8. Sadie
8
SADIE
After avoiding talking to Ian for a couple of days, I begin to wonder if I imagined his enthusiasm for being my date to Piper’s wedding weekend.
Sure, I acted cool about his daughter entering my house and stealing one of my clients’ dogs. That’s what I’m known for—handling any situation without fuss or fanfare. The unofficial town doormat. Suddenly the one man who wants to treat me well is famous and smoking hot. Talk about a potential complication. As much as it’s fun and flattering to think of walking into the wedding on Ian’s arm, he doesn’t owe me. I could throat punch Sally and Trina for suggesting the ridiculous arrangement.
Well, not Trina. I can’t assault a pregnant woman. Sally is fair game, though. Besides, will anyone believe me showing up with somebody like The Playmaker is anything but fake? Can I even pull it off?
Oh yeah, I’ve done my homework. Including a ridiculous amount of hours the past couple of nights watching interviews and highlights from Ian’s college and NFL careers.
Realizing what a big deal he is makes my insecurities blossom like allergies during hay fever season. Several clients have already asked about my neighbor, especially when I introduce his daughter as my summer assistant.
Apparently, the impression around town is that my life is so dull, not even a twelve-year-old would want to be involved. Gives a girl the warm fuzzies.
But Riva seems happy to hang with me and is doing a fantastic job so far, especially for a kid her age with no prior experience working with animals. And I like having someone to talk to other than the dogs, even if the girl refuses to say much about her dad and my level of curiosity is embarrassing.
“Barkley, heel,” she tells the two-year-old doodle mix I put her in charge of as we walk the perimeter of Skylark’s biweekly farmers market. The dog slows his stride to match hers, and she gives him a shoulder pat as a reward, just like I taught her.
The bright sunshine and warm temperatures make it a perfect afternoon for the farmers market, and the Skylark community is out in force. People around here love any excuse to gather, so we host more festivals and events than could be featured in a dozen Hallmark Channel movies.
This propensity to celebrate any holiday no matter how quirky or obscure with a town-sponsored activity is a serious bone of contention with our interim mayor. Iris has big ideas for how to improve Skylark’s services and infrastructure, but has to contend with the fact that most of her budget is earmarked for, as she calls it, “fluff and nonsense.”
Several people greet me, and I wave but don’t start any conversations, because most of them will more than likely involve Ian. The fact that Riva is the product of two megawatt stars—her mother even more famous than her dad—seems to be a sore spot for the girl. Piper and I got a lot of attention after Mom died, and we both just wanted to blend in. The situation with Riva isn’t the same, but I still want to protect her.
I notice Riva pause as a group of kids who look to be about her age walk out from the end of one of the open-air aisles.
“Have you met anyone in the neighborhood? Your dad’s right about the community center being a hub of summer activity.” She’s confided that as much as he wants her to get involved in organized sports, it’s the last thing she’ll agree to.
“No.” She eyes the group but subtly ducks behind me. “There’s no actual point to making friends.” She looks at the ground as she speaks. “I probably won’t be here when school starts in the fall.”
This is news to me, and oddly disappointing. “Where will you be? Do you want to go back to LA with your mom?”
“Not really. But even if I did, she’s got three movies in the pipeline back-to-back. She’ll be on set or doing press junkets for at least a few years, so…they’ll probably send me to boarding school.”
My stomach drops at how nonchalant she sounds. “I don’t think your dad is planning on boarding school, sweetheart. He bought a house here.”
“My mom has bought and sold four houses around LA since I started kindergarten. Houses don’t mean anything, and Dad doesn’t like commitment. I’m sure he’ll get sick of me.”
I want to tell her that isn’t going to happen, but my own experience was similar. Not the boarding school part, but after I begged her incessantly, my mom sent me to stay with my dad for a month the summer I turned nine.
