19. Small Town Cupid Turns Up the Volume
Small Town Cupid Turns Up the Volume
Bo
Frank greets me before dawn, and I am starting to agree with Falon. There is something seriously wrong with that bird’s alarm clock.
Looking at the time, I wince. Okay, so maybe it was my alarm clock that was off. Nine fifteen in the morning. I groan and run my hands down my face. It had been a while since I’d slept that well. Not a sliver of a nightmare or waking with sweat beading on my forehead.
I dressed in a hurry and look out toward the fields. Falon had already done the morning chores and was no doubt at the kitchen table with her coffee and the books. She’d come up with an ingenious way to meld the two ranches and still keep the profits and workload separate.
It was just one of the little things I was starting to love about her.
I am a little bummed that I’d missed the morning chores.
I was supposed to help her, but my head was finally quiet for the last couple of days.
Falon and I had fallen asleep after Harry Potter, and she had stayed in my arms all night.
Her breathing silenced the demons within, and her little moans as she adjusted made me realize that there were worse things than falling for the one person you were not supposed to have, and that would be to live without love.
I make my way over to Falon’s, anticipating her smile and the hot cup of coffee she always had waiting for me. Of course, that would have been at seven when we were supposed to start the day, not half past the crack of too late.
Sure enough, just as I thought, Falon is at the table and gives me a teasing grin. She knows I know I am late. I take a mug down from the cupboard and take a muffin from under the glass cover.
If waking up late wasn’t a clue that there was a hiccup in the cosmos, the moment I saw Mrs. Winslow coming up the walk should have been a clue.
And it all started with a pie.
My shoulders shake as I start laughing and have to step out of view. Falon looks at me strangely, then sobers when she hears a knock at the front.
I am still pouring coffee when she knocks again, this time with a pie dish covered in a blue-checked cloth and a determined expression.
Falon gives me a worried look and walks toward the door. I lean against the counter, just in earshot, but not in view. This was going to be interesting.
Falon answers the door, and I try to keep from laughing.
"Mrs. Winslow." Falon's voice is weary but polite. With Mrs. Winslow, you never knew what was going to happen. "What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting company this morning."
"Is it?" Mrs. Winslow says in mock confusion. She doesn't sound surprised at all. I’d bet my military pension that this was premeditated. Mrs. Winslow isn’t known for subtlety.
"What's the occasion?"
"I made two." A brief pause. "One for me, and one for, well, I’m sure there is a rather strong young man wanting something sweet to brighten his day."
Another pause.
"Have a lovely day, dear."
I hear Mrs. Winslow’s retreating footsteps on the porch. Then, the screen door clicks and Falon’s soft, padded steps bring her to the kitchen, where I am trying and failing not to laugh.
I look up from the counter when Falon comes into the kitchen holding a pie. She sets it on the table and looks at me.
I look at the pie. And lose it. Her face is between embarrassment and dumbfounded.
"Pie," she says.
"I heard," I say through a stifled laugh.
She pulls back the checkered cloth to reveal a peach blush pie that is still warm. "I don't know whether to be offended or flattered." Falon is still a bit bewildered.
"I'd go with flattered," I say. "She did make it herself. I mean, look at that crust work." It is a thin, braided checkered crust with dozens of little crust flowers on top. If I’d known she was this good, I’d have requested an apple pie every Tuesday.
Falon looks at the pie for another moment. Then she gets two forks out of the drawer and hands me one.
“Breakfast?” she offers. “It has most food groups. Grains, fruit, dairy, and greens.”
“Wait, greens?”
“Doesn’t sugar come from sugarcane, and isn’t sugarcane green?” She has a triumphant smile on her face.
“I don’t think that’s how it works, but I’m willing to go with it if you are.
” I take the fork, and we both dig in. Almost half a pie later, Falon puts her fork down and bumps me on the hip.
“When you’re done here, I have to drive out to Lake Road, then the ridge to deliver some eggs to the Richardsons and Stan.
