4. Fishin’ in the Dark
NITTY GRITTY DIRT BAND
4
FISHIN’ IN THE DARK
“Well, well, well. Dakota Remillard,” Sadie called across the coffee shop as soon as the bell rang over the door with his entrance. Every eye in the shop turned his way. “We sure did miss ya at church this mornin’.”
“Here we go…” Mrs. Woodhouse lifted her teacup to her overly painted, bright-pink lips, looking far too excitable. She sat in her usual Sunday spot, front and center of the shop, with her much smaller husband at her side. Her Sunday hat brimmed over her brow, shaking as she cheered, “Get ‘im, Sadie Girl!”
Dakota pasted a sunshine smile on his face. “Hello, Mrs. Woodhouse. You look mighty beautiful this afternoon.”
Mrs. Woodhouse whipped out a bonafide bone-fan and began waving her face as if she’d suddenly been caught in a heatwave, sitting bare-bottomed on Georgia asphalt.
Dakota greeted her husband and offered his hand, turning on the charm everyone expected from him. “Mr. Woodhouse. How are you, sir?”
“Oh, I’m just fine. Just enjoyin’ a little after-service date with my lady, here,” the older man answered, his dark bristly mustache twitching with his smile. “How are things going for you, Mr. Remillard? You enjoyin’ that big fancy job of yours. Your daddy mentioned it's some sort of engineerin’, right?”
Dakota stumbled over the chair he’d briefly leaned against as a prickle of discomfort chased down his usual easy-breezy persona. He re-righted the chair and scratched his head. “Um… yeah. Aerospace. It’s good. Real good.” He stifled an uncomfortable laugh, realizing he sounded an awful lot like Nacho Libre.
My life is good. Reeeal good.
Mr. Woodhouse hummed. “Real good, huh? Sounds mighty important.”
“I dunno about important, but yes, sir, it’s uh… so grood.” He’d tried for great, rather than good, but apparently couldn’t handle the pressure in describing his job with another adjective, so wound up saying both. He shook his head and laughed at himself.
“Hmmm. Grood. Haven’t heard that one before. You youngin’s are movin’ faster in language than I can keep up. Right, Ada?”
Mrs. Woodhouse fanned at her husband, hurrying him along. “Yes, yes. We’re old dear. Now, get on with it… I’m getting tired.”
Mr. Woodhouse beamed at his wife proudly, then turned back to Dakota. “Any girls catchin’ your eye as of late?” A flash of soft, caramel-tattooed skin flashed through Dakota’s brain and, as if he could read his thoughts, Mr. Woodhouse’s eyes flicked to the woman actively ignoring his presence at the counter.
Deny, deny, Dakota thought to himself, too aware of how rumors could run rampant around these parts.
“No, sir. I’m too busy with that job and… uh… everything. But I sure am glad ya escorted your wife here today, or I might have been tempted to buy her a tea myself.”
The elderly man chuckled and pointed at Dakota with a shaky finger while his wife fanned her face again, blushing like a schoolgirl. “I think ya ‘bout got your hands full with that one. Don’t need to add anythang else to your plate.” Dakota side-eyed the counter, again, where Sadie stood, hands on her hips, perfectly content to stare at the chalkboard rather than him.
Mr. Woodhouse glanced at the package in Dakota’s hand and leaned in closer, entirely too shrewd for Dakota’s liking. He then loudly whispered, “I think she’s taken a likin’ to ya, Mr. Remillard. Go ahead and chat with her. Give the wife a little entertainin’ before our afternoon nap.”
Dakota saluted and approached the counter.
“So,” Sadie said, all nonchalance and not bothering to glance in his direction, “in case you were wonderin’, Evan preached on God’s providence. How he used Reuben to save Joseph from death, and then… ya know… in doin’ so, Joseph saves his brothers years later, savin’ the line of Christ in Judah. It was heavy stuff. Real interestin’. So grood.” She smirked proudly. “Shame ya missed it.”
He let out a loud, impressed whistle. “Sounds like it. So thankful you’re such a grood listener… Seems you’ve heard quite a bit today.”
“Mmmhhm,” she agreed and smiled at a customer as she called out their order while offering a chipper, “Have a good start to your afternoon.”
She gave the counter a wipe down then turned her back on Dakota. “Part of the job round here. Anyways, I saw your family and sweet little Theo this mornin’. I swear, I could eat that boy’s cheeks right off his face, he’s so cute… But I didn’t see you, though. Ya must have been so very, very busy.”
