CHAPTER ONE FALLON #2
I wince.
I hold my breath.
I grip my fork just a touch tighter, steadying a bite of waffle on the end of the tines.
And then...
“Any vacancies?” he asks before bringing his beer to his lips.
His voice is gruff. His posture drained. His eyes glazed over with woefulness.
There’s no pointing. No “aha” moment.
Wait... does he not... does he not recognize me?
I blink a few times, waiting for it to hit him. Waiting for him to smack his palm to his head as realization dawns on him. But his face remains passive, and I realize quite quickly that, just like our date, I’m making zero impression on him right now.
“Uh, yeah,” I answer. “We have a few cabins available.”
“Perfect.” He turns back around and faces the bar, tipping his drink up to his lips. “I’m going to need one.”
“Why do you need to talk to me back here?” Jaz grumbles as she looks through the porthole of the kitchen door. “I have customers, you know.”
“Jaz, I know him.”
“We established you saw some resemblance.”
“Yes, but I know from where now.” I tug on her arm.
“Okay, delight me with the story.”
I glance out the window as well, just to make sure we’re clear of eavesdroppers. “We were set up on a blind date.”
“Wait. You went on a date with Mr.Matchy-Matchy? The guy who’s missing a shoe? Ew, why?”
“He wasn’t matching then. Well, I mean, he matched, but not like he is now. He was dressed just regular.” I shake my head. “That’s beside the point, Jaz.” I drop my voice even further. “He didn’t recognize me.”
“Are you sure? Did he even look at you?”
“Yes. When you told him I own the cabins—which technically isn’t true; Sully owns them. But he looked at me, actual eye contact. Trust me, he has no idea who I am.”
“Was it a memorable date?” she asks.
“Does it matter?”
“Not really.” She taps her chin while looking out the window. “Do you want me to slash his tires?”
“No. For the love of God, no.”
“Because you know I will. No one wrongs my friend and gets away with it.”
“Judging from his Easter-inspired tuxedo, I’m going to guess he’s had punishment enough.”
Jaz quirks a singular brow to the sky. “So, you’re not mad about him not remembering you?”
Am I mad? I mean... it’s never great to be forgettable, but then again, it’s not like I made a strong impact on him during our date. It was evident from the way he ignored me. Mad? No. Indifferent? Yeah, that feels more like it.
“It’s not like there was a love connection. He was on his phone most of the time. The only reason I stuck around was because we went to the Golden Star in Palm Springs, and I ordered the steak. I wasn’t leaving until I devoured it.”
“God, what I wouldn’t give to have eight ounces of that meat in my mouth right now.” She stares up at the ceiling dreamily. “I don’t blame you for sticking it out. Did you even talk on the date?”
“Minimally. It was incredibly awkward. He showed up late, was in a terrible mood, and then grumbled a lot about plotlines and story arcs.”
“Is he an author?”
“Uh, I think he does screenplays or something like that. At least that’s what he said when we first met.”
“I find this all very fascinating. Shall we bring it up to him?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
I grip her arm and stare her in the eyes. “Do not bring this up. For the love of God, just let this be between you and me. He’s probably passing through. No need to make this more awkward than it needs to be.”
“Doesn’t seem awkward to me—seems like fun.”
“Please, Jaz.”
She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Fine. But can you at least reconsider the tire slashing?”
“No,” I say, exasperated.
“You know, I don’t see why you’re protecting him. The guy seems like a doofus. Doesn’t know who you are, walked out on a wedding, and he doesn’t even know what puppy chow is. An absolute disaster. Why protect him from my sarcastic wit and cunning conversation?”
“Or your knife-wielding skills.”
She smirks. “That too.”
“Not happening. Okay? I’m not protecting him, just... I don’t know, not trying to cause any drama where it’s not needed. He’ll be gone tomorrow, so let’s just leave it.”
With an annoyed groan, Jaz tosses her arms in the air. “Then what was the point of coming back here if we’re not formulating some sort of plan of attack?”
“It was just so I could tell you I went on a blind date with him.”
She growls in frustration. “You’re losing your edge.”
“Blame it on Sully,” I say, chasing after her as we head back into the main bar area.
I take a seat at my stool, and Jaz makes me another drink, swapping the one that I left on the counter for something new. She’s very cautious about leaving drinks around, especially with passing tourists.
“His nose is crooked,” she mutters, handing me the drink.
“I know.”
“But he has a lot of hair for a man who has such weary eyes. How old is he?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Doesn’t matter.”
“My guess is forties.” She taps the bar top. “Hey, Groomy, how old are you? Forties?”
