16. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
Chloe
Sitting in my pj’s on my couch Sunday morning, I text Dawson, hoping he responds soon.
Me: Are you still good to see venue options this week?
I stare at my phone, waiting for those three dancing dots to appear. But nothing happens. Turning back to the spreadsheet, I fill in the three food trucks that agreed to come. We’ll have pizza, Mexican, and barbeque—the three options I thought of in the beginning. I called a local bakery yesterday as well and got all the desserts ordered. I’ll have to send Kate to pick them up the morning of the festival while I’m setting up.
I check my phone, but Dawson still hasn’t responded. Come on man. Respond! I text him again.
Me: Dawson??
Me: Dawson?? I know where you live. You can’t stay silent forever.
Me: [gif of Adele singing “Hello from the other side”]
Me: Dawson???
Me: I won’t show up if you respond, okay?
My phone stays silent. Can’t say I blame the guy. I texted him a gazillion times. What is wrong with me?
Needing a distraction, I head to the kitchen for my grocery list. Might as well get my shopping done, even though I’d rather be working on the fall event.
Six grocery bags hang from each of my arms. The back door of my duplex leads right to my carport, but making multiple trips to bring food in the house regardless of the proximity is absurd. I will lift as many bags as will fit on my forearms, despite the lingering red lines and torn shoulder muscles. And who needs their pinkies? One trip means I win and the bags lose.
Fumbling for my keys while trying to keep all the bags on my weighed-down arms is tougher than it looks. I should have unlocked my back door first, then grabbed the groceries. My hand shakes as I fit the key into the lock. At the exact moment, my phone rings, startling me. I drop my keys on the concrete porch and let out a growl. “Ugh. Seriously?!”
Admitting defeat, I slide my right arm out of the handles, setting all the bags down. Grabbing my phone from my back pocket, my stomach flutters. Dawson’s name appears in white letters at the top of my screen.
“You are alive,” I say as my greeting, tucking my phone between my ear and shoulder.
Dawson’s low chuckle rumbles in my ear. “I am.”
“Thank you for calling me back. I’m assuming this is in response to my texts this morning?”
“All six of them. Yes.”
I cringe and am so grateful Dawson can’t see me right now. Multiple texts right in a row is slightly overboard. I’m shocked he called me back. Honestly, if it were me, I’d ignore him. “Yeah…sorry about that. I want everyone to do things when I say so.”
“I see.”
I’m not coming off in the best light right now. “Did I mention how sorry I was?”
“Casually.”
A smile creeps its way onto my lips. “Dawson, darling,” I say in a tone as sickly sweet as lemonade. “I am utterly and completely apologetic for my overexcitement and rapid text messages due to said excitement. Will you please forgive me and tell me when you’re free to keep this fall festival on track for your fellow colleagues?”
Dawson laughs. “All right, bring down the saccharine apology a few notches.”
“I’ve got plenty of steam to continue.” I pick up my keys, get my door open, and carry in my groceries, setting them on my kitchen counter .
“No need. And not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t respond to your texts right away because Finn was using my phone to talk to his mom.”
I slap my forehead. Of course. After yesterday, Finn for sure needs time with Willow. “Oh, I’m really, really sorry. You mentioned that. I should have remembered.”
“It’s fine. I didn’t want you thinking I hadn’t responded on purpose.”
“Very courteous of you. Thank you, sir.”
“Listen, sassy pants. If I knew not answering you right away would cause the cheeky side of you to come out, I wouldn’t have called.”
This interaction is exactly why Dawson is now a friend and not simply Carter’s employee. Just like the night I tripped onto him. Our joking with each other sends bubbles throughout my veins like water dumped on dry ice. “Now you know. Do what I want, when I want, or suffer the consequences.”
Dawson barks out a laugh.
I pull my phone away from my ear until the noise dies down.
“Let’s hit up the canyon tomorrow after you get off work to check out the space for the festival,” I say. “And for the other venues, I’m free in the evenings Tuesday through Friday, and all day Sunday and Monday.”
“Finn has football practice Monday nights, but I’ll see if my mom can take him tomorrow.”
“Let me know if it won’t work and I need to go alone, or we can reschedule too. I also want to check out Cornbelly’s for ideas on games and decorations we can do for the fall theme, but they’re not open on Sundays.”
“What about Cornbelly’s Tuesday night after work?”
Putting the call on speaker, I tap on my calendar app. It’s sad how few activities I have listed Sunday through Friday. “Tuesday’s perfect. Can you check out Wheeler Farm and This Is The Place with me on Wednesday?”
“As long as you’re good with Finn being with us.”
I put my milk in the fridge. “Uh, yeah. He’s the only reason being stuck with you practically every day this week is doable,” I say sarcastically.
“I’m incredibly happy I offered to help you. I’m feeling allll your appreciation,” Dawson retorts.
I’m grinning, though Dawson can’t see it. “You’re very welcome.”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at five-thirty.”
I scoff. “What if I wanted to drive? You didn’t even ask.”
Dawson’s apologetic when he says, “Sorry. Would you like to pick me up instead?”
I like giving him attitude. “Nah, I’ll be waiting for my chariot to arrive.”
“Done. Anything else?”
Yes, actually. “I’d like to propose a bet.” The planning itself is fun, but I want Dawson to enjoy the process too. Rather, I want him to think of me as a friend (like I do) at the end of this. I can’t imagine not talking to him ever again after the festival. I like Dawson too much to say goodbye forever.
“Of course you do,” he deadpans.
“Hey, now. If you don’t want to do this, I’ll accept the win now.”
“Lay it on me.”
“If I get all my tasks for the festival done first, you have to make me nachos.”
“And if I finish first?”
“Then I’ll help you rake leaves in November.” I kind of want to be there anyway to jump in the massive pile.
“No.”
“Just like that, no? Where’s the counteroffer?”
“There isn’t one, because we aren’t placing a bet.”
“Agh, my meat needs to get in the freezer before it goes bad. Hope your cooking skills are in tip-top shape. You’re going to need them! Bye, Dawson!”
Pulling my phone away from my ear, Dawson’s voice is faint, but I hear him say, “I didn’t agree to this, Chloe!”
Either way the bet goes, I win. With yummy food or playing in the leaves.
I can’t wait for my nachos.