7. Colette
COLETTE
T he scent of fresh-baked cookies does nothing to calm my irritation as I scowl across the street at the Coffee shop where Hendrix lounges by the window, deep in conversation with Tucker.
"I swear, if his head got any bigger, he wouldn't fit through doors." I slump onto a table at the window.
Daisy pipes fresh cream onto a row of cupcakes. "Who are we mad at today? Wait, let me guess - tall, dark, and hockey-obsessed across the street?"
"Look at them over there, plotting who knows what. Probably another scheme to ruin my pageant."
Daisy looks up from her cupcakes. "What did he do now?"
“He scheduled a 'team bonding' session during my rehearsal time. The principal made us share the gym. Share! With flying tennis balls!"
"Tennis balls?"
"Don't ask." I frown at the men across the street."Look at him, sitting there with Tucker, probably cooking up more ways to torment me. What are they even talking about?"
Daisy peeks through her display window at Tucker's Coffee across the street. "They do look suspiciously cozy."
"They're laughing. Why are they laughing? What could possibly be so funny?" I press my face against the window, squinting. "First he steals my gym time, then my students, and now he's corrupting Tucker too."
"Oh please.” Daisy waves her piping bag dismissively. “Tucker can't be corrupted. He’s already Evil Incarnate.”
I watch Hendrix lean closer to Tucker conspiring about something.
My stomach does an unwelcome flip. "And now half my cast is more interested in hockey than learning their lines.
Do you know Tommy forgot the words to 'Silent Night'?
Silent Night! It's only the most famous Christmas carol ever written! "
"Those two are definitely up to something." Daisy narrows her eyes. "Tucker's probably giving him ideas. That man is a menace to society."
"Maybe they're planning world domination through overpriced lattes and hockey pucks?"
Daisy slides a fresh cinnamon roll in front of me. "Here, stress eat this instead of creating conspiracy theories."
"I don't need comfort food." I take a huge bite anyway. "And this isn't a conspiracy theory. Hendrix has been getting under my skin since high school.”
"Men." Daisy shakes her head. "Tucker keeps naming drinks after my pastries. 'Better Than Daisy's Caramel Cookies Latte.' The audacity!"
I squint through the glass. "What is he saying? His lips are moving but I can't?—"
"Are you trying to lip read?" Daisy snorts. "Amateur hour. You need to angle yourself better."
I shift sideways, nearly knocking over my tea. "Wait, I think I got something. He just said... ‘I could task your cow with wontons.’”
"You're going to strain something." Daisy drops another cinnamon roll on my plate.
“Oh! Tucker just said… ‘Let’s bake it into string.’ or maybe something about melting a chicken wing. Either one of those.”
"Tucker does seem extra animated today,” Daisy says. “Look at those hand gestures."
I stab my fork into the cinnamon roll. "Psssh. Shakespeare! Couldn’t he come up with a more creative nickname? Like that's some kind of insult? Being well-read?"
"That's it." Daisy slams her hands on the counter. "You need to show him who's boss. Channel your inner Elizabeth Bennet and put that man in his place."
"I tried! But every time I stand up to him, he just..." I gesture helplessly. "He gets this stupid smirk on his face like he's winning something."
"Because you let him get to you. Look at you now - you're stress-eating my cinnamon rolls and spying on him through my window."
"I am not spying!" I press my forehead against the cool glass. "Why can't he just go back to Toronto and leave me alone?"
"Because then who would drive you completely insane?" Daisy grins. "You know what you need to do, right?"
"Hide in my classroom until January?"
"Stand up to him. Prove you're not that shy bookworm anymore."
"I can barely string two sentences together around him."
"Because he's pretty?"
"He is not pretty! He's... symmetrical. In an annoying way..."
Daisy's eyes narrow as she watches Tucker gesture animatedly across the street. “So annoying.”
“I mean, who does he think he is? He makes me want to… throw things.” I glance back at Hendrix, still deep in conversation with Tucker. "Look at him, sitting there all... symmetrical."
"You know what you need?" Daisy leans across the table with that gleam in her eye that usually precedes terrible ideas. "A plan."
"A plan?"
"You need to get rid of him."
I choke on my cinnamon roll. "What, like murder?"
"No, drama queen. Make him leave. Drive Hendrix Ellis out of Brookking Sound by Christmas Eve."
I wipe icing from my chin. "And how exactly would I accomplish that?"
Daisy's eyes sparkle. "Simple. Make his life here so uncomfortable he runs back to Toronto.”
“I don’t think I could do that.”
"Sure you can. You're smart, capable, and actually kind of terrifying when you want to be.”
“Uh… thanks?”
“Girl, you need to show him you've got some fire under all that frost. Channel your inner snow goddess and freeze him out."
“You’re kind of scaring me right now.”
"This is war, Colette. And in war, there are no rules. It's time to show these boys we're not just going to sit here and take their nonsense."
Hendrix is now balancing a spoon on his nose while Tucker laughs. My eye twitches.
“Okay let’s say… hypothetically, I go along with your crazy idea.”
“Yes!” Daisy pumps her fist in the air.