I have so many eggs that I feel like the easter bunny.
Did you want to go?” I agree, and the two of us drive around the rest of the day delivering eggs to anyone who wanted them.
When we get to Stan’s, I try to opt for staying in the truck, but Falon looks at me as if I’d better not.
“Afternoon, Stan,” Falon greets the old man, and for a moment, I think he is going to smile, but instead, he pulls her into a hug.
“I brought you some eggs. I swear, I was becoming the easter bunny, but then I thought about you and realized it’s been a few since I’d been here.
Did you like the blanket I made you?” Falon asks, completely comfortable and at ease with the man.
Hu, I’d never pinned him as an old softie.
“I liked it just fine, Miss Falon.” He smiles at her, and she kisses his cheek.
“Good. I need to get a move on if I’m going to beat dad’s ranch hands to that last order of feed before they stack it without me.” She laughs. “I’m working on a red scarf for you for the winter. I know you have one, but mine’s better.” She laughs, and we both got in the truck and leave.
“How do you do that?” I ask her when we’d gotten a few miles from the ridge.
“Do what?” she asked all innocent, but the smirk tells me she knows.
“You just plowed right in there and bulldozed him into submission.”
“I did nothing of the sort. He may act all tough and bothered, but he’s actually sweet and just feels alone. I come out here and visit him every now and again, when I can. You should try it.”
“I don’t know. He’ll shoot my face off.” I say, thinking that I liked my face exactly where it was.
“He will not, besides, the gun’s not even loaded. Hasn’t been in years.” She smirks. “Now, I bet you I can haul the grain order faster than you. She wiggles back and forth in her seat.
“Oh, you're on.” I nudge her as we pull into the drive, Falon out of the truck before I even have it in park. That’s how it was with Falon.
She is far more playful than I’d remembered and far more alluring than I ever knew.
Tyler was going to kill me, but if I got to spend time with her, I didn’t care one bit.
On Thursday, my phone rang while I was filling the horse's water. Pearl. My heart stopped for a second.
“Pearl?” I answer.
“Hey there, hon,” she greets as though I hadn’t thought something was wrong.
“Hey, what’s up. Is everything okay?” I ask about regulating my heart rate. Pearl had gone to the doctors last week because she was feeling tired and was supposed to get the results soon.
“Oh yes, I’m fine. The doctor suggested I get a little sleep, that’s all. But that’s not why I’m calling. I need a favor.” I agree without thinking. I’d do anything for Pearl. She’d raised me after mom and dad died. She was my saint.
“It’s nothing big,” she assures me, “I’d ordered a few things from Janet’s. I’m making a gift basket for David, and I’d forgotten to pick it up while I was in town earlier, and Melodie tells me you’re headed that way anyway, would you mind?”
“Not at all. I’ll head in now,” I say and hang up. I don't mind. Pearl had earned a lifetime of favors.
When I walk into the kitchen to find Falon, she is grabbing her purse and heading out the back door.
“Oh, I was just coming to find you. I need to run into town; I have to pick up a few things and stop by the inn to drop off that quilt I’d mended for Janet.”
“Oh, cool. I need to pick up an order for Pearl. Mind if I join you?”
Her smile lights up her face. I take her hand in mine, and the two of us go to town. I hold her hand over the middle console as we make our way through town, and when we leave the Inn with Pearl’s order.
Twenty minutes later, and a cab full of this and that, we walk by Will’s Steakhouse, and Sherry meets us both at the door.
“Finally, I thought I was late.” She smooths out her shirt.
"Right this way," she says, holding the door open for us.
I look at Falon, and Falon looks at me.
"Did you—" she starts.
"No," I say. "Did you?"
"No."
Sherry is already halfway across the restaurant, menus in hand.
This was beginning to feel like a setup.
Will's Steakhouse looks the way it always has.
