Chapter 9 Winnie
WINNIE
I arrive at the office Monday morning armed with a color-coded folder, three different timeline proposals, and enough caffeine to face Patton Cross whether he likes it or not.
Today is the first official Fireman’s Ball planning meeting and nothing is going to interfere.
I’ve prepared talking points, a detailed budget, and vendor list options (organized by priority and price point).
I even laminated the seating chart options because I’m the person who does these kinds of things on the weekend while Grandma watches game shows and mutters about how I need to “get out more.”
“You’ve got this,” Mindy says, appearing in my doorway with a mug that says, Dear Monday, it’s you, not me.
Well, I do. Carpe Monday! Seize the day!
She says, “Just be confident. Professional. Don’t let him intimidate you.”
“I’m not intimidated.”
“Your left eye is twitching.”
I touch my face. “It’s the fluorescent lighting.”
Thomas rolls in on his swivel chair. “For what it’s worth, I think Patton’s bark is worse than his bite.”
“That sounds like the start of a cautionary tale.”
Thomas bursts into laughter. “I see what you did there. Bark-bite, tale-tail. Like a dog. Good one, Winnie.”
My friend Peony appears with a box of doughnut holes from Dot’s Dots (There is an adjacent putt-putt course called Hole in One) and tilts her head as if she’d overheard the Patton commentary, then shoos them away.
She has a sixth sense for when I’m in need of something delicious … and when I’m spiraling.
Peony is the calm to my chaos. The soothing balm to my itchy sweater—and Patton Cross is definitely an old, moth-eaten, itchy wool sweater.
Wearing a knowing smile, she shakes her head. “Thomas was off a few inches. Patton is all bark, no bite. Trust me. I’ve known him since high school.”
“He seems pretty bite-y to me.”
“He’s protective of his space. His time. His people. But once you’re in his circle, he’s loyal to a fault.”
“Great. Except I’m not in his circle. I’m barely in his peripheral vision.”
She squints. “Why are we talking about Maverick?”
“Maverick? You mean Patton.”
“Same person. Long story.” She waves her hand and passes me the box of doughnut holes as if they’re truth serum.
I tell her about Mayor Barbie assigning us to plan the Fireman’s Ball together.
“She sent you right to the front lines.”
“But why is there so much animosity between us? I just don’t get it. I showed up, all smiles and ready to do my job. He instantly shut me down with his sour puss smug smile and named me the Parks & Rec Princess.”
With a knowing grin, she gets to her feet. “Everyone has their story. Maybe he’ll open up and share his if you give him a chance. I have to get to work, but good luck.”
Frowning, I call after her, “That wasn’t helpful.”
Taking a deep breath, I gather my meticulously organized materials and march up to Conference Room B. When I get upstairs, my phone buzzes.
Patton Cross: Can’t make the meeting.
Figures. I stick my tongue out at the screen as I go back to the Parks & Recreation floor while typing a reply.
Me: When can you reschedule?
Patton Cross: I’ll let you know.
Exiting the stairwell, I mutter, “Are you kidding me?” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Mindy, Pauline, and Thomas look up from their desks.
Mindy says, “Let me guess. Lieutenant Punctual is late?”
“He’s not late. He’s absent. Again.” I want to throw my laminated seating charts across the room, but that seems wasteful.
“There was an accident out on Route 50,” Pauline says.
My shoulders drop. Now I feel like a jerk because he’s just doing his job—a noble one at that.
Thomas says, “At least you have time to—”
A high-pitched chittering sound cuts through the office.
We all freeze.
“What was that?” Thomas whispers.
The sound intensifies. Something crashes in my office.
I rush to my doorway and stop short.
A chickaree squirrel—Huckleberry Hill’s beloved mascot, the creature immortalized in that giant carved statue outside Huck’s—sits on my desk, clutching one of my goldenrod sticky notes like it’s a treasure map.
It’s not a plush, stuffed animal.
It’s not a statue.
It’s alive!
“Oh no.”
“Is that—?” Mindy gasps.
“The town mascot,” I finish weakly.
“The real town mascot,” Pauline clarifies. “Not Cody in the furry Gus suit.”
