Chapter 6 #2
My wayward eyes slide back to the attractive woman who is apparently old enough for me to date, according to my friends.
Callie and the man she introduced as her best friend dance chaotically to a song about a woman coming into some guy’s life like a storm he wishes he could’ve prepared for.
Their laughter is easy; years of shared history flowing between them.
A frown takes over my features as I watch their obvious comfort with one another. The ease of their relationship.
That damn flyer.
Why doesn’t she just have this guy pretend to be her boyfriend? It’s clear they get along and could likely convince everyone they’re dating. They look like they’re dating. Or have some kind of weirdly close sibling relationship.
Realization hits me. It’s because of what else was advertised. The promise to make the family in question believe Callie’s flaws are their fault.
That’s why Jordan … Callan … Ian—whatever his name is—isn’t enough. The relationship is only the first part of what could help her be accepted by her frigid family.
The second part is my opinion, which may or may not be totally professional at this point.
Callie stands on her tiptoes and whispers in the man’s ear before releasing him and turning to the table where her siblings sit. The brother frowns up at her as she says something he clearly doesn’t appreciate.
The brother who apparently calls her a glorified babysitter. He must be a real ass if that’s what he thinks of educators. Especially ones like his effervescent sister who works with young, impressionable kids. And who, according to John, is amazing at her job.
My frown deepens.
The sister doesn’t pay much attention to Callie, either. All of her attention is taken up by the lead singer. Callie’s friend’s brother.
And just like in a standard family session, lines start forming. Methods to heal the broken communication in her family begin mapping themselves out.
Callie doesn’t have to be an outsider. She chooses to remain true to who she is rather than conforming to the Rutherfords’ values.
“Wait a second,” John holds up a hand. Twisting around, he looks me square in the eye.
Meaning I have to stop watching what Ms. Rutherford is doing, not totally unlike a newly obsessed stalker.
His gaze flits toward the dance floor as the music continues blaring. “Was it Callie that ran out of your office earlier this week? Callie Rutherford?”
I don’t get a chance to answer.
“Why was Callie in your office?” Rindy demands.
“I never said she was,” I point out.
“I was pretty sure I recognized her voice, but didn’t want to say anything in case it was weird,” John says carefully. “Of course, she knows what I do. But I figured, if she was at the office, she’d be there to discuss Cici.” A frown works its way onto my friend’s strong features.
Joanna cuts in, “You think she was there to see you and got to Oliver first?”
“She wasn’t there to see John.” The words are out before I can stop them.
One, two, and three of my closest friends look my way. All of them silent, waiting.
But John’s eyes widen before I can say another word, raucous laughter pouring from him.
His sister and sister-in-law watch the sudden change, clearly wondering if he’s having some kind of fit.
“What’s going on?” Joanna asks. Careful, like asking too intently will bring about catastrophe.
Confusion mars Rindy’s pinched face.
“Oliver?” Jo tries again.
Rindy pokes her brother’s arm. “Any time you’d like to quit your cackling and explain yourself would be fantastic.”
I, on the other hand, pray to anyone listening that the music doesn’t come to a crashing halt and divert all the attention our way.
Especially one redhead, in particular, who’s now dancing with her brother while he looks ready to pass out from boredom at any moment. Sighing, he moves to spin her, nearly causing her to crash into another woman.
With every bout of John’s laughter tainting the musical experience, my chest tightens a little more. Tears begin leaking from his eyes with every shake, only increasing in volume as he hunches over the table for stability.
Annoyance flares as my friend finally catches his breath. “No way,” he wheezes. The hand not gripping his glass reaches up to wipe away the saline. “I can’t believe it.” Another choked laugh makes its way into the world.
“Uh, hello,” Rindy presses.
I’ve never been one to embarrass easily, but right now, I’d love nothing more than to crawl under the table and wither away. It doesn’t help that my best friend’s sister is like a bloodhound—there’s no stopping her once she’s caught a scent.
Rindy’s eyes narrow more, which I honestly didn’t believe was possible.
John slaps the table once more before taking a big breath. “When you came to see me … not that I knew it was her but … ” he blinks. “Wow.”