Mounted longhorn over the bar, the mismatched chairs, the string lights, and the old wood floors that told more stories than the mayor.
Cluck Norris, the chicken mascot, stares down from his banner above the kitchen pass-through. This was always my favorite place.
Sherry stops at a table near the window. Two place settings. A candle that had already been lit. She sets down the menus and beams at us.
"Your server will be right with you," she says. And leaves.
Falon and I stand there for a moment.
"Janet," we say at the same time.
I pull out Falon's chair.
She sits down, shaking her head, and picks up the menu even though we both know what we are getting. "She called Pearl, didn't she?" She grins.
"Most certainly."
"And my errand?" Most likely her idea.
"I'm going to guess the quilt was ruined on purpose."
Falon looks up at me over the top of the menu. "I mended that quilt."
"I know."
"It took me four hours."
"I know."
She presses her lips together, fighting a smile. "I can't decide if I'm annoyed."
"You're not annoyed."
"I'm a little annoyed."
Belle appears at the table. She has pink hair, notepad out, already typing our order into her phone before we'd said a word. "Two ribeye’s, one medium, one medium-well, fries for the lady, loaded potato for the gentleman, and two Dr. Peppers?" She looks up. "Janet called ahead."
Falon sets her menu down. "Can’t say she’s wrong, besides. How can you order the loaded baked potato? The fries are the best."
Belle snaps her gum and disappears.
I lean back in my chair and look across the table.
The candle between us is doing its best. The string lights are warm overhead.
Outside the window, Main Street moves at its usual unhurried pace.
A couple walking their dog, old Mr. Briggs on his evening constitutional, the hardware store lights going off for the night.
Falon is watching me watch the street.
"What are you thinking?" she asks.
"That I've been home for how long, and never thought to eat here."
"That’s a shame."
"I know." I look at her. "I missed a lot of things."
She tilts her head slightly. The lights overhead are dim and perfect.
"You're here now," she says.
"I am."
The Dr. Peppers arrives. We clink glasses, and she tells me that Michael had finally located the missing plant order.
“It was in the cold storage room the whole time. He was so excited. It was like listening to a Sherlock Holmes case when he told me how he found it. That kid should be a mystery writer.” She laughs and shakes her head.
“Come to think of it, have you seen Rowdy chase his tail?” she asks after she cuts into her steak.
“Yeah. Rowdy chased his own tail for a full two minutes this morning before he caught it. He was a little surprised to find it attached, so he yelped and ran into the closet.”
She closes her eyes and hums when she takes a bite, and I forget how to breathe for a second.
Somewhere between the main course and whatever Belle was bringing for dessert, I look across the table and think: this could be an average Thursday.
This is just an ordinary evening in an ordinary town, and I am sitting across from Falon Williams in the warm light of a restaurant that had been here longer than either of us, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
I want a thousand more of these.
After dinner, we walk back to the truck. The evening had gone cool, the way Montana evenings do in late June, and the street is quiet. Falon rubs her arms and walks close enough that our shoulders brush every few steps.
At the truck, she stops and turns.
"Bo."
"Yeah."
She looks at me for a moment. Her expression is soft and unsure. "Thank you for tonight."
"Janet deserves the credit."
"Janet gets enough credit." She tilts her head. "I'm thanking you."
I hold her gaze. "Then you're welcome."
She reaches up and presses a quick kiss to my jaw. Simple and easy. Like she'd been doing it for years. Then she gets in the truck, and I stand on the sidewalk for a second.
Above me, the sign for Will's Steakhouse buzzes softly in the dark.
Tyler is going to kill me.
I didn't know exactly when. But eventually, he was going to come home, and he was going to see this. See us. And whatever happened after that, whatever conversation was waiting at the end of that collision, I wasn't going to be hiding when it arrived.
I am choosing her.
I get in the truck beside her and start the engine, reaching over the console to grab her hand, and the whole drive back, I’m not worried. What would come would come, and I would be here when it did.