I’d had minimal contact with him since they never married and the relationship didn’t last through her pregnancy. He lived in what I then believed to be a magical state called Minnesota. I was so excited to finally tell my friends I had a dad in my life. Only, my timing was off that summer. He’d just started dating a woman with kids a few years younger than me and decided nine was the perfect age for a built-in babysitter. After two weeks of indentured servitude, I called my mom and pleaded with her to bring me home.
Other than a random birthday card with a wrinkled twenty on the years he remembered, I haven’t been in contact with dear old dad since. Not even after Mom died.
“See, you don’t think he’s going to keep me around,” Riva laments when I take too long to respond. “Why should I try to make friends or give him a chance?”
“Because he’s trying,” I answer. “I think he’s doing the best he can. He offered to be my fake date for your benefit. I’m not the kind of woman your dad would date unless he was forced into it.”
She looks like she’s trying to hold back a laugh, which is better than the scowl from minutes before, even at my expense. “He doesn’t have good taste in women.”
While not exactly a compliment, I take it as one. I’m not hideous in the looks department, more classic girl-next-door-cute than striking supermodel, which has never bothered me. I’ve also never tried to be anyone other than me, and I have no intention of starting now.
“His girlfriends are pretty,” I say, more to myself than her.
“Pretty awful,” she answers, and I laugh.
There’s a crowd gathering in front of the produce stand at the far end of the market. Odd, because this early in the season, the Colorado harvest is slim pickings. Most of what’s good to buy now is handmade soaps, breads, and various jarred foods.
“It’s my dad.” Riva sounds horrified. “I knew this would happen. Look at how everyone wants his autograph. It’s so weird and cringey.”
“We don’t see a lot of famous people in Skylark. That’s more the Aspen vibe. The novelty will wear off once people get to know him.”
“It never wears off,” Riva insists. “It’s only gotten worse with Mom. At least there aren’t paparazzi here. They follow her everywhere.”
“Your dad is different.” I’m out of my element, knowing almost nothing about famous people, but I try to sound convincing. “He’s retired and out of the public eye. Do you want to say hi? There are a few kids in the mix you could meet.”
“No way. Being the kid of someone famous is the worst,” Riva mutters, and I do not roll my eyes at the absurdity of the statement. Because she believes it. “How am I supposed to act when strangers act like they're friends with my parents?”
I get that. I know loads of people around town, but the level of attention Ian draws makes my stomach clench with nerves. Invisible is my preferred mode of operation.
He agreed to the fake dating thing for Piper’s wedding, but we haven’t discussed parameters or how heavy we need to sell the two of us together in the weeks leading up to the big event.
Like I said, I’ve been avoiding him. Seems prudent to continue that path for now.
I start to change direction, then hear my name called.
“We should ignore him,” Riva says as Ian calls to her as well.
I choke out a laugh. “We can’t ignore your dad. Time to put on your Skylark happy face. You do realize he moved you to a town consistently ranked one of the top ten happiest in America?”
She looks up at me with a funny expression but nods. Skylark happy is what Sally termed the moments I forced a public smile in the months after Mom died and I came home to care for Piper.
Even though I’d been listed as her guardian in our mother’s will, it was evident from the looks we received—a mix of sympathy and gentle reproach—that most people thought I was too young to raise my sister on my own. Which was true, but didn’t stop me from being committed. Sally was my biggest cheerleader. She was also the person who insisted I fix my face when the grief became too obvious. It’s a skill that applies in a variety of situations, and I take my own advice when the crowd in front of him parts like the Red Sea as we approach.
Speculative gazes land on me, which is annoying. Why wouldn’t he know me by name? We’re neighbors, and his kid is at my side.
“Hey ladies,” he says, and although he’s smiling, his voice is tight. Looks like I’m not the only one doing Skylark happy. “What kind of vegetable should we have with dinner?”
The idea of weighing in on Ian Barlowe’s side dish decision knocks me for an unexpected loop. There’s a peculiar intimacy to the question, like my opinion matters in some meaningful way.
