CHAPTER THIRTEEN FALLON #2
“Do you have a rapport with him?” Dad asks.
“Sort of. He helped me with the lobby floor—God, I should have put it together then. I’ve just had such a one-track mind lately. He knew exactly what he was doing and finished the floor in no time. And then we had dinner together the other night.”
“Dinner?” Papa asks, raising his brow.
“Not like that. We just happened to sit by each other at the bar. We didn’t go out or anything.
But we’ve talked a bit and—” I bite my bottom lip.
“We kind of went on a blind date before I moved up here. It was horrendous—he didn’t even remember me when we ran into each other again.
But that doesn’t matter, none of that matters.
I should probably, I don’t know... probably tell him to stop. ”
“Why would you do that?” Dad asks.
“Because he has a life of his own. Because he’s a screenwriter and probably has better things to do than fix up the Cove. To be bossed around by an old man with Alzheimer’s.”
“But he has to be doing it for some reason—maybe ask him before you tell him to stop,” Dad says.
“I agree. Get to the bottom of it first, because for all you know, he needs the work just as much as Sully does, and I think we’ve established it’s helping Sully.
” Papa smiles. “We love you, baby girl, but sometimes your stubborn pride can get in the way. You have this need to prove to the world that you can do things on your own. It’s okay to ask for help. ”
“It really is,” Dad says as he rolls over to me and takes my hand. “And also, be careful... Peter is a good man.”
“I know he is.”
“And he loves you,” Papa says.
I nod, something in my stomach clenching. “I know.”
“As long as you know.” Dad grips my cheek and kisses it. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” I say.
After we clean up and I load up the car with a very tired Sully, who is already starting to drift off, I stand outside my car, waving goodbye to my dads as they retreat into the house. Peter steps up to me and grips my hips, pulling me close as he presses a kiss to my forehead.
“I wish I didn’t have to say bye right now.”
“I know. But I’m glad you were able to have dinner with us, especially on such short notice.”
He chuckles. “Luckily I didn’t have a big workload today and was able to make it work.
” He moves his hands up to my ribs, and I feel my body light up under his touch.
“This weekend, can I take you out to dinner? Maybe Rigatoni Roy’s?
Just you and me. We can dress up for each other, I can hold your hand, and we can walk around the lake. ”
“I’d like that a lot.”
“You would?” he asks, insecurity flashing through his eyes.
“Yes,” I say, sliding my hand to the back of his neck and pulling him in close. I press my lips to his, and he gently pushes me up against the car window, deepening our open-mouth kiss.
When he pulls away, he heaves a sigh of relief. “Okay, I’ll see you Friday night.”
I kiss him one more time. “Friday night.”
He drags his thumb over my cheek. “I love you, Fallon.”
I smile at him, and instead of answering him, I kiss him one more time before getting in my car. He holds the door open, and once I’m settled and buckled in—Sully lightly snoring in the passenger side—he leans in. “Drive safe.”
“I will.” I wave. “Bye.”
“Bye.” He shuts the door, and as I pull out of the driveway, he stands there, hands in his pockets, watching me drive away, while guilt consumes me.
Luck was on my side when we got back to Canoodle.
Sully startled awake, so I didn’t have to try to help him into the residence, holding him tightly under the arm like I usually do.
Instead, he walked himself back inside, and I followed with our spinach tapas and put them in the freezer while he got ready for bed.
I helped him into his bed, set up his monitor—which he hates—and then turned on his fan to make sure he was comfortable.
“Are you good?” I ask him now.
“Yes, thank you,” he says softly. “You’re a good granddaughter. I love you very much.”
“I love you too, Sully,” I say.
When I go to shut the door, he says, “He’s a good man.”
“Peter?” I ask, pausing and turning back.
“No,” Sully grumbles. “Phil. I like him a lot.”
“Oh... I’m glad.”
“He’d be a great husband—think about it.”
I hold back the roll of my eyes. “Okay, good night, Sully.”
“Good night.”
I shut the door behind me and consider getting ready for bed, but I know there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep until I talk with Sawyer and ask him about the renovations.
So, phone in hand—which notifies me when Sully is detected on his monitor—I head down the stairs and out the back of the lobby toward the path that leads to the cabins.
I spot his immediately and notice the lights are off.