The squirrel chatters aggressively, glassy eyes fixed on me with what I can only describe as malicious intent. It’s bigger than I expected—maybe ten inches from head to tail of pure fury covered in reddish-brown fur.
“Okay. It’s fine. I’ve got this.” I step slowly into my office. “Hey there, little guy. You seem lost. Let’s get you back outside where you belong—”
The squirrel throws an acorn at my face and lands a direct hit right between my eyes.
“Ow!”
It chatters again, sounding distinctly like laughter.
“That’s it.” I grab my wastebasket to trap it. “Time to go, buddy.”
I approach carefully, basket extended like a shield. The squirrel watches me with the stillness of an enemy soldier calculating projectile trajectories.
When I lunge, it leaps straight over the basket, bounces off my filing cabinet, and lands on top of my windowsill.
“Come on!”
I try the broom next. Bad idea. The squirrel runs up the broom handle, across my arm, and perches on my shoulder like a pirate’s parrot.
Swallowing back a full-body tremble, I freeze. “Mindy?”
“Yes?”
I speak slowly, “There is a squirrel on my shoulder.”
“I can see that.”
“What do I do?” I whisper.
“Don’t. Move.”
Too late. The squirrel leaps off, scattering my carefully organized sticky notes across the floor like confetti, and barricades itself under the legs of my swiveling desk chair.
“That’s it. I’m calling for backup.” I grab my phone and dial.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I have a wildlife situation.”
“Ma’am, is someone injured?”
“My dignity!” I practically shout.
“Please describe your emergency,” a calm voice asks.
“There’s a squirrel in my office and it’s—it just threw another acorn! It’s armed!”
“Ma’am, we don’t dispatch for—”
“Please. It’s the town mascot. This is a PR nightmare waiting to happen.”
There’s a long pause. “Um, I’ll send someone from the fire department.”
Five minutes later, during which the squirrel has systematically destroyed my organizational system and I’ve added this thing to the terror watch list, heavy footsteps approach.
Patton Cross fills my doorway, fully geared up, looking like he just stepped out of the kind of calendar Grandma says firefighters should pose for.
His eyes scan the room. Papers are everywhere, the wastebasket is upside down, and I’m crouched behind my desk with a broom clutched like a sword.
“You called 911 … for a squirrel?”
“It’s armed and dangerous. Look at those teeth!”
As if on cue, the squirrel chatters menacingly from atop my filing cabinet.
Patton’s lip twitches. I think he’s trying not to laugh.
“Patton, this is a crisis.”
“Hardly.”
“Where’s your fire dog?” I demand. “Isn’t he supposed to help with this kind of thing?”
On cue, Oreo the Dalmatian trots in, surveys the situation, and yawns before sitting down with complete disinterest.
“Your dog is broken,” I accuse.
“He retired from rodent duty,” Patton says.
I swear his mouth quirks. Is this amusing to him?
The squirrel unleashes another round of aggressive chittering.
Patton raises his hands slowly, speaking in a voice I’ve never heard from him—gentle, almost tender. “Hey there, little fella. You’re just scared, aren’t you? Let’s get you home.”
The squirrel immediately stops chittering and tilts its tiny head.
“I said almost the same thing, but—” I watch in disbelief as the animal cooperates.
Patton moves slowly, carefully, while making soft clicking sounds. The squirrel watches him but doesn’t run.
I whisper, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
After a moment, it hops down from the filing cabinet, scampers across my desk, and—I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes—the animal climbs right into Patton’s outstretched hand.
With the other, he opens the window to my office, which, to be fair, is probably what I should’ve done fifteen minutes ago.
“What is happening?” I murmur.
“He needed someone to stay calm,” Patton says.
“I was calm!” I hiss.
“You were wielding a broom and screaming.”
“I was defending my territory!”
Oreo sniffs the air, finally showing some interest.
Patton releases the squirrel back into the wild, closes the window, and then looks back at me. “You okay?”
The question catches me off guard. His hazel eyes—more green in the office lighting—hold what some might say looks like actual concern. But I know better.
I pout and trace a small circle on the surface of my desk. “I’m fine. That just wounded my pride.”
“Happens to everyone.” Then he disappears down the hall.
I’m left standing in the wreckage of my office, wondering what just happened.