Chapter 10 Winnie
WINNIE
Mindy and Thomas instantly pop in now that the coast is clear.
“Did you see that?” Mindy whispers.
My brow wrinkles. “Yes, I witnessed the entirety of the squirrel incident—up close and personal.”
Thomas shakes his head. “The way Patton looked at you …”
I cross my arms in front of my chest. “He looked at me like I’m incompetent.”
Pauline wears a warm smile as if she’s well aware that we all know how Patton looked at me.
I huff. “You’re imagining things.”
Before anyone gets back to work, Patton returns and says, “We need to complete an incident report.”
I begrudgingly cross the hallway to his office.
As if lured by the commotion, Austin, Scotty, James, and Hayes appear.
“Heard there was a Code S.” Austin tries and fails to keep a straight face.
“Code Squirrel,” Hayes supplies with a chuckle.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.” Scotty pinches his fingers together. I’ve rarely seen him joke around.
James says, “Did Patton rush in like a knight in shining armor?”
“Speaking of, we’d better get those tickets to the hockey game,” Scotty says.
“Don’t each of you have something to do right now?” Patton asks pointedly.
Scotty and Austin make an about-face and shuffle down the hall as Oreo trots over to me. The Dalmatian puts his head in my lap, looking up with sweet brown eyes. I pet his head and tell him that he’s a good boy, even though he didn’t so much as lift a paw and come to my aid.
“Traitor,” Patton mutters.
“At least someone doesn’t think I’m a scaredy cat,” I say, scratching behind Oreo’s ears.
“I never said that.”
“The look on your face said everything I need to know.”
His eyes flash to mine and the room tilts, sending me slightly off balance. I quickly look away and take a seat.
James passes Patton a piece of paper and he stamps it. Then, before he exits, he says, “Oreo only likes people with good hearts. Either that or you keep bacon in your desk drawer.”
“Get out of here,” Patton all but growls to his crew members.
“For the record, I don’t have bacon.”
James winks.
Hayes edges closer, all baby-faced charm. “That was pretty intense. Are you sure you’re okay? I could post up in your office and make sure no other wildlife attacks—”
“She’s fine.” Patton’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. The muscle in his jaw ticks, and he’s looking at Hayes with an expression that could freeze water.
Hayes backs up, hands raised as he leaves. “Just checking.”
Oreo hasn’t left my side, his tail thumping against my leg. Other than the dog, Patton and I are alone. I should take this opportunity to discuss our meeting, but instead, I say, “Your dog has terrible loyalty.”
“He’s the station dog and this is unusual behavior. He’s typically cautious around strangers. Must be something in the air, given the squirrel’s visit.”
“I’m not a stranger. I’ve worked here for over six months.”
“He barely tolerates most people.”
I’m not sure if Patton is referring to himself or the dog. “What can I say? I’m very likable.”
Patton makes a sound that might be a scoff or a laugh. It’s impossible to tell. “We need to fill out the incident report.”
“For a squirrel?” I ask.
“Protocol.”
“Let’s get this over with,” I say.
“First question. Was the wildlife aggressive, passive, or neutral?”
“Aggressive.”
Patton writes Playful.
“Excuse me? It threw acorns at us.”
“So intensely aggressive?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.
“Well, that seems a tad extreme. It was relatively harmless.”
“Then why did you call for help?”
I wince. He has a point.
“Next question. Describe in detail the capture method used.” Patton starts writing. I lean over and read the words as they appear. “‘Subject attempted multiple failed capture methods—’”
I snatch the pen. “I was strategizing!”
“You were hiding behind your desk and holding a broom.”
“It was for my own safety.”
“So was the squirrel a threat or not?”
We argue through every question—whether my office door was “secured” (it was closed, which is basically the same thing), whether backup was “necessary” (it was helpful, not essential), and whether the incident posed “significant risk to personnel.”
“It was a squirrel,” I say for the tenth time. “Not a bear.”
“Squirrels carry diseases.”
“Says the guy who coaxed it with his hands.”
“I was wearing gloves.” Patton’s mouth twitches again.
We somehow manage to finish the form and Patton files it.
I rush into discussing the Fireman’s Ball planning meeting, when Austin pokes his head in again, “Great teamwork, you two. Looks like you do know how to work together after all.”
I’m about to protest when Patton says, “Speaking of, I have real work to do.”
“So do I,” I counter as if he were suggesting I just lounge lazily in my office all day eating chocolate.
I dismiss myself and walk right across the hall to my desk. The first thing I notice is his jacket on my chair. But he’s already gone, and I’m left with his cedar and woodsmoke scent filling my space.
That evening, I’m curled up on Grandma’s couch when she brings me a mug. “It’s a special acorn tea.”
My shoulders drop. “You’re in on this, too, huh?”
The squirrel incident is all anyone could talk about around town today.
“Judy called. Then Margaret. Then the mayor.”
“Of course they did.”
“They all said the same thing.”
“That Gus the squirrel humiliated me? Let me be clear, that animal was out for blood.”
She titters. “More like that firefighter only had eyes for you.”
I squawk a laugh. “Hardly. The man cannot stand me. He thinks I’m a nuisance, helpless, and too stupid to be alive.”
She stitches a square on her quilt in progress. “Are you sure about that? He jumped your car last week.”
I pull a throw pillow over my face and mumble, “I hate him.” But no sooner are the words out, I know they’re a lie.
“I find that hard to believe.” Of course, she’s right.
I peek out from behind the pillow. “He’s infuriating, Grandma. He cancels meetings. He barely talks. When he does open his mouth, it’s to point out everything I’m doing wrong.”
“But he shows up when you need help.”
“That’s just a coincidence.”
“Is it?” She sets down her quilting project, looking at me with those sharp, small town eyes that never miss a thing. “When was the last time someone showed up for you without you having to ask?”
The question lands like a stone in still water.
My ex used to make me feel guilty for needing help. My parents need