He turns his head. “Groomsman.”
“Whatever.” Jaz waves her hand dismissively. “Just answer the question.”
“What’s it to you?”
Jaz plants one hand on the bar, the other on her hip. “Because I asked, and unless you want everyone in this bar to turn on you, I suggest you answer the simple question.”
He sighs. “Thirty-five.”
“Thirty-five.” Jaz whistles. “Invest in some eye cream.”
He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t even act insulted.
Instead, he picks up his beer, downs the rest of his glass, and then asks for another.
I can barely remember what we talked about the night we went out. I can sort of recall what I wore, what he wore. But I do remember his disinterest, the bleakness in his eyes. That hasn’t changed. That’s something I will forever remember—because I felt the same exact way.
That was the night I found out about Sully.
That was the night I made the executive decision to abandon my life in Palm Springs and move up to the mountains to help my grandpa with his rental cabins.
I left everything behind. The date was a mere formality.
I wasn’t present. Neither was he.
There was no connection.
Just like right now, as he sits a few feet away. There is no pull, no cosmic force shoving us together.
He just happens to be a runaway groomsman who stumbled into my town.
Nothing more.
“I told you not to give him that last beer,” I grunt, walking the last few steps into the lobby of the Cove and stumbling under my new guest’s weight.
“I wanted to see if he’d fall off the back of the deck,” Jaz responds as we deposit him on the old western-style couch just across from the check-in counter. He smiles up at us and offers a wobbly thumbs-up.
“Well done, ladies.”
Ugh, men are exhausting.
“Let’s just get him checked in so I can get to bed. The last thing I need to do is take care of two grown men.”
“Technically, Tank is taking care of Sully tonight,” Jaz says. I shoot her an annoyed look, and she chuckles. “But I understand what you’re saying.”
I walk behind the check-in counter and wake up the early-2000s computer with a shake of the corded mouse.
It takes a few seconds, but the screen blinks on, and I open up the registration log.
It was the one thing Sully was always adamant about: taking down notes, making sure reservations were set.
He noticed early on that he had a tendency to forget—and forgetting a reservation in a small mountain town where you run the only lodging other than house rentals is not a good way to conduct business.
“Do you have mountain views?” the man says, attempting to button up his light-blue tuxedo.
“The entire town is a mountain view, dumbass,” Jaz says, leaning against the counter.
“It’s dark, how the hell am I supposed to know?” He gestures drunkenly to the wall.
“I suggest you stop talking to him before you lose your cool,” I mutter. “Not worth it.” Directing my attention to... what’s his name again? Sean? Sam? “I’m going to need an ID and credit card.”
He digs his less-than-dexterous hands into his pockets—struggling uncomfortably—and then fishes his wallet out, only for it to land on the floor.
He leans back on the couch, breathes a heavy sigh, and then... passes out.
Jaz and I both stare at his unmoving carcass.
“Uh... is he dead?” Jaz whispers.
“I can’t be sure,” I answer wearily. “Poke him.”
“Ew, I’m not poking him. You poke him.”
“I can’t have my DNA on him. We have history—I could be considered a suspect.”
Jaz rolls her eyes. “Your history is one blind date where he ignored you. I barely consider that history.”
“It’s enough to get me questioned.”
“Jesus,” Jaz huffs, making her way to the umbrella stand next to the back door leading to the cabins. She picks up an umbrella and positions herself in front of... hmm, Silas? Steven maybe?
With two hands, she taps... Spencer (?) on the knee with the tip of the umbrella.
He doesn’t move.
“Oh God,” I whisper, leaning over the counter now. “What if he’s dead?”
“That would not be good for business. We’d have to do some Weekend at Bernie’s recon work. Stick him in front of Spirits and Jerky, make it seem like a natural death-by-sidewalk-type thing.”
“Poke him again.” I jab the air with my finger. “See if rigor mortis has set in.”
“It doesn’t work that fast, you idiot.” Jaz takes a step closer and pokes his chest.
We hold our breath.
And then... nothing.
“Oh my God, he’s dead. He’s really dead.” My voice rises in panic, and I look closer. “I can’t see if his chest is moving. Is it moving? Check his pulse.”
Jaz shakes her head as she takes a step back. “That’s where I put on the brakes. There’s no way I’m about to touch a dead person. Sorry.”
“Uh, you’ll have to touch him if we’re sticking him in front of Spirits and Jerky.”
“That’s what tarps are for—body dragging.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Me?” She points to herself. “What is wrong with you ? We should’ve just left him at his car, but noooooo, you thought it would be kind to bring him here... where he has expired !”