“Potatoes,” I blurt before anyone—Ian especially—notices my shock.
One of the women flanking him leans closer, her breast grazing his arm, and jealousy I have no right to feel grips my chest.
“I have an amazing recipe for roasted potatoes with olive oil and fresh rosemary. I’d be so happy to share it.” She holds up her phone. “Just give me your number and?—”
“I’m good.” Ian’s blue eyes meet mine over the woman’s phone. The spark of mischief in his gaze gives me pause. “I think my girl can handle the potatoes.”
My girl? Is he talking about Riva?
“He means you,” she says under her breath.
I blink and notice his smile widen.
“I mean you,” he confirms, crooking his finger. The fabric of his navy blue T-shirt stretches tight across his broad shoulders and molds to his chest and flat abs, no doubt covering at least a six-pack, if not more. Ian Barlowe challenges my perception of the term dad bod, and I move like there’s an invisible string drawing me to him.
“I’ll bag up a few,” the man behind the vegetable stand says.
“Appreciate it.” Ian reaches out and pulls me forward the last couple of steps.
I hold three leashes, and the dogs attached to them don’t understand what’s happening. Miles, the cocker spaniel new to walking on a leash, gets tangled between my legs and nearly takes me down.
Nearly, because Ian tugs me even closer. He loops a heavy arm around my shoulders then drops a kiss on my temple.
A kiss .
I’m standing on the ground but my body is floating several inches above the earth.
Let’s be honest. Did I briefly entertain the possibility of killing two birds—the wedding and my V-card—with The Playmaker?
Yes, ma’am, I most assuredly did. And the idea felt almost too good to be true. Now I know it is. If a chaste brush of his lips makes my panties feel like they’re about to spontaneously combust, anything more might literally kill me.
Ian crouches down to pet the dogs, then surveys the people staring at us. He waves to Riva, who looks relieved to be left alone to blend into the crowd. And now I’m jealous of her. Being the center of attention is giving me hives.
“Nice day for a pack walk.” He glances up, his blue eyes pinning me in place with their intensity. “I’ll be around this afternoon. Mind if I stop by around pick up time? I’d love to meet some of the dogs Riva keeps telling me about.”
Before I can respond, Phil Mazza elbows his way through the throng. “Hey, Sadie, I’ve been meaning to call you about getting Trixie back in for some daycare and training.”
His gaze shifts to Ian. “So, Playmaker, I’m sure you know this already, but Sadie here has quite a way with dogs.”
“Animals of all kinds,” Ian says with a chuckle, his breath warm on the shell of my ear. It sends a shiver through me.
“I thought Trixie was happier at Dogapalooza,” I say to Phil. He was one of the first clients to ditch me for the fancy facility that offers puppuccinos and extra belly rubs—all for an additional cost of course. They did a splashy ad campaign before the grand opening, offering monthly membership packages and a live video feed of the dogs.
I couldn’t help but take it personally when several longtime clients ghosted me in favor of a facility that branded itself the Ritz of doggy daycare.
I’m completely devoted to the well-being of the animals in my care, but it isn’t swanky with all the bells and whistles. No indoor splash park or a groomer on site, but I use behavioral methods that are scientifically proven to bring out a dog’s best. Unfortunately, that doesn’t tap into the need certain pet owners seem to have to give their furry friends the five-star treatment.
However, the potential opportunity to get close to a famous retired quarterback because he might be close to me is apparently a bigger draw than a pup cup.
“I guess you would know that since Sadie is your girlfriend .” Phil clears his throat at the gasps his declaration elicits from the crowd. His squinty brown eyes focus on Ian, who is holding onto me like I’m a football, and he’s two strides from the end zone.
Riva is grinning wildly.
“I mean I assume she’s your girlfriend,” Phil continues. My mortification amplifies at the same rate as his booming voice. “Because you’re acting like her boyfriend.”
