CHAPTER THREE FALLON
C HAPTER T HREE
FALLON
“How is lover boy?” Jaz asks, strolling into the main lobby.
She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts with paint stains splattered over every inch and an old Wynonna Judd concert T-shirt that she turned into a crop top.
I remember the day we went to see Wynonna in concert.
We were in high school and begged Tank to take us.
He said no, several times, but the day of the concert, he waved tickets in front of our faces as a surprise and was subject to our terrible singing all the way to Anaheim and back.
Jaz bought a T-shirt, and I bought a mug that I’ve sadly lost along the way.
“Can you not call him that?” I shout-whisper.
She glances around the empty room. “Why are you hissing at me? His car is gone—he left.”
“Uh, he might have left your bar, but he’s taken up residence here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean...,” I drag out, “he’s staying longer than we anticipated. Much longer.”
“Seriously?” she laughs. “The luck you have. Isn’t that just perfect. An old flame, shacking it up in your cabin.”
“He’s not an old flame.” I set down the roll of wallpaper I’ve been attempting to match up.
If I wasn’t so dedicated to Sully’s plan to renovate, I’d have given up on this entire endeavor weeks ago, but guilt is driving me to see through the plans he sketched out in his notebook, so here I am, papering the lobby walls in a black-and-white buffalo plaid design.
“He came in here this morning all chipper, looking for some permanent, yet temporary, residence.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“It’s a thing,” I shoot back. “I booked his cabin indefinitely after I attempted to convince him to stay somewhere else.”
“And he wanted to stay in this palace?” Jaz asks, her arms spreading wide. “I can’t imagine why not. This is what I call living in luxury.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Do I ever?” she says with a smirk.
“You did last night.”
Jaz flops down on the threadbare couch and dangles one leg off the side while she sifts her hand through her hair. “You caught me at a weak moment.”
I take a seat in the chair next to her and prop my feet up on the coffee table. “I’m annoyed.”
“You’re giving off that vibe. Is it because Peter didn’t drive up last night?”
“My life doesn’t revolve around a man.”
Jaz snorts. “Literally your entire life revolves around a man.”
“Not a man romantically ,” I clarify.
“So why are you annoyed? Because the blind date is sticking around?”
I pick a piece of lint off my shorts and flick it to the side. “I mean, sort of. Like, move on, man. Why are you sticking around here?”
“Have you not paid attention to the internet this morning?” Jaz asks.
“No, I’m not sucked into social media like you.”
“Maybe you should be sucked in just a little.” She pulls up her phone and taps away on it before turning the screen toward me. “Your friend walked out on the biggest wedding of the year.”
I sit forward and take the phone from her. The title of the article is “Runaway Bride Groomsman: How Sawyer Walsh Single-Handedly Destroyed a Fairy Tale He Created.”
Under the title is a picture of him, flipping off the bride and groom, right there at the altar.
“Oh my God.” A small chuckle pops past my lips. “That’s kind of psychotic.”
“You think?” Jaz says as she pulls out her trusty switchblade, which she keeps in her pocket at all times.
“That’s not even half as bad as what I did when Brad cheated on me.
” Oh, Brad, I can still remember the cold fury in Jaz’s eyes when she caught her boyfriend cheating on her with an out-of-towner.
Let’s just say Brad had an awfully hard time leaving town—not just because his tires were slashed, but because she’d also ripped all the soles from every single pair of his shoes.
I eye her. “This is different; this... this is a mental breakdown.”
“Oh yeah. It’s easy to see why he’s staying here.
Lover boy doesn’t want to go back home and face the media storm he created.
You should watch the interview of Annalisa and Simon.
I’ve never seen anything so... absurd, but God, I couldn’t look away.
The tears. The hitch in her voice. The drama.
Honestly, it feels like a soap opera and I’m waiting for the next episode. ”
The door to the lobby opens, sun rays blinding us momentarily as Sawyer walks in carrying a shopping bag and wearing Canoodle-themed clothing. Seems like he found the souvenir shop.
“Oooh, maybe we’ll get our next installment right now,” Jaz says, flipping her switchblade open.
“Hey.” Sawyer lifts his hand. “I found the stores and my car. Thanks.”
“Sure,” I say as he continues to walk toward us. “Glad you were able to get out of that suit.”
“The town is glad he was able to get out of it,” Jaz says. “Next time you plan on crashing a bar, wear something that isn’t going to offend everyone’s eyes.”
Sawyer glances over at her. “You look familiar.”
“I should.” She sits up and flips her blade shut. “I helped carry your sorry ass here.”
“Jaz, be nice.”
“I am,” she says. “I could say a lot worse.”
True, she could. She has absolutely zero filter.
“Well, then I owe you a thank-you,” Sawyer says sincerely. “I appreciate you two looking after me last night. I realize I could have been in a really bad spot, and instead of just leaving me outside, you brought me to a safe place for the night. I’m indebted to you.”