Hmm, if he’s already sleeping, I don’t want to bother him. Although a small part of me wants to bang on his door, just to get the conversation over and done with, but I know that wouldn’t be fair to him, since he seems to be working so hard.
With a resigned sigh, I’m turning back to the residence just as something in my peripheral vision catches my attention. I glance to the right, and through the throng of pine trees, I glimpse a flicker of light coming from the handicap-accessible cabin.
Curious, I head down that way, stepping carefully between the dark trees, my stomach churning with nerves as I wonder why that light is on. I draw closer, and the light gets brighter and brighter until I clear the pines and turn the corner—only to stop dead in my tracks.
The ramp to the cabin is finished, handrail and all.
No ...
He didn’t.
Did he?
The door is open, so I walk up the ramp, which feels wonderfully sturdy under my steps, and peek past the open door. My breath catches in my chest.
Sawyer is hovering over the bed—which is centered in the middle of the room, not against the wall—struggling with a fitted sheet.
But that’s not what’s making my heart beat rapidly in my chest.
It’s the finished floor.
The installed moldings.
The beautiful sconces shining bright with new light bulbs.
It’s the clean, put-together room that has been languishing, unfinished, for months now.
“Come on, you fucker,” Sawyer says as the fitted sheet snaps up from the mattress.
“Need help?” I ask, stepping into the doorway.
“Jesus fuck!” he yells and startles backward, the fitted sheet bouncing into a ball on the mattress. “Christ.” Hands on his hips, he takes a deep breath. “You scared me.”
“I can see that.” I smirk, finding it quite funny that this large, good-with-his-hands kind of man can be so easily startled. I glance around the room. “Sawyer, what... what have you been doing?”
He looks down, the guilt clear on his face. “I, uh, I thought that you might want a place for your dads to stay.” He shrugs as if that’s the end of the story. But it can’t possibly be the reason.
“Why?”
He scratches the back of his head. “Because you were sad they don’t come to visit, and I wanted something to do.”
“The bench, horseshoe pits, and picnic tables weren’t enough to do?”
His cheeks brighten with a blush as he glances away. “Those were side projects.”
I take a step closer, my body warming with every inch I draw closer to this man. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t think you’d let me if I told you.
” He shrugs again. “Honestly, it wasn’t my intention to do all of the projects.
I was out near the lake, working on ideas for my next screenplay, and Sully asked me why I broke the bench I was lying next to.
I told him I didn’t, and he called me a bullshitter. ”
I let out a low chuckle. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. I remembered seeing the sign in the lobby about his Alzheimer’s, so I kind of just went with it. Told him I was sorry and that I would fix it. So, I did.”
My heart lurches in my chest.
“From there, he asked me why I hadn’t fixed the picnic tables, so I started working on those, and he joined me.
I don’t know, it was nice talking to him and just listening to his stories about your grandma Joan.
It was nice to talk to someone real. The work was hard, but spending time with Sully has been the real joy. ”
My heart vibrates against my rib cage.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound so loud that I can barely hear him over the beat of my own pulse.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
He’s sorry? How could he possibly feel sorry when he’s done so much for me, for my family.
.. for Sully? No one, and I mean absolutely no one, has ever done anything this kind for me.
And all the air in my lungs escapes as I realize right here, right now, that Sawyer has made a significant impact in my life.
He has touched my heart in a way I’m not sure anyone else could.
“You... you didn’t overstep,” I say, my voice cracking as my emotions flood over.
Grateful can’t begin to describe how I feel.
I’m indebted to this man.
“You have been very kind. And this...” I motion to the cabin. “It’s...” A tear slips down my cheek.
“Shit,” he says and then closes the space between us with long strides. He’s only inches away from me, and as he reaches up to wipe my tear away, I feel a warm contentment in his touch. “Don’t cry, Fallon. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t apologize; these are happy, grateful tears. I’m not upset with you.”
He puts his hands in his front pockets and scrunches his shoulders. “Okay.”
The inches between us turn into a foot as he takes a step back, a step I want to protest. I want to reach out, pull him in close again. I... God, I want to thank him a million times over. I want to cry... sob into his shoulder. Show him just how grateful I am.
But instead, we awkwardly stand there, staring at anything but each other. I can feel the air grow thick as I try to figure out what to do, what to say.