CHAPTER SIXTEEN SAWYER #3
“If I go on some lengthy diatribe of how wonderfully thoughtful you are, two things will happen. One, you’ll black out halfway through from so much pride that all you’ll be able to think about is how you’re ‘the man.’ And two, you’ll make it your life’s mission to bring up the compliments I toss your way as a reminder of this moment, the moment when I allowed you to enjoy some mediocre praise. ”
I pause.
I think on her response.
“Yeah, you’re right about that.”
She lets out a loud laugh just as Agora sets down our drinks without a word.
When she walks out of earshot, I lower my voice. “She has quite the personality.” See, talking point. “Is her last name Phobe? You know... Agora Phobe .”
Fallon shakes her head in mock disappointment. “Cheap joke, Sawyer. And offensive, since agoraphobia is a real thing.”
“Yeah.” I scratch my chin. “Not proud of myself.”
“At least you can admit that.”
I perk up. “Does that add to my star rating?”
“No,” she answers, expressionless, and then takes a sip of her water. “Despite the lack of personality while waitressing, Agora is actually one of the lead actresses in this summer’s play in the park.”
“Play in the park? What’s that?”
“Every summer, the town puts on a play voted on by the mayor, and they have a few summer night showings. This year I believe the chosen play, or musical, I guess, is Hairspray . Agora was cast as Penny, the upbeat best friend.”
“Seriously? Upbeat?” I ask, chuckling. “She must be one hell of an actress.”
“So I hear, and the whole town is excited to see it—word on the street is Roy is stealing the show.”
“Roy? Who is he... wait.” I raise an eyebrow, and Fallon smiles broadly. “Is Roy the mom?”
Fallon nods. “Edna Turnblad will be played by the incomparable Rigatoni Roy.”
“Oh hell, now this is something I’m going to have to see. Roy decked out in a muumuu—that has to be a vision.”
Fallon leans in and lowers her voice. “Jaz told me that she caught him in pantyhose the other day at the restaurant. He forgot to take them off. When she pointed them out to him, he said they kept his nuggets feeling comfortable.”
I wince. “Oooh, not something I needed to envision.” I shift on my stool, my mind landing on a key detail. “So, I have a question. How does a cat pick what the summer play in the park is?”
“How all decisions are made in this town. Two food bowls are presented to the mayor with the same amount of food, and underneath each bowl is a slip of paper with each choice written on it. Whichever bowl the mayor chooses to eat from is the winner.”
“That is surprisingly diplomatic.”
“It has worked very well, and not one person complains. Once the bowls have been chosen, the argument is over and respected. The mayor has spoken.”
“There’s never been a confrontation, or even anger, from the outcome?”
She shakes her head. “The only controversy that’s come from a mayoral decision was when Beefy Boofcheck, the Saint Bernard from two terms ago, took a nap between the two bowls instead of choosing one.”
“Scandal,” I say. “What was the decision that had to be made, and how was it made?”
“They were deciding on what color the kitchen should be painted in the mayor’s residence. Since no decision was made, the kitchen wasn’t painted, despite needing a new paint job. If you visit the mayor’s house, which is open for tours on Tuesdays and Thursdays—”
“Noted.” My lips lift while I bring my water glass up to my lips.
“You can still see the old paint-color samples on the kitchen’s back wall near the fridge. Both brilliantly ugly.”
“They haven’t painted it since? In two terms?”
“Nope. Because you see, Sawyer, the decision would have to default back to Beefy, since he was the one who originally chose a draw on the decision—it’s in the bylaws—but unfortunately, Beefy was laid to rest a year after his term, therefore...”
“The kitchen will never be painted,” I finish for her.
“Precisely. I’m sure there’s some sort of amendment where the decision would fall to another mayor in the event of a death, but since the town is still reeling from losing Beefy, no one’s even thought of bringing up the kitchen again.”
“They were that attached to Beefy?”
Fallon brings her hand to her chest. “Oh, Sawyer, you have no idea of the love this town had for Beefy. Every morning he’d take walks and stop by every place of business to check in on the proprietor, who in return would toss him a treat.
He also helped with Saturday deliveries by pulling a wagon along the sidewalk.
He was truly a government official immersed with the people.
Whenever you heard that squeaky wheel of his wagon come closer, it gave you a sense of comfort and reassurance that this town was well looked after.
But when his term was up, a new era dawned, and the town chose a cat to serve as mayor.
” She shakes her head, as if she can’t believe it.