Dakota bit his lip, a feeble attempt at holding back his smile. His sisters definitely underestimated the ferocity of this woman. She was gonna pretend like she wasn’t bothered by the night before at all? Dakota could too. For her sake, of course.
“If ya wanna know where I was, Edwin, ya just gotta ask.” He strode over to the bar, matching her tone tit-for-tat.
“Okay. Where were you?” she asked.
Dakota smiled, ridiculously pleased that she did want to know. Even if they were just playing one of their usual games. “I was…”
Sadie switched on the espresso machine, filling the room with the sound of frothing milk, and effectively drowning out anything Dakota might say. One of her eyebrows raised, and a self-satisfied, pinched grin crept over her previously apathetic face.
Switching the machine off, she finished the drink and called the order out—all in those smooth, effortless movements Dakota tried extremely hard not to study.
Then Sadie made herself busy at the other end of the bar cleaning table tops, effectively ignoring his presence.
He cleared his throat, deciding on a new tactic.
“Edwi— Sadie?”
“Hmmm?” she hummed without facing him.
Dakota ran a hand across the wooden countertop, tracing it along a path to the woman on the other side.
“I wondered if I could talk to you? In, um… Maybe in private?”
“No, thank you.”
A not so subtle hallelujah sounded from his back. Followed by the chuckles of Mr. Woodhouse, who found his wife’s antics positively delightful.
The people in this town would drive him right out of it.
Dakota shook his weary head and laid the bundle of fresh sunflowers he’d carried in on the counter. An offering. One that had made him think of the way Sadie’s bright amber eyes seemed to have a golden sunflower in the center of each. And of the delicate, line-drawn sunflowers tattooed along her forearm. Not that he’d dedicated any amount of time to memorizing that particular piece of her skin, or her eyes, for that matter.
“I’m sorry, Sadie. Sincerely.”
Sadie whipped her head around, and her jaw dropped, completely taken by surprise.
Was it so hard to believe he’d apologize?
You want to pull her hair ninety-nine percent of the time, he thought. So yeah, she wasn’t expecting flowers… Doofus.
He instantly filled with remorse and cleared his throat, hoping just this once that Sadie might take him seriously.
“I’m sorry for the way I treated you last night. It wasn’t fair, and it definitely wasn’t kind. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, and I, uh…” He rubbed his shoulder, making his hands busy. “I’m honestly embarrassed at my behavior. I hope you can forgive me. And that we can be…”
“Civil?”
“Friends, Edwin.”
“Friends?” she asked. “You think that’s possible?”
“Yeah. I can, if you can,” he responded.
“I so can!” she said, defensively. “I can, more than you!”
Dakota stepped around the counter, feeling the heat rise in his blood with her challenge, and the spark of an idea coming to life. “Really? You think you can be friendlier than me? A born and raised, Southern gentleman.”
“You were born in North Dakota.” She leveled up to him and narrowed her eyes. A miniature poodle—all curly-haired, hoity-toity confidence, and definitely overcompensating for a size difference. “And… you are no Southern gentlemen. I’m way more amiable than you!”
“Amiable? Wow. What advanced vocabulary you have, friend.” An errant curl flipped from the golden yellow band wrapped around Sadie’s head. Before he really thought twice about it, Dakota gave that dark coil a gentle little tug. Nothing but chummy affection here.
Sadie gasped and swatted his hand away. “How’s this for vocabulary? You are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet!”
Dakota stuffed his wayward hands in his pockets and looked at the ceiling. “Where have I heard that before?”
His eyes returned to a fuming Sadie, who’d crossed her arms in nothing but defiance. He definitely didn’t find that adorable, at all. He did think about blowing a steady stream of air into her face—just like he did to Gus when he really wanted to irritate his mom’s snobbish cat but was afraid of getting too close to the erratic creature for comfort.
“It’s from Harry Potter…” she began.
Dakota clicked his tongue in his cheek and shook his head. “No. No, that isn’t it. I think I remember learning it in my Edwin’s Educational Instructions course. Right before the How to Accept an Apology class, and then the one called… Amiability 101.”
He offered her his best, self-satisfied smirk. The one that always got him an elbow in the gut from his sisters. “How about we call a truce?” He pointed his finger between them both. “You and me. This has gone on long enough, right?”
Sadie lifted her shoulders in the smallest acknowledgement of agreement.
“And… obviously there’s…. Well… let's call it what it is. There’s tension. Between us.”