I’m a deer caught in headlights, and Max—always so attuned to my nerves—lets out a low whine as Phil’s gaze catches mine. Here it is. The moment when Skylark locals bust a gut laughing at the idea of little old me dating Ian Barlowe.
“I like to keep my personal life private,” Ian says without releasing me. “Sadie and I have that in common.”
Riva has drifted closer, and he places the hand not holding me on her shoulder. “This is my daughter, Riva. She just arrived in Skylark and we couldn’t be happier to call this our new home.”
Skylark happy. That’s the three of us.
“I’m sure you understand I also need to protect my private life for my daughter’s sake. She’s my priority.” The sincerity in his voice makes my heart melt like ice cream left out in the hot summer sun.
Phil nods. “Sure, sure. We’re all about discretion in Skylark. It’s a tight-knit community of regular folks. Not like some of those snooty mountain towns that cater to celebrities.”
“Here are your potatoes.” The farm stand owner hands Ian a canvas bag that he loops over one shoulder. He then releases me long enough to pull a wallet from the back pocket of his cargo shorts. It is completely unfair that he can simultaneously look casual and so damn gorgeous.
The older man shakes his head and rubs two fingers over his handlebar mustache. “Oh, no, Playmaker. You standing here has driven more business to me than I normally see in a month of farmers markets. Potatoes are on the house.”
“I appreciate that,” Ian says. “You can bet I’ll buy my produce from you all summer.”
The man beams like Ian Barlowe is the vegetable pied piper.
“That was fun,” Ian says as the remaining looky-loos walk away. He bends down to scratch Max behind the ears, which happens to be the old boy’s sweet spot and…good lord…are my ovaries clenching?
After putting my life on the back burner to raise my little sister, I didn’t think I’d ever have a maternal urge of my own. Clearly, my body isn’t on the same page where Ian Barlowe is concerned.
“Dad, will you hold Barkley’s leash so I can get a cupcake before we leave?” Riva asks, pointing to The Sugar Shack booth at the other end of the aisle. It’s the best bakery in town.
“The salted caramel is my favorite,” I tell her. “But everything they make is delicious.”
Ian takes the leash and offers his daughter a twenty. “How about a couple salted caramels and a vanilla for me?”
She grins. “Vanilla is boring.”
“I’m in my boring dad era,” he answers with a wink.
There is nothing boring about Ian.
When it’s just the two of us, I take a purposeful step away from him. “I wonder how long it will take for the whole town to be buzzing with assumptions about us.” Preemptive mortification invades my gut.
Ian gives me a funny look. “I thought that was the point. I’m selling us.”
Right. Selling us.
“I figured you’d come to your senses and back out. It’s not too late.”
“I’m in this.” He glances around at the people—women mostly—still glancing in our direction. “You’re doing me a favor, too, and not just because Riva is speaking to me now in more than monosyllables. I want my life to be normal here without the attention of…”
He makes a face and rubs the back of his neck.
“Thirsty women drooling all over you while the local dude brigade competes to strike up a bromance?”
“Um, yes.” He nods vigorously. “I know people mean well, but it’s not what I want for Riva. Dating you will give people time to get used to me. You’re my safe space, Sadie.”
I’m not sure why I like the idea so much, but I do. Like maybe I have more to offer than most people—including myself—give me credit for. Ian also seems more relaxed without his adoring fans hovering.
“Okay, then,” I concede. My voice sounds weirdly breathy, and I clear my throat before continuing. “We’ll be each other’s safe space.”
His ice-blue eyes darken to the color of the sky at twilight, the pastel flecks at the edges mesmerizing me. And when he licks his lips and leans slightly closer…hold me.
The idea of being partners with Ian is intoxicating and almost irresistible. It’s as if decades after being the last picked for any team activity in PE class, the cool kid is finally choosing me. Like I mean something.
I don’t want to think about how much I like it. Or what’s going to happen when this arrangement comes to its inevitable end.