CHAPTER TWELVE SAWYER #2
And then the door flies open, making both of us startle and jump in place. Sully walks in, and his eyes meet mine. “Phil, there you are. Tonight, horseshoes. I’m going to show you how a real man plays.”
I can feel Fallon’s eyes on me, questioning, wondering what the hell Sully is talking about.
“Uh, sure.”
“Sully,” Fallon says, stepping in. “The horseshoe pits aren’t in commission right now.”
“Yes, they are, I was just down there. Brand new.”
I can see the look of concern on Fallon’s face—she must think he’s having a nonlucid moment.
“They are,” I say, helping Sully out. “All cleared out; they look great.”
Fallon frowns. “What are you talking about?” she whispers.
I don’t want to tell her I was the one who cleared them out.
For some reason, I like moving around the Cove, getting work done undetected.
I like being a mystery to Fallon—part of me thinks if she found out I was the one helping, fixing all the things Sully wants fixed, she wouldn’t let me do it anymore.
And doing renovations has been freeing, cathartic, a way for me to reconnect with myself.
The pressure of Hollywood can be so demanding, and it’s easy to lose yourself.
And for all my success, I know I’ve lost pieces of myself over the years.
Being here in Canoodle, speaking with Sully, working with my hands again, experiencing the sheer loyalty and camaraderie of a small community—it’s given me a new start. I’m not ready for it to end just yet.
So, I opt for bending the truth. “Yeah, I was down there on a run, and they look perfect. Told Sully I would challenge him to a game.”
“What?” she says, confused, and turns to Sully. “Can you go to the bathroom? We’re going to leave for Palm Springs soon.”
“I’m not a child. I know when to go to the bathroom,” he huffs.
“Then go now—it’s a long trip down the mountain.” With that, she takes off toward the back door. I follow her, pulled forward by a force I don’t really understand.
She charges down the path, between the cabins, and to the play yard, where, over the past few days, I’ve fixed the horseshoes, cleaned up the landscaping, added some benches, and even built a wooden scoreboard for the two courts.
“What the actual hell?” She plants her hands on her hips, looking around. “Who’s doing this?” she mutters under her breath. She walks up to the pit and runs her hand over the smooth, stained bench. “It’s... perfect.”
“Yeah, looks pretty good,” I say with a slight shake to my voice. Please don’t ask if it’s me doing this. Please. “So, yeah, Sully and I will break it in tonight.”
“We won’t be home until late,” she says, looking up at me. “Maybe tomorrow.” She walks over to the scoreboard and plays with the point system. “I’m asking my dads about this.”
“About what?”
“About all of this.” She sweeps her hand around. “I think they hired someone to go around and fix things. Did they think I wouldn’t notice? I just want to know who it is.”
“What, uh, what else did they fix?” I ask, playing dumb.
“The picnic table area, Sully’s bench, now this. And I think I saw some mended fences down by the road as well.”
She did. I tackled those the other day. Took a few seconds.
“It means a lot to me, seeing the Cove being transformed like this. I want to be able to say thank you, to show how grateful I am for all the hard work. And I also don’t like things happening without me knowing.”
Well then, she might not like what I have in store for today.
But that’s not going to change my plan. She’s going to be gone all day, which gives me plenty of time to finish the cabin.
She looks down at the time on her phone and groans.
“If I want to make it to Sully’s appointments on time, I need to get going.
Lord knows he’s going to have to pee when we’re driving.
” She glances at me. “Enjoy your muffin; sorry about Jaz—if you want to stay somewhere else, I completely understand.”
I chuckle. “I’m fine. Safe drive.” I offer her a wave as she smiles lightly over her shoulder and then jogs toward the main lobby.
When she’s out of view, I take a seat at the bench overlooking the horseshoe courts and undo the wrapper from my muffin. I take a deep breath, savoring the piney mountain air. The calm before the renovation storm.
I smile to myself.
This should be fun.
“This is not fucking fun,” I groan into the phone while lying back on the floor I just finished.
“What the hell are you doing?” Roarick asks.
