Chapter 8 Naomi
"Did you talk to Kelvin?" I ask Sonia.
She’s by my side, checking messages on her phone while parents and kids hover around, talking with their mouths full. "He’s on his way."
"ETA?"
"Fifteen minutes."
I zip back and forth along the table, checking off my mental list: forks, napkins, vegan options, emergency cupcakes. And Kelvin is bringing more drinks because of a smashing incident early this morning that cost us two boxes of bottled water.
Otherwise, we should be good through the rest of the afternoon.
In the corner, two boys are sword fighting with paintbrushes. Another kid licks chocolate off his sleeve while his mom pretends not to notice. It’s perfect. The noise, the colors, the feeling of barely organized chaos.
"Where are the utensils?" a woman in bright pink asks, eyeing the table.
I smile and wave to a tray with plastic folks, spoons and knives, but my eyes land on a boy and his dad across the room. Dad's way too dressed up and way too familiar.
Lachlan Pratt.
And just like that, I'm no longer having fun.
Sonia elbows me in the ribs. "The douchebag’s here."
"I saw."
I adjust the platters on the table, making sure my beautiful bruschettas don't get pushed out by the mini cheeseburgers. I’m not getting paid for doing this, but food has to look good no matter what. That’s what Dad always told me.
It’ll come back to you tenfold, mija, he used to say.
There are a lot of familiar faces here. Some of them went to school with me and are now parents. They smile and wave, and I wave back, feeling the buzzing energy all around me.
"Naomi, this is amazing!" one of the moms calls, balancing a meatball sandwich in one hand and her toddler in the other. I flash her a thumbs-up and dodge a little girl running past me with a hot dog.
"How did you get here?" Sonia asks her.
The little girl just giggles and veers back into the crowd.
At some point, Adri appears at the entrance. He scans the room with a severe frown as if we are in a prison yard filled with inmates instead of the community center.
Next to me, Sonia snorts out a laugh. "Your brother has no people skills whatsoever," she comments as he weaves through the throng of screaming kids.
"You think?" But I have a different idea. Judging by the circles under his eyes and that tired look, I’d say Adri spent all night drinking and gambling at the casino again. It’s a surprise he’s able to work today.
"Adrian," Sonia murmurs as he approaches the catering area. "Nice to see you."
"Ladies." He tips his chin politely, both hands on his duty belt.
"How are you?" Sonia asks, her voice suddenly higher than usual. "Do you want something to eat?"
I’ve been suspecting this for a while now—she has a little crush on him. She always turns into a blabbering version of herself when he’s around. I don’t blame her. Adri can be very charming. Plus, he’s a looker. Too bad he’s only charming two days a year.
"Just a Sprite for now," he replies.
Sonia steps back to look for one in the boxes behind us.
"Are you sober?" I hiss out while she’s preoccupied.
"How is that your business?" he grumbles back.
"Are you serious?"
"Are you?"
Nope, I’m not subjecting myself to one of Adri’s moods. I know our loss affected him a lot. But he’s become insufferable over the years. No wonder I never see him settling down with anyone. Or with anyone in general.
Who’d want to be with a grump like him?
"Here you go," Sonia hands Adri a can of Sprite.
"Thanks."
"Anytime," she coos with a sugary smile on her face, but he's already headed for the door.
When Adri is nothing more than a silhouette, my friend says dreamily, "Your brother sure cleans up well."
I choke out a strangled laugh.
"What?" She turns to look at me. "You don’t think he’s a catch?"
"He’s a mess. Not a catch," I correct.
Sonia’s eyebrows rise up.
"Trust me," I tell her, shaking my head. "You don’t want to be anywhere near him when he’s off duty."
Just then, a group of kids with hungry eyes approach the table and Sonia shifts her attention to the little ones.
Meanwhile, a local vendor catches my eye.
He waves an inviting hand, and I make my way over to him, dodging children and overly excited parents.
We have a quick, efficient talk about a few items I’m interested in getting for Oasis.
Then I send him off with a load of sandwiches for his crew.
He gives me a grateful nod as he leaves.
Great.
We're in business.
I like when things are easy. That’s one of the reasons I avoid working with big corporations. At least, as much as possible. Most of the vendors I use for Oasis are local, and if I can't find something I choose small, family-owned companies.
"Naomi!" Lachlan’s voice, smooth and oily, says from off to the side as I make my way back to the catering table. "Nice to see you again."
Damn it.
The town’s worst rich boy, who I’ve been trying to avoid ever since I returned to Sageview Ridge.
I take a deep breath but keep walking. "Hi, Lachlan."
He follows me.
We reach the catering area, and I halt by the table. "As you can see, I’m busy," I tell him flatly, hoping he’ll get the hint.
He flashes his well-practiced smile. "You work too much, dollface." His twelve-year-old son's next to him, clutching a soda and looking bored.
"Please don’t call me that." I focus on rearranging the juice boxes.
"Why not? We both know you’re gorgeous."
"I really am not interested." I gesture at the room stretching behind him. "Besides, I didn't think children's art was your scene."
"Oh, you know me." He adjusts his perfect hair. "Always full of surprises." He flashes another grin, and I suppress a gag. "You look as stunning as ever."