When her eyes connect with mine, my stomach twists in knots from how much I like this freaking girl. “It’s never been the same since.”
“Cats and dogs run the world very differently. Let me guess—the new mayor isn’t making Saturday deliveries?”
“Nope, she’s a show cat. More Instagram worthy than anything.
All appearances. While Beefy was one with the people, Miss Daphne Lynn Pearlbottom delights the townspeople with her collection of fascinators that rival the queen’s collection.
” Whispering, she adds, “Miss Pearlbottom has yet to wear a duplicate.”
“Wow, impressive... that’s quite the collection.”
“One of the guest rooms in the house is dedicated entirely to Miss Pearlbottom’s fascinators.”
“Looks like I need to take a tour, specifically to see the famous color swatches in the kitchen.”
“Worth the time, which you should have plenty of after this weekend. Hopefully, having Tank’s guys helping, as well as my dads, will mean we can get everything done and start booking.
Which reminds me: we’re going to have to kick you out of your cabin for the renovations this weekend, but don’t worry.
Tank is taking Sully this weekend, and I can change the bedding.
You can take Sully’s bedroom. It’ll be two nights, that’s it. ”
“Sure, that’s not a problem. As long as you turn off the monitors—I don’t need you watching me while I sleep.”
She rolls her eyes. “You say that as if it’s something I’d enjoy doing.”
“Wouldn’t you?” I waggle my brows at her, and she reaches out and pushes my face away, laughing.
“I wouldn’t, trust me—”
“Well, hello there.”
Startled, I look past Fallon’s shoulder and right into the deep-brown eyes of Peter, the boyfriend.
Holy shit, where did he come from?
“Peter,” Fallon says as she turns in her stool to face him. Peter eyes me for a few more seconds before bringing his attention to her. His hand lifts up to her cheek and cups it tenderly as he leans down and places a kiss on her lips.
His movements are slow.
Deliberate.
Like he’s making a statement right in front of me.
She’s mine, back ... away.
And it’s fucking agonizing, watching his lips roam over hers.
He gets to touch her.
Caress her.
Claim her.
It’s a tidal wave of truth crashing into me, reminding me that Fallon is attached.
When they part, she smiles up at him. “What are you doing here?” Fuck, that smile.
“Got a long weekend so I can help out with the renovations. Was I... interrupting anything?” Peter glances toward me.
“No,” Fallon says quickly. “Just taking a break. Sit down, we can get some food for you.”
The apprehension, almost... accusation in Peter’s gaze is sounding off warning bells in my head. He doesn’t like what he sees. Even though he doesn’t have evidence of anything going awry, he doesn’t like it. And I don’t blame him.
Peter puffs his brawny chest. I can call it right now and classify him as the proud peacock in the story line—the overprotective, tentatively jealous boyfriend.
Although, if this were a movie, there’d be something wrong with him, something that would make him unappealing.
You know, the workaholic jerk who doesn’t have time for his girlfriend.
That’s not the case here, because he clearly makes time for her by cutting out of work early.
Then there is the uninterested boyfriend, the one who makes viewers wonder why the heroine is even with the punk. But Peter is anything but uninterested. Every time I’ve seen them together, he’s very interested. Always attentive. Always touching her. Making fucking googly eyes at her.
And lastly, there’s the long-distance boyfriend who adds too much pressure, wanting them to be together but completely forgetting that the heroine has a life of her own. Goals. Dreams. Once again, not an issue here.
So... is Peter really the one? The story written in the stars is of Fallon and... Peter?
Hell, why do I care? It’s enough that they’re together, enough that she’s off limits. I shouldn’t care if they’re meant to be together or not.
I snap out of my delirium. “You know, it must have been a long trip up the mountain. I’ll go ask the hostess for another seat so you two can catch up.”
I start to lift from my chair when Peter holds his hand out. “Not necessary. It would be good to get to know the person who’s been helping Fallon out during these renovations.” He gestures to my stool. “Take a seat, Samuel.”
Ooooh, I was about to mentally congratulate him for being the bigger man before he pulled that classic power move—the old misname trick.
You see, since he’s in the presence of his woman, he doesn’t want to come off as a jealous idiot at finding his girl eating a meal with another man, so he takes the under-the-table, backhanded-douchery route. .. using the wrong name.
Pulled that move straight from the polite-asshole toolbox.
I’ve borrowed a trick or two from there before. And I have most definitely misnamed someone before. Pretty sure I did it to Simon, the first time I had to have dinner with him and Annalisa.