“Renovating a cabin.”
“Why?”
“As a surprise.”
“A surprise?” Roarick asks. “Uh, correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you supposed to be writing a screenplay summary? Not renovating a cabin.”
“I’m coming up with ideas while renovating.”
“I see, and what exactly are these ideas you’re coming up with?”
I lift my water bottle to my mouth and take a large sip, wetting my very dry throat. “Oh, you know, ideas.”
“Name one,” Roarick challenges.
“Uh... troll collector falls in love with local Rigatoni Roy. They join forces and make a museum out of pasta and trolls.”
“What... the... actual... fuck? Please for the love of God tell me that was a joke.” When I’m silent, he goes off. “Sawyer, you can’t possibly think a movie about someone who collects trolls and some Italian food Ralph—”
“Rigatoni Roy.”
“Whatever, you can’t possibly think that is an idea that’s going to be greenlighted.”
“There could be potential.”
“There is absolutely zero potential behind that idea. Seriously, dude, what’s going on? You’re never this dried up for ideas. You always seem to have something in your back pocket.”
“I know, I know. It’s just been, I don’t know... hard. I guess I haven’t really tapped into that part of my brain lately, because when I do, I think of Annalisa and Simon, and that’s the last thing I want to think about.”
“Why? Are you still in love with her?”
“What? No. That ship has sailed. There’s not a fat chance in hell I could ever be in love with her again.
I’ve seen what she’s capable of. I’ve seen how fake she is.
When I first met her, she was down to earth, kind, a hard worker, and ever since she became famous, that’s all she cares about.
She’s all image now, and I don’t think that’ll ever change. ”
“Attention can be a dangerous thing,” Roarick says. “For a lot of people, it’s their downfall if they don’t know how to professionally handle it. Instead of using the attention to be for good, it becomes the downfall in their career.”
“So far, Annalisa’s riding high on her attention—her career is far from falling.”
“Trust me, she’ll have a downfall. It’s bound to happen with attention seekers, because once that attention starts to fade, they’re so desperate to get it back they wind up doing something off brand, something that will ultimately take them out.”
I think of all the other actors who’ve done just that, who were once in Annalisa’s shoes. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
“I know I am. I’ve seen plenty of celebrity downfalls, and you know how wine people gossip. Working at the vineyard, I’ve heard from different wine labels who come to the farm, going on and on about the latest celebrity hosting they just did. It will happen. Just be patient.”
“I don’t want her to have a downfall,” I say quickly.
“Bullshit,” Roarick laughs.
“I’m serious. I wouldn’t want to see that.”
“So, you’re telling me that if in the news tomorrow you see that Annalisa posted some tasteless story on her Instagram and people started revolting against her, you wouldn’t take a little joy in that?”
“Maybe a little,” I answer honestly. I can’t lie—I know I’d feel just a slight sense of justice.
He laughs. “That’s right you would. Everyone enjoys the downfall more than the rise. But that’s beside the point. If you’re not in love with Annalisa, what’s the big deal? You’ve moved on, you said your piece with your middle fingers on an altar of a church; what more could you want?”
“I don’t know, it just feels... sensitive, I guess. I’m not feeling super romantic at the moment.”
“Then get romantic. Maybe ask Jaz out on a date.”
That makes me actually guffaw. “I think we’d both rather jump off the back of Beggar’s Hole than go on a date with each other. Plus, seems like you two are talking...”
“We are. Just wanted to test you, see if there were any feelings there.”
“Trust me, the only feelings I have toward Jaz are pure terror.”
“I don’t see why; she’s a breath of fresh air.” My brother has been spending too much time with the grapes. “Is there anyone else you can ask out?”
“Honestly, I don’t get out at all. I’ve been busy with renovations.”
“That’s right, and why exactly are you doing those again?”
I stand from where I’ve been sprawled out on the floor and start picking up the trash that I’ve thrown around the space. “Because it keeps me busy, keeps my mind busy.”
“And Fallon is okay with you just... working around the cabins all the time.”
“About that...” I feel myself flush. “She, uh, she kind of doesn’t know it’s me.”