Lachlan’s confidence is like the desert sun. Relentless.
I don't even bother looking up. His kid stands awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. I feel sorry for him. "Your ex-wife not with you?" I ask, plucking a cupcake from the tray and handing it to Lachlan’s son. It’s not the kid’s fault his dad is an asshole.
The boy grabs the cupcake with a shy smile.
When I look up at his dad, Lachlan's expression sours for a split second before the grin is back. "Why would she be here? She is the ex after all."
I notice his son's attention is turned elsewhere, so I say quietly, "Well, congrats on the divorce."
"Divorce is such an ugly word. I prefer liberated."
I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. "Right."
"Dad." The kid yanks at Lachlan’s hand. "Can I go look at the pictures?"
"Sure thing, buddy."
The kid dashes away as if eager to escape his father's presence. Honestly, I can't blame the boy.
"Lachlan, I really have a lot to do," I point out.
He edges closer, maybe a little too close. "Let me help out. I’m good at…pitching in."
I raise an eyebrow. "Don't try that with me, Lachlan."
He ignores the warning in my voice. "Oh, come on. It's the least I can do for an old friend."
Somehow, he manages to make "friend" sound dirty. I take a breath and keep my tone as dry as a sand dune. "No offense, but I don't think you know what to do with a serving tray."
Lachlan leans against the table like he owns it. "I know what to do with you, though. When are you going to let me take you out?"
I almost choke on my own breath. Does this guy have a one-track mind or what? "I don’t date," I say coldly, trying to keep my voice down. "I think I told you that before."
He gives me a pitying look, all mock concern. "Still holding out for your guitar boy, huh?"
His words are like nails on a chalkboard, but I don't let it show. "I’m working."
Lachlan gives a slow, smug smile. "A waste of a woman, if you ask me."
I hold up my hand. "Good thing I didn’t ask." On the inside, I’m boiling, but I know better than to reveal my temper. A high-pressure environment is nothing new to me.
Lachlan winks. "Come on. I bet I can show you a good time."
"This is a children's event, Lachlan," I grit out. "Not the time or the place."
He takes a step forward, and I tighten my grip on the serving tray I’m currently holding, because it’s the only thing separating us.
"You don’t know what you’re missing out on," he whispers in my ear.
"The smallest dick in town?" I whisper back. "No, thank you."
I probably shouldn’t have said that. There’s an obvious crack in his mask of confidence.
I turn, ready to put this encounter behind me, but apparently, all these years later, Lachlan Pratt is still a bully. He's right there, too close and too pushy, reaching out. Next thing I know, my wrist is in his grip. I barely manage to set the tray on the table before it slips to the floor.
"You’re an uptight bitch who needs a good fucking," he mouths at me. It’s almost inaudible and I’m grateful for it.
I don’t need any of the kids and parents to hear this.
My reputation is important to me. You can't do much for the community when people think of you as someone they don't want around their children.
"Let go," I say quietly.
"I bet you won’t talk like that after I’m finished with you."
"Your son is watching."
That’s when I see a shadow out of the corner of my eye. It’s Tyler—what the hell is he even doing here?—moving fast, like a man on a mission.
The room fades as my pulse kicks up a notch.
Lachlan holds on to my wrist with a roughness that leaves no doubt.
He thinks he can get whatever he wants, whenever he wants.
He hasn’t changed a bit. My heart’s pounding with shock and anger and the urge to kick him in the shin. But I can’t afford to lose face.
People are starting to notice now, watching us with curiosity. I can feel their eyes like spotlights, and it makes my skin crawl.
"Let go," I repeat, low and furious. I pull, my arm feeling like it’s about to snap.
That's when Tyler appears next to Lachlan, his hand resting on his shoulder.
"Did you hear what she said?"
Lachlan releases my wrist and turns.
My mind goes blank. Tyler’s fist connects with Lachlan's jaw, and everything goes into slow motion.
Lachlan drops like a sack of rocks.
The room erupts. Parents pull their kids closer. Some laugh nervously; others look as if they’ve seen a ghost. Maybe they have. Tyler stands over Lachlan, unfazed, like he’s been here all along. Like he belongs here. Like he belongs to this little desert town.
"Somebody, get the sheriff!" one of the moms shouts, covering her daughter’s eyes with her palm.
"Was that necessary?" another person pipes up from the back.
"There are children here!"
"Is that Tyler Brady?"
Lachlan groans as he gets up from the floor, clutching his jaw. I’m too stunned to even move, my wrist finally free but still numb from his grip. I stare at Tyler, and he's staring right back at me.
It’s chaos then, people accusing Lachlan or Tyler. Sonia’s already found Lachlan’s boy, and they’re standing off to the side. There’s another boy crying, and it’s hard to say if it’s because he can’t find his parent or because he saw a grown man being hit.
I have no words.
"Are you okay?" Tyler inquires, as if he isn't the one who caused this mess in the community center.
And then, to make matters worse, I hear my brother's voice. "What is going on?"
Perfect.
Overcome with embarrassment, I quickly turn and make my way to the exit.