CHAPTER ELEVEN FALLON #3
“And now you’re on movie number five?”
“Yup. Trying to figure out my hook for it.” He grips his water glass with this thumb and index finger and gives it a small twist on the table, his eyes cast down.
“I’m sure it’ll come to you.”
I don’t want to say that hearing his story makes him seem more... human in my eyes, but it does. He’s slowly unraveling from the ruthless date I once spent an evening with and is now showing vulnerabilities and human characteristics. It’s doing a number on my guarded idea of him.
I want to continue to think he’s an ass.
That he’s too busy for conversation because he’s buried in his phone.
But that’s not the case at all. He’s engaging.
He’s ambitious, and that ambition only reminds me of myself.
And that’s scary because I can relate to him.
Beforehand, I would keep him at arm’s length, claiming nothing in common, but now, there’s actual potential for friendship.
“It better, or I’m totally screwed.” He lifts his glass of water and brings it to his lips, so I awkwardly do the same. When he sets his drink back down, he asks, “So, what are you doing next on the renovation list? Or are you all done?”
I sigh, the weight of it all settling over my shoulders. “I wish I was done. Not even close. Next, we’re tackling the first cabin. I have to add a fresh coat of paint, new floors, change out countertops and light fixtures and new bathtub fittings, and then of course furniture.”
“And you’re doing that for all the cabins?”
I slowly nod. “It feels impossible to get done in such a short amount of time.”
“How short?”
“A few weeks,” I answer. “I just need a few cabins done, and then I can open up reservations while I work on the others. Hopefully get more visitors than the occasional runaway groomsman.” I give him a pointed look that makes him chuckle.
“And you’re doing this by yourself?”
“Jaz is helping when she can—she was telling me just yesterday, before she had to leave, that she thinks Tank is bringing his motorcycle club up here one weekend to help, but he hasn’t been able to nail that timeline down yet. So, until then, I’ll be tackling it all.”
“Let me help you.”
Could you imagine?
Sawyer and me doing renovations together? What an odd twist of fate that would be.
He did do a good job on the floors in the lobby, but there’s no way I could even remotely consider asking him for help. Not when he’s a guest, and not when... well... not when we’re not friends.
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I can manage. Plus, you have a movie to think about.”
“I can think about the movie while I help you.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s really okay. I can handle it. But thank you.” We sit there awkwardly for a few seconds, so I add, “Plus, Peter, my boyfriend, will be able to help on the weekends.”
“Weekends are two days—I can help all week.”
“No, really, it’s okay,” I answer, even though a small part of me wants to say yes. I bet with his help we could really work fast, but then I’d have to pay him, and I can’t afford to pay anyone. Free labor is the kind of help I need. Like help from Jaz, from Peter, from Tank’s friends.
Also, I’m not sure spending that much time with Sawyer is a good idea. The appalling first and second impressions I have of him are wearing off with every moment I spend with him. And I’m starting to think he’s actually not so bad.
Possibly a good person.
A fun person.
So, yeah, Sawyer is not an option.
Through the bustle of the bar and patrons demanding their drinks, Jaz appears and drops off our waffles. “I almost put tomatoes on your waffle, Julia, but decided to spare you.”
“Thank you?”
“You are more than welcome.” She taps the bar in front of him. “Hear from your brother recently? Has he asked for my number?”
Sawyer glances up from his waffle, looking nervous. “He has, actually.”
“Really?” Jaz asks, leaning forward with interest. “Did you give it to him?”
“Uh, remind me of the day you gave me your number, because I don’t recall you ever did.”
Jaz pulls a pen from behind her ear and picks up a coaster from the bar. She jots down her number and hands it to him. “I expect contact within forty-eight hours. If I don’t hear from him, I’m coming for you.” She slips her pen back behind her ear, winks, and then takes off again.
“That’s terrifying,” Sawyer says before putting the coaster in his pocket.
It is, but that’s Jaz.
Watching her work this hard, though, right after helping me with renovations, makes me realize just how lucky I am to live in a town like Canoodle, where friends will do just about anything for you.
“How did you two meet?” Sawyer asks, bringing his gaze back to me.
“She’s Tank’s granddaughter. Do you know Tank?”
“Oh yeah,” Sawyer says, eyes bright in the dim light. “I’ve already met him, and you know, I see the family resemblance.”