“Wait, she doesn’t know you’re doing renovations? How does that work?”
“They’ve all been in the back of the property, and she hasn’t noticed me doing anything. Sully’s been guiding me. I don’t know, it’s been nice. And then she saw some of the work I did. Man, you should have seen the smile on her face. She was so happy.”
The phone goes silent.
“You there?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Why are you being silent?”
“Just thinking.”
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“Uh... how you’re totally falling for the cabin owner. Dude, there’s your story. Wayward traveler stops in small town to get away from the fame and pressures of Hollywood—and falls in love with the kind, humble cabin owner. That is totally something you’d write.”
“First of all, I’m not falling for her. Second of all, I feel weird basing a story off this town.”
“Why? You’re the one who always says you need to be immersed into your environment to write a story. Well, here you are, immersed. Use it.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “Doesn’t feel right. These people have been nice to me—I don’t want them to think I’m taking advantage and using them for plots.”
“Are you talking about the people of the town, or are you talking about Fallon in particular?”
“She’s part of the town, isn’t she?” I ask.
“She is... she’s also really pretty.”
“Fuck off with that shit, man.”
A hearty laugh echoes through the phone. “Come on, you can’t tell me you’re not kicking yourself just a little for not paying attention during your blind date. I honestly don’t know how you could ignore her, let alone not remember her.”
Yeah, I’m still trying to process how that happened.
All I can remember around that time in my life is that I wasn’t in a healthy mental state. I was trying to finish up a project, Annalisa was messing with my head, I was dealing with Movieflix; it just... hell, nothing was working for me. I never should have gone on the date in the first place.
“Can we move past Fallon?”
“Why are you getting so touchy?”
“Because...” I trail off, at a loss.
“Because why?”
“Because... I don’t want to talk about her.”
“You know, your refusal to talk about her leads me to believe that you really do want to talk about her, but you’re afraid of what you might say if you do.”
“What?” I ask, getting a headache from just that sentence.
“What cabin are you renovating right now?”
“Uh... one in the back of the property. Why does that matter?”
“Because it does. She doesn’t know, right?”
“Right,” I drag out.
“So how did you know it needed renovating?”
What the hell is he getting at? “She mentioned it last night when we were eating dinner. She said this was the cabin Sully was trying to finish so her dads would have a place to stay. Her one dad is paralyzed, and it’s the cabin they were making handicap accessible for him.
Sully couldn’t finish it after he got worse, and her dads don’t come up to visit as much—”
“Dude.”
“What?” I ask.
“You had dinner with her last night?”
“It’s not what it seems,” I say, feeling myself get defensive. “We just happened to be sitting next to each other. We didn’t go out to dinner together.”
“Still, you talked. She told you about her dads’ cabin, and now you’re renovating it. I hate to say it, Sawyer, but I think you like her.”
“I barely know her well enough to like her,” I protest.
“Doesn’t mean you’re not interested. Tell me this... does your heart race when you see her?” When I don’t answer right away, because honestly, it races like a goddamn horse, he continues: “I hate to slap you with the truth, bro, but I think you have a thing for Fallon.”
My jaw clenches in frustration as I survey the cabin I’ve been working on today.
I’m not frustrated by Roarick’s accusations. I’m frustrated because somewhere, subconsciously, I think he might be right.
I don’t know much about Fallon, but I do know she’s selfless.
She’s strong. She’s caring. And she’s loyal, an attribute that I don’t see too often where I live.
Her relationship with Sully intrigues me.
Her need to preserve the place she’s so fond of tugs at my heart.
And her boundless determination is—unfortunately—a turn-on.
Not to mention, her smile captivates me, her laugh feels like a warm hug, and it’s so simple to get lost in her eyes when she looks at me.
So yeah, maybe I might have a small, very tiny, almost unseeable thing for Fallon, but it’s nothing I would ever act on because she has a boyfriend.
Because she doesn’t even want to be my friend.
Because I had a shot, and I blew it.
There’s nothing more to be said on the topic.
Fallon is off limits.