Her eyes lifted as she breathed deeply, nostrils flaring. “There is no tension, Dakota Remillard. You just don’t know how to…”
He took a step closer, careful not to invade her space too much, and lowered his voice. “There is tension, Sadie. And I just think instead of… I dunno… all the hostility… maybe we could find a way to co-exist. Maybe even have a little fun with it?”
He could do this. He could be friends with Sadie and not want anything more. Just fun.
“Fun?” Sadie looked around the room, leading Dakota’s eyes along the same path. He hadn’t even noticed that Good Start had filled up with customers and that the two teens who worked Sunday afternoons had taken over at the register and serving stations. Predictably, the Woodhouses continued to watch like they were at a Sunday matinee.
“Yeah. Fun,” he finally answered. “I bet…” His mind whirled with possibilities. “I bet I can out-friend you.”
“Out-friend me, Dakota? Seriously?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, believing more and more in this hair-brained idea. “Kill ya with kindness and all that. Lets out-friend each other. You drive me crazy about 98% of the time, and I know I make you a little…”
“Irritated beyond comparison,” Sadie answered for him.
“Yeah, yeah. But in a charming, irresistible way.”
“You’re barely tolerable.”
“Pride and Prejudice. I’ve seen that one.” He waved her off and rubbed his hands together. “Come on, Edwin. Let’s see how very, very nice we can be.”
She raised an eyebrow, her bright amber eyes filling with distrust and something like pity. “Dakota,” she whispered, “this won’t change anything.”
“I know that.” He hated it, but knew it all the same. “I’m not expectin’ it to.”
“And you’re gonna play nice? No pranks. No weird Dakota-isms that make me want to strangle you.”
“That’s the deal. Yes,” he said, just as much to convince himself.
“Okay,” Sadie agreed, still tentative. “How do we decide who wins? Your sisters?”
“Um. No way. Those three will vote in your favor any day.”
Sadie giggled and hopped back and forth on her feet, her excitement growing by the minute. “True. They totally would.”
He thought for a minute, letting his fingers strum on the counter. “We’ll… just keep a tally.”
“A tally?” She tapped her fingers against her lips. “Okay. Winner declared at the end of summer.”
“Agreed.” Two months of nothing but friendly fire. “What are we playing for?”
Sadie’s amber eyes sparked with a glimmer of mischief. “Your loft.”
“My loft? You want my… home?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah. I like it.”
“No, Edwin! You have a home. You can’t have mine!”
Sadie tsk-tsk-tsk’d, shaking her head. “That isn’t very friendly at all, Dakota Remillard. I think you’re missin’ the spirit of the competition.”
Dakota took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. Something he’d seen Lake do a time or two when dealing with Georgia. He was beginning to understand why.
“Fine. If you win, you get my loft. But if I win, I get your car.”
“No!” she screeched. “You hate my car!”
Dakota shrugged. “Yeah, but you love it. I want it.”
“Dakota Remillard, last summer when I offered, quite selflessly might I add, to give you a ride to the church—”
He put his finger up, “We are the Church, Sadie.”
“Don’t interrupt me.” She poked her finger in his chest, then growled through her teeth when he booped her nose in return. “You said, and I quote, ‘I’d rather Forest Gump it across the country than ride for a minute in that sorry excuse of scrap metal.’”
“I’m sure it’ll grow on me. You want the loft… I want your car.”
Sadie narrowed her eyes in a look he knew meant she had much more to say on the subject. Instead, she stomped her foot—honestly, he expected nothing less—and said, “Fine. Agreed.”
He’d just have to win by whatever means necessary. Simple as that.
“You’re goin’ down, Dakota Remillard!”
“Right. Sure. Don’t lose that confidence, Edwin.” He gave her a patronizing little nod but wanted to make sure they were really and truly good before beginning this little arrangement. “But, you will forgive me, right? For last night.”
Sadie glanced at the forgotten flowers still lying on the countertop, and Dakota thought he saw the slightest softening in her tight jaw and full lips. Like she could almost smile at the gesture. If she found him just a bit more tolerable.
“Yes. I forgive you.” She pinched her lips together and scrunched them to one side, clearly in the midst of an internal battle. “And thank you for the sunflowers. They’re my favorite.”
“I know.” He held out his hand, finding it incredibly hard to resist smiling, and Sadie punched her much smaller hand into his. “Friends?”
“The friendliest,” she sneered and nodded, noticeably tightening her grasp on his hand.
Feeling feistier by the moment, Dakota let his thumb trail ever so slightly along her hand.
“We’ll see, Edwin.”