I laugh despite myself. “Yeah, and Sully’s best friends with Tank. We had no choice but to become friends when we were kids. I’d come up here a lot, especially in the summer, and spend the weekend with my grandparents while my dads would go on ‘short-term love trips,’ as they liked to call them.”
“Love trips.” Sawyer chuckles. “If I ever have another relationship, I think I need to call our getaways love trips.” He cuts into his waffle and takes a bite. “Sorry if this is offensive, but since you have two dads, does that mean you’re adopted?”
“I don’t find that offensive.” Am I pleasantly shocked that he’s asking personal questions?
Yes. Didn’t think we’d get to that point, ever.
“And yes, I was adopted. My birth mom’s from Idaho, and she got pregnant with me on prom night—typical.
She didn’t have the means to raise me and wasn’t ready, so she put me up for adoption.
My dads applied through a local adoption agency and were picked. ”
“Do you still have contact with your birth mom?”
“Not really, no. Last I heard, she’s living in Idaho still, married with two kids, but I haven’t felt the need to meet them. I know other people would probably want to know that side of their life, but I really don’t need to. I’m content just keeping that in the back of my head.”
“I can understand that. I think I’d feel the same way as you.” He takes a large bite of his waffle. I glance over and catch the way his strong jaw works as he chews, before my eyes travel to his neck when he swallows. “So, growing up with two dads in Palm Springs? How was that?”
His question startles me back to my waffle, and I stare down at the nooks as they gather maple syrup. Jesus, Fallon, stop staring at the man.
“Uh, well... I went to some of the best themed parties of my life.”
He chuckles. “I didn’t want to stereotype, but I could imagine the kind of shindigs they put on.”
“Not at all. My dad and papa easily throw the best parties. My friends growing up always looked forward to their end-of-the-school-year bonanzas. Jaz would come down as well for them. Always the best food, the best decor, and RuPaul’s Drag Race –level costumes.
I missed their summer ball this year, and I’m still trying to mentally get over the FOMO. ”
“What was the theme?”
“‘Let’s get intoxi-gay-ted.’ You were supposed to bring your favorite cocktail recipe, serve up a flight, and then there was a blind vote for the winner. The Swamp Sipper took home the prize.”
“The Swamp Sipper?” He winces. “Dare I ask?”
I shake my head. “All I know is dry ice was involved, and it was a crowd-pleaser.”
“What was the prize?”
“I’m glad you asked,” I say, biting into my waffle, loving the sugar dots Jaz adds to the batter.
I have a sweet tooth, and the fact that I can satisfy it at dinner does everything for me.
“They throw this summer bash every year, and a contest is always part of it, so a coveted trophy goes from household to household. A medal of honor, if you will.”
“What is it?”
“A spray-painted gold-and-glitter dildo nailed to a block of wood.”
Sawyer nearly chokes on his waffle as he coughs out a laugh. I give him a solid pat on the back while he takes a sip of his water.
When he’s settled, he says, “I was not expecting that answer, but that is freaking amazing.”
“And of course there’s a large group text for the winners to show off pictures of the trophy every year. I’ve never won. Neither has Jaz, and it really has taken a toll on her self-confidence. You can’t even mention it to her—she gets so upset.”
“I would be upset too if I owned a bar and couldn’t win the glittery gold dick for a year.”
I laugh out loud, and Jaz’s eyes snap my way from across the bar.
Her expression isn’t angry, more curious than anything, but I know she’s going to drill me tomorrow.
With her disdain for Sawyer, I can’t imagine her liking me sitting next to him at the bar, sharing a conversation, and *gulp* laughing.
In my defense, as you can recall, there weren’t any other seats.
“Do your dads come up to visit often?”
“Not as often as I’d hope. I love it here in Canoodle.
When I was younger, it was my second home, and now that I live here permanently, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
That being said, it’s not super handicap friendly.
My dad is paralyzed, from the waist down.
So, when he comes here, he has a hard time getting in and out of some of the buildings around the Cove and in town.
It’s a problem Sully had been addressing before he, uh, got sick.
Since the buildings are so old, they weren’t necessarily up to today’s code, but we’ve been working on it. ”
“You know, now that I think about it, the whole right side of the street of the town is raised on a hill—every store is only accessible by stairs.”
“Yup,” I say. “That’s an old mountain town for you.