Jo and Rindy are chomping at the bit for answers, and I know we can’t hold them off for much longer.
“John,” I warn.
“So, what did you say?” My friend quirks a thick brow and I have the sudden urge to shave it right off his smug face.
“To what?” Rindy practically yells, throwing exasperated hands in the air.
It’s right then that the band finishes their current song. Only half a second passes before every person in the joint is focused on our table. Even the band hesitates a moment too long before starting up again.
My eyes unwillingly seek out the one person I wish they wouldn’t. But Calloway Rutherford is already staring right at me, her chocolate eyes indecipherable as sweat slicks face-framing hairs to flushed cheeks.
“Uh, one, two, three, four,” the lead vocalist chants into the mic. And just like that, Mr. Callie Rutherford’s Best Friend’s Brother leads the entire bar back into a state of normalcy.
Even Callie turns back to her group, taking a drink from a tall pint glass. Cider, judging by the label etched into the side. Sweet with a tart aftertaste, just like I’d imagine she would be after running out of my office, leaving glitter all over my sofa.
The world of crafting’s personal virus.
It’s been three days and I’m still finding that crap everywhere. Even places she didn’t touch.
“That must’ve been one hell of a conversation.” John clapping my shoulder pulls my attention back to the three nosiest people in the room.
Reluctantly, I turn back to the maniacal grin I already know is waiting for me on John’s face.
“Would either of you boys like to, y’know, fill us in?” Calm, curious, and patient. Jo really is the perfect opposite to her wife, who is demanding, nosy and needs information five years before she might use it.
But it’s what makes Rindy good at her job.
The roll of my eyes gives John all the permission he needs. “A couple weeks ago, our boy Oliver and I were in this very bar. Mom and Pop Rhodes had been giving him a hard time about needing a wife—again, I might add.”
Joanna’s brows furrow with each new statement, trying to piece everything together.
Rindy, on the other hand, looks fascinated.
Kill me now.
“After a couple of drinks, we got to talking about familial ideas and projected happiness. That’s when Oliver had a bright idea.
” John’s nothing if not a good storyteller.
He should’ve been a damn poet. “With the holidays coming up, there will be plenty of time for families to pressure us single folks into finding love. So what if Oliver were to pretend to be their date to the festivities?”
“Why do I get the feeling that’s not all?” Jo’s cautious voice eases the tiniest bit of tension in my chest, a small smile breaking out.
“Because this is what sets Oliver apart as the ultimate holiday date—” John McNalley, the ultimate salesman “—as a prominent family therapist in our area, he’ll convince their family that everything believed to be wrong with them is actually the family’s doing.
” John crosses his arms, satisfaction written all over his face.
I’ve never seen Rindy speechless, but even I’ll admit it’s a pretty nice sight.
“Okay,” Joanna nods, “but what does … holy crap.” And two and two are now four. “But wait, Callie?”
My turn. “Remember, I just said this in passing. Then my good friend”—I look pointedly at the man next to me—“took it upon himself to actually act on the idea.”
Both women turn incredulous faces in John’s direction.
John simply shrugs. “All I did was open a document, make a flyer and post it in the bar. Anyone could’ve done it. It’s not my fault someone acted on it.”
“Well, can we see this flyer?” Rindy presses. She holds out a perfectly manicured hand.
“I only made the one copy and threw the original notes away after I stole it from Oliver’s bag.”
“And Callie shoved it back in her purse before she ran out of my office,” I add. Since we’re obviously on a Tell All.
Jo waves her hands in front of her face. “Wait a second, when did Callie come see you?”
“Tuesday afternoon.”
Rindy whips around to fully face John. “You’ve known about this since Tuesday and are just now saying something?”
“I didn’t know anything for sure,” John reminds her. “I mean, that’s when I knew someone came to see him about it. But I didn’t know who it was. Besides, it’s not like you really would’ve known who Callie was outside of the Halloween party.”
“Of which I was the hit,” Rindy gloats.
“Which brings us back to,” Joanna redirects at me, “what did you tell her?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Did you tell her you’d do it?”