“I’m glad you see it that way,” Jaz says, folding her hands together.
Before she can start listing off all the things she’d like in return for her good deed, I say, “It’s what we do in Canoodle: look out for people. No need to say thank you.”
He glances at me, making direct eye contact. Up until this point, I’ve avoided looking him in the eyes. Instead, I’ve danced around his face, pretending to look at him but focusing on the crook of his nose, or the thickness of his hair, or even the slight wrinkle between his eyes.
But now that our gazes meet, I feel... nothing.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I feel sorry for him—seems like karma has caught up to him, and now he’s having to deal with it.
Looking away, he clears his throat and opens the bag in his hand. “Well, it’s not much, but the girl at the Pine Pantry said that all the locals like these cookies.” From his bag, he pulls out a twenty-four-pack of the strawberry shortbread tart cookies that Jaz and I are obsessed with.
Before he can offer them to us, Jaz snatches them out of his hand and rubs the top of the container, eyeing Sawyer. “I prefer knives as a gift, but I shall accept these cookies.” She points a finger at him. “Don’t think this wins me over, though. I still think you’re a douche.”
Douche might be extreme.
Then again, I bet if he turned around, “Canoodle” would be plastered over his ass—a bit of a douchey clothing choice. It’s not a good look on anyone, but it’s better than the suit he was wearing previously.
Aw, and look, he found some footwear. I wonder if he thinks things are looking up for him.
The expression on his face is a mix of humor and confusion. “Let me guess... you saw the news?”
“Hard to miss,” Jaz says, popping open the container and taking a cookie out. She crosses one leg over the other. “Why go to the wedding if you’re just going to flip off the bride and groom in the middle of the ceremony? Pretty cold, if you ask me.”
Look out, Sawyer: a strawberry shortbread cookie is not going to mellow out Jaz.
“There’s a lot more to the story than what I’m sure the media is letting on.” He shifts on his feet, looking extremely uncomfortable.
“Well, we have nowhere to be—please, entertain us.” Jaz gestures with her hand, giving him the floor.
Wanting to spare him—not because I care about his feelings or anything like that but because he doesn’t need to be hanging out with us—I decide to cut in before he can start his story.
“We actually have a lot to do and don’t have time to chitchat,” I say. “But if you need anything, Sawyer, just call or ask. Enjoy your stay.”
He turns toward me, and I can see a hint of hurt in his eyes.
I’m not sure if it’s from my dismissal or the mention of the wedding, but either way, I’m not going to dive into it.
We share an awkward history, and even if he doesn’t remember it, I don’t care to spend much time around him.
Though I keep insisting to Jaz that everything was fine during our date, it’s still embarrassing that one, he ignored me, and two, he doesn’t recall who I am at all.
I don’t need to be reminded of that every time he’s around.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re pretty busy.” He glances around the empty, quiet lobby. “But just wanted to say thank you. And, uh, I didn’t quite catch your names.”
“I’m Jazlyn,” Jaz says, her mouth full of cookie. “Everyone calls me Jaz, but I’d prefer you call me Jazlyn since we’re not on a friendly basis, despite the cookies. And that ray of sunshine over there is Fallon.”
Sawyer’s eyes meet mine, and his brow furrows as he observes me for a few beats.
Does he recognize me?
God, I hope not.
“Does she look familiar?” Jaz asks, obviously reaching.
“Jaz, shut up,” I say through clenched teeth, making her smile and take another bite of her cookie.
“Should she look familiar?” Sawyer asks, confused.
“Ooof, digging yourself quite a grave, Julia.”
“Julia?” he asks as I stand from my seat and start ushering him to the lobby’s back door.
“Yeah, you know, Julia Roberts from Runaway Bride . I think it fits you nicely.”
I push him toward the door. “Ignore her—she has a vendetta against the world. Have a great stay.” I open the door and bump him with my hip, sending him outside and slamming it shut behind him. “Jesus, Jaz, what the hell is wrong with you?”
She heaves a heavy sigh. “What? We finally have some drama in this town. Why can’t I eat up the moment?”
“Because I don’t want him knowing we went on a blind date. I just want to drop that, okay?”
“Why not? You could have fun with it.”
“I have better things to do with my life than mess with someone who’s just going to pass through town.
I need to focus on getting this wallpaper done before Sully gets back from Tank’s and before Peter arrives.
I’d appreciate it if my friend would help me, but if you’re not going to help, take your half of the cookies and leave. ”
She groans and stands from the couch. Silently, she walks over to the wallpaper and starts matching it up. While she’s doing that, I prep the wall and gather the tools we’ll need.
We work in silence until Jaz says, “You mentioned taking half of the cookies—so you want nothing to do with him, but you’ll take his gift?”
I glance up at her from my crouched position. “I might want nothing to do with him, but those are strawberry shortbread cookies. I’m not an idiot, Jaz.”
Her laugh echoes through the small space, and together, we finish papering the wall.