—17— Wyatt
Wyatt
I’m standing outside the church and can’t focus on a thing.
Didn’t hear a word of the sermon, either.
Clarice—Kirk’s mom, sweet lady, love her to death, wish she’d give up smoking—tells me it had something to do with forgiving ourselves for the messes we make in life.
I’m just not sure the particular “mess” I made is one Reverend Trey had in mind when delivering his lovely sermon. Unless that mess on Mrs. McPherson’s rug comes out with a decently-potent oxidizing spray.
Or holy water.
Some people are splintering off and heading to lunch.
Others linger in the field outside the church where the grass struggles to stay alive this time of year, giving way to patches of dirt and roots peeking out of the ground from the nearby trees.
I’m lingering in the shade of one of them, wondering if I should just go or wait for Lance and Chad to pop out.
I couldn’t catch them beforehand—late as I was—but wanted to apologize to him again for what happened last night.
Especially considering it seems to be the only topic of conversation I’m picking up out here on the lawn.
I mean, really, is there even just one person in Spruce who didn’t attend last night and stayed home on account of a sick, bologna-barfing toddler?
Am I the only person who missed Jimmy and Bobby’s number?
“Now, if it ain’t the lucky fella I was lookin’ for!”
I know exactly who it is and have zero time to prepare for the force of nature that’s marched up behind me.
When I turn, Mayor Nadine Strong stands before me like a tower in her red heels—yes, red heels to church, every Sunday without fail since she won that election—and a cream-colored blouse with lilacs printed all over it fitting tight enough to parade what God gave her.
“I’m so glad I caught you ‘fore you left,” she goes on, running on a battery no one in town can match—and certainly not me with my ass still running on last night’s fumes. “I’ve got a question or two only you can answer me solid.”
I blink, perking up.
It suddenly occurs to me this might be a business thing.
Is she finally going to hire me to do the spooky flowers for her annual Halloween Bash this year? Were my centerpieces at the McPherson Estate not, in fact, done in vain?
“I’m all yours,” I tell her.
She leans in. “Do you think I should forgive the little flub last night during my son’s dance?”
I stare at her.
Now I have to pretend I have a clue what she’s talking about.
What flub? Whose flub? Bobby’s? Jimmy’s? The lighting? An audio glitch? A baby screaming out in protest in the front row?
“Y’know what? I think I won’t forgive it,” she decides, crossing her arms and cocking her head indignantly.
“They had months of planning and rehearsing. And the whole thing was pushed back a few weeks, giving them even more time than usual. I think I … yes, I think I will bring it up to Cissy at brunch.”
It’s now that I finally spot Lance and Chad leaving the church. My whole reason for waiting around.
And I’m held hostage by Nadine Strong’s indecision.
“But she also just said goodbye to her son,” she goes on with a sigh, “and that sure ain’t easy. I remember Jimmy’s years away at South Wood U. Which is an awfully stupid name for somethin’ that far north. Always leavin’ back to school the second he’s home.”
Lance stops to chat with a couple of ladies, a friend or two of Cassie’s, while Chad heads off presumably to get the truck, buying me time.
Not that I’m any sooner to being freed. “But what kind of an excuse is that?” Nadine goes on, rethinking it all.
“Just ‘cause your son took off to live his best life, that ain’t a reason to let a flub like that happen, and during my son’s and his husband’s big moment?
I’ll have you know, it’s their dance contribution that brings in most of the attendance, and butts in seats means ka-ching for our Arts fund, and have we forgotten the point of the Ball at all? I mean—”
Then she sighs and shifts her weight onto her other leg, and all her hair blocks my view of Lance.
“Tell me I’m not crazy,” she nearly commands me.
Why me? I want to ask back, but something in her eyes tells me I’d better just comply. “You’re not crazy.”
“You’re just like your mama, y’know that?
Sweet and honest as an apple pie. She was always someone I could count on.
Shame she and your papa left town about the time I got elected.
” She lets out a weary little sigh, then throws me a wink.
“But they left the best thing behind in you. Y’know why everyone trusts you, sugar?
‘Cause you always think of others before you think of yourself.”
I avert my eyes. “Thank you.”
“And it’s why I need your honesty right now. Was the flub big enough to warrant a talk? What’d you think?”
I’m not sure when I started wringing my hands. But here I am, feeling like an awful person, about to lie to the Mayor of Spruce.
Until from around Nadine’s hair comes Lance with a, “Honey, darling, no one noticed, you’re making an anthill out of a mole.”
She blinks, turning to him. “I’m fairly sure that ain’t how that sayin’ goes.”
He gives her shoulder a pat. “What you should be asking him is how he pulled off those gorgeous centerpieces.”
“Wait a dang sec. The ones on the tables?” She turns two big eyes onto me. “Those were yours? I’d just assumed they were done by the same company as everythin’ else!”
“Well, y’know what they say about people who assume …”
“I recommend not finishin’ that thought if you plan on goin’ home with your head still attached to your shoulders,” she cuts him off in a terrifyingly sweet tone.
“Fair.” Lance smiles and slaps a hand onto my shoulder. “It’s a wonder more people in town don’t ask Wyatt here for more. He’s far more capable than anyone gives him credit for.”
Nadine gazes at me, appearing wounded. “It ain’t that I don’t think Wyatt here’s capable, not at all! I just … I just don’t want to overburden the sweetie with my big needy nonsense.”
