reasons. I was a loose cannon that morning and had no business getting into a fight in the middle of the parade. Shame coats my throat every time I remember it. I wish I could go back and change a hundred things about that day.
Standing to watch that same parade with Fable—I don’t know if I can do it.
“I’m not sure yet,” I reply before taking the last bite of my sandwich.
Bumper-to-bumper traffic only happens in downtown Fern River on three occasions.
When Lou’s Pizza is hosting their annual three-for-one sale, when Santa visits the square in December, and every Friday afternoon, from three thirty to five, when the Volunteer Fire Department gets together for a group training circuit.
Cars line both sides of the road. Today seems to be particularly popular with the misty, damp April air making our shirts cling to our bodies like we’re competing in a wet T-shirt contest.
Maddox grunts, pushing a kettlebell into the air. “I know it’s your first day, but we tend to actually work out. Quit smiling for the cameras.”
Beside me, Lizzy and Brooks snicker as they copy Maddox’s movements.
“I can do both.” I pick up my water bottle and spray it in my best friend’s face before he can block the stream. He barks a laugh, lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe his forehead. I think I hear the sound of brakes squealing on the street.
“Cathy. Ten o’clock.” He jerks his chin toward where she’s crouched on the ground with a camera pointed our way. A hand smacks my stomach harder than necessary. “Look alive. Fable might see these pictures,” he teases, and I return his stomach smack. “How is she?”
Instead of answering, I grab my phone off the bench and show him my new background photo. Fable’s sitting on her couch, her knees tucked up to her chest, hair wild and wavy like she just woke up, with a sleepy little scowl and her middle finger pointed at the camera.
She looks absolutely edible.
He squints at the photo, then me, and chuckles. “Oh, so you’re down bad.”
“Says the man who was rubbing his wife’s feet for an hour the other night.”
“There’s no shaming me for that,” he says, shaking his head. “I’d do anything that woman asked me to, with a smile on my face. Put it on my grave: This man was down bad for his wife since the moment he met her.”
“I’ll be sure it says that,” I promise as my phone rings. An unknown number appears on the screen, and I swipe to answer it. “Hello?”
A man’s voice asks, “Is this Theo Nikolaou?”
“Yes?”
“Hi, Theo. This is Drew over at the rec center.”
“Oh!” I step away from the fire crew to hear better. “How are you?”
“I’m good. Got your message about coaching Little League this season.” His voice dips like bad news is on the way. “But here’s the thing. We don’t have any spots open.”
Disappointment slumps my shoulders. “Okay, I’m—”
“However, I do need a soccer coach.”
I wince. “I played baseball—”
“Listen,” he interrupts, sounding exhausted.
“I had a guy drop out. His shifts got switched around and he’s not gonna be able to do it.
So I have a team of five- and six-year-old girls who desperately need someone—anyone—who can show up for them.
And they won’t give a hoot if you’ve never played soccer, I promise.
We’re not talking about the Olympics here.
They’re out there to have fun. What do you say? ”