“Hypothetically,” I grumble, licking cinnamon from my fingers. "How would it work?”
Daisy leans forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was thinking… maybe you could get the drama kids together to make him think the hockey rink is haunted. Flicker the lights. Make weird sounds. Rig something up to make things fall onto the ice or something.”
“Like a chandelier?”
She thinks about that for a second. “That could work.”
“And maybe I could put on a mask and play really creepy organ music.”
“Oooh, I like where you’re going with this.”
I poke her with my fork. “That’s the plot of Phantom of the Opera , you dork.”
“Ow! How was I supposed to know that?”
“Because we watched it at my house last Halloween.”
“I fell asleep! Your house is so cozy.”
“Anyway,” I say. “There’s no point in trying to get him to leave town when he’s probably going back soon anyway.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear. He’s in a contract stand-off. Do you know what that means?”
“No I don’t. And where are you getting this information?”
Certainly not Google. There’s nothing online about Hendrix’s leave of absence from the Titans. I should know. I went down a rabbit hole. I’m not proud of it.
Daisy grins wickedly. “I have a network of spies. Nobody suspects the sweet old ladies. But Ginger Maddox and Eloise Bellinger just so happen to go into Tucker’s Coffee right before coming in for their afternoon apple fritters."
"Nothing like small-town gossip," I say.
"Mrs. Bellinger overheard Tucker telling someone that Hendrix isn't going back to Toronto anytime soon."
"And I'll bet she ran right over hear to spill the tea."
Those ladies can't help themselves.
"So here's what I've pieced together." Daisy leans in closer. "Mrs. Bellinger's niece works at the hospital where Sarah Greer had her baby, and apparently Wade's taking the full year of paternity leave. Something about bonding time and modern parenting."
"A whole year?" My stomach does a backflip. "That can't be right."
"Yep. Someone needs to coach those boys. And who better than hometown hero Hendrix Ellis?" She wiggles her eyebrows.
"But... but..." I sputter. My voice rises an octave. "He can't stay. He's got a team to get back to."
"Not necessarily. Ginger Maddox's grandson is a mascot for the Titans' farm team. She says Hendrix's agent is playing hardball with the contract. They're talking millions."
"Since when are you such a hockey expert?"
"I'm not. But Mrs. Wingert - you know, the one who orders the milk rolls every Tuesday? Her bridge partner's son’s brother-in-law works in sports management, and he says these negotiations could drag on for months."
"Months?" The word comes out as a squeak.
"At least through January. Maybe February. Or March." Daisy's eyes gleam.
"These are just rumors. Mrs. Wingert also swore she saw Bigfoot in her garden last spring."
"That was Mr. Wingert in a trapper hat." Daisy waves dismissively. “His bushy beard didn’t help either.”
“He is a rather tall man,” I say.
"Face it, honey. Your nemesis isn't going anywhere."
"No. No, no, no." I slump forward, forehead hitting the table. "He can't stay that long. He'll ruin everything! The winter showcase. The spring musical... “
"On the bright side," Daisy says, patting my head, "at least you'll have something pretty to look at during staff meetings."
I lift my head just enough to glare at her. "Not helping."
“What do you want me to say? That he'll probably steal the auditorium for hockey visualization exercises or whatever ridiculous thing he comes up with next?"
"This is a nightmare. I'm having a nightmare. Maybe Mrs. Bellinger's wrong. Maybe she confused Hendrix with someone else. Maybe she…”
My eyes glaze over. This can’t be happening.
"So?" Daisy waves a hand in my face. "Are you in?"
“In? In on what?”
"Get him to leave town by Christmas Eve."
"What? No. Absolutely not."
"Come on.” Daisy boops my nose. "Where's your sense of adventure? I dare you."
"We're not in high school anymore, Daisy. Dares don't work on?—"
"Double dare."
"That's not going to?—"
"Triple dog dare with Christmas sprinkles on top."
"This is childish."
"Says the woman who's been window-stalking him for the past hour."
"I have not been—" I catch my reflection in the window and realize I've left nose prints on the glass.
"Think about it. No more disrupted rehearsals, no more stolen students, no more..." She waves her hand toward Tucker's Coffee. "Whatever that is over there."
I glance across the street where Hendrix sits, looking irritatingly perfect. "What's in it for you?"
"Entertainment? Plus, if Hendrix leaves, Tucker loses his partner in crime."
I bite my lip, considering. "And you really think this will work?"
"What's the worst that could happen? You fail and he stays? That's happening anyway." She leans in closer. "But if you succeed, you get your gym back, your students back, and most importantly—your sanity back."
I groan. "Fine! But I want it noted that this is a terrible idea."
"Noted. And if you succeed in getting him out of town by Christmas Eve..." She taps her chin thoughtfully. "I'll give you free cinnamon rolls for a year."
"And if I fail?"
“You won’t fail. Trust me." Daisy's smile turns devious. "By Christmas Eve, Hendrix Ellis will be running back to Toronto with his tail between his legs. He won't know what hit him."
"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
"Probably. But think of all the free cinnamon rolls!"