“Overburden? Please. Wyatt farts flowers in his sleep.”
That earns an enormous cackle from Nadine that turns heads. And a passionate flush radiating from my cheeks like lava. When she recovers, she says, “Come to think of it, I could use a consult on a little gardening idea I’ve been battin’ around my brain.”
“He’ll be happy to chat with you first chance you got,” Lance says on my behalf, patting my back.
“Oh, I sure will,” she says with a warm smile at me.
Then some other thing seems to catch her attention behind me, because she shouts, “Hey, Trish! Don’t run off yet!
We still need to—Wyatt, are you comin’ to brunch?
Come to brunch, we’ll talk more.” And then she’s off chasing Trish across the grass.
I turn to Lance. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asks with a smirk.
I take a breath and waste no more seconds. “I’m really sorry about last night. I still feel bad.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m so past that. Grudges give wrinkles. Ask my boyfriend’s ex-wife, bless her sweet little heart. Besides, that’s not why I came over here.” He throws an arm over my back, pulls me in, and lowers his voice. “Where’s your Iron Giant?”
I blink. “My what?”
“He kept looking at you like you were the only person in the whole damned place.” He eyes me. “Spill the tea, Wy-Guy.”
“There’s no tea,” I instantly snap.
“You answered too fast.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“That, too.” I try to pull away, but he keeps me glued to his side and presses on. “Chad also picked up on it. And if my lunk of a hunk picked up on it …?”
“Lance …”
“Seriously, are you his emotional support florist?”
I finally break free and face him. “He’s barely my neighbor.”
“And did you know he’s protective?” He shakes his head. “You were kicking back drink after drink without a care. I lost count, worrying about you from across the yard where Bonnie—bless her soul—was chewing my ear off about her crazy ma-in-law Clarice.”
“I … was really that bad …?”
“Seems like I didn’t have to worry at all.
” He eyes me. “Diego took at least three drinks right out of your hands. All you did was laugh. Then he got you a water bottle at one point, too, and when you left it on a table and started wandering off, he went right after you, never letting you out of his sight.”
“You’re lying.”
“If only I was.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Whether or not you two really are a thing, I’ll leave that up to you.
But I saw what I saw.” He glances over his shoulder when a truck revs in the parking lot.
“That’s Chad. Church always makes him horny.
Think he despises being made to sit still for a long time.
Men are built to move. And mine wants to move.
Maybe yours does, too.” He smirks at me.
“I didn’t even ask what y’all were doing for so long that you missed the big number.
And if you’re ever asked again, Jimmy was stellar, Bobby lost his bowtie, and the harsh red spotlight at the end was sexy AF. ”
With that, he saunters off for the parking lot, and I’m left with two sweaty hands and a set of blank eyes.
And a lingering image of Diego swiping drinks out of my hand.
Bringing me a water bottle.
Me wandering away in a giggling fit.
Who the hell was I last night?
I’m still thinking about it through brunch, which takes place at Patsy’s Pastries & Pies. It’s a whole crowd of us, Nadine sitting down some ways from me, intent on chatting with me after eating, but I might as well be floating in the clouds for as unfocused as my mind is right now.
How Diego was practically scowling at me this morning when he came over for his jacket.
Then offered to drive me to church.
Did my dishes and took out my trash.
Seemed offended I’d even suggest he might take advantage of me in my drunken state last night.
I really don’t know Diego Valdez at all, do I?
I’m still in a stupor long after brunch—and after Nadine chats with me and sets up a meeting for Wednesday at her house—when I pull into my driveway and turn off the car. I get right out, shut the door, then just stand there staring at the wildflowers.
They’re blooming. Bigger than I expected them to. Fuller and brighter. Maybe better than they were before Diego thoughtlessly mowed them down.
I don’t remember crossing the grass, but I’m standing in front of the flowerbed suddenly, hearing all of Lance’s words again. Did you know he’s protective?
Are you his emotional support florist?
He kept looking at you like you were the only person in the whole damned place …
Then I look up.
Diego is at the window, staring back at me.
Same revealing tank top from this morning. Tattoos down his arms. Short hair, matted and messy. His eyes, dark, intense.
He disappears.
The front door opens.
I don’t even think. I just go to the door, step inside, and he’s right there.
I pick up the scent of motor oil and grease. It’s always faintly there when I’m around Diego. I think I’ve started to attach those manly, mechanical aromas to him. Pavlov’s Dog. The trail of oily, greasy car scents drawing me to him, waking my salivary glands.
Expecting dinner.
“Survived church?” he asks in a grunt.
I nod.
He doesn’t say anything for a short moment, just staring at me, perhaps noticing my silence. Then he nods over his shoulder at the fridge. “Need a pick-me-up? Juice? Coffee?”
I blink my eyes away from his chest where they’d just gotten trapped between his pecs.
Juice. Coffee.
Why is my mind suddenly in the thunderstorm room again? As if he’s still hovering over me. Pressing me down. Face in front of mine. Hot breath on my cheeks. Furious eyes.
Like he never let go of me.
“Wyatt?”
“Just a glass of water is fine,” I tell him, coming right up to the counter like I have a million times when his aunt and uncle lived here, grab a glass out of the cupboard right next to his body, set it down, forget about it, grab Diego’s hips, press him to the counter, and dive straight for his lips.