At the Cove, we do have a handicap-accessible cabin off to the side of the main residence that we don’t ever use for guests.
Sully started building it for my dad but never was able to finish it.
The bones are there, though—just needs the last touches. ”
“Where do your dads stay when they’re here?”
My cheeks flush from embarrassment. Dad has never complained to Sully or me about how hard it is to get around, but we’ve witnessed it, and Papa has made a few comments here and there.
It should not have taken this long to fix things.
“We convert the back office into a bedroom. It’s not ideal, but it works.
I know it’s one of the reasons they’re not up here often—the whole setup is uncomfortable. ”
Sawyer’s quiet, and I wonder if he’s judging how little I can accommodate my own father.
“They said they’ll come up to help maybe in a week or so,” I hurry to add.
“So, that’s good at least. I miss them a lot.
Before I moved up here to help Sully, I’d have Sunday-night dinner with them every week.
They’d make an elaborate four-course meal, and I’d bring dessert. Some of my favorite times.”
He pushes a piece of waffle around on his plate.
“I wish I spent that kind of time with my family. They own a vineyard just outside of Palm Springs. My brother helps them, so they’re always together, and since I need to be close to LA, I always feel like an outsider when we get together—not that they treat me like one. ”
“I felt like that every time I came up here after being gone for a while, but then the awkwardness always faded away after a bit.”
“Same.” He finishes off his waffle and leans back in his stool. “This night turned out to be better than I thought.”
“Oh yeah? What did you think was going to happen?”
He brings his water to his lips and takes a sip.
Once again, I unapologetically watch as his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallowing.
The thick column of his neck contracts, fascinating me, pulling me into a trance.
What’s wrong with you, Fallon? Swallowing is not sexy.
I should not be fascinated by a man drinking a glass of water, but God, I am. It fascinates me. He fascinates me.
“I thought I was going to take a quiet walk to the bar, dodging the demon ducks—”
“Oooh, experience their snappiness?”
“Day one. I’ve steered clear of them ever since.
Then I figured I’d come here and get harassed by Jaz the entire night while picking tomatoes out of my meal.
Instead, I’ve had a delicious waffle sans tomatoes and a great conversation.
But don’t worry,” he says quickly. “I don’t think we’re friends or anything. Just... acquaintances.”
I hold back my smile.
“Good, wouldn’t want to give you the wrong impression.”
“Trust me, you aren’t.” He winks, just a flick of his eyelid, but from that little movement the strangest thing happens to me—my stomach does a crazy somersault.
My skin breaks out into a sea of goose bumps, and my body fills up with this urgent need to let out a very large, very unflattering sigh of contentment.
What on earth is happening to me?
My cheeks heat up, and I look away from him as I try to mentally process why he’s giving me all these new, tingly feelings. Why is he so different from what I expected?
Why does he have to be funny? Kind? Interested?
Why can’t he be the man I met at the Golden Star?
Why does he have to complicate things? Because that’s what it feels like. The last thing I need right now is complicated, and yet, when I look back up at him, I can’t help but smile at just how adorable he looks sitting next to me.
Jaz: What the hell was going on tonight?
Fallon: I’m exhausted, Jaz. I just want to go to bed.
Jaz: No way in hell. You need to explain yourself.
Fallon: Explain what?
Jaz: You were blushing. I saw it. And I saw the way you were looking at him.
Fallon: I was not. And it was hot in there, everyone’s cheeks were red.
Jaz: You are a liar, and you know it. Do you like him?
Fallon: What? Are you insane? First of all, I have a boyfriend. Second of all, I barely even know the guy. How could I possibly like him?
Jaz: Oh, I don’t know, he’s insanely attractive, kind, and tall. Not to mention he makes you laugh.
Fallon: Uh ... I thought you didn’t like him.
Jaz: I don’t, but let’s call a spade a spade. Sawyer is a catch, and you would be a nimrod if you didn’t think otherwise. So ... are you attracted to him?
Fallon: I love you, but you’ve lost it. Go to bed.
Jaz: You’ve lost it!
Fallon: Okay ... see you tomorrow morning.
Jaz: Yeah, you WILL. Because I expect you to explain yourself.
Fallon: If that’s the case, don’t bother coming.
Jaz: Ha. Nice try. I’ll be bringing breakfast to lessen the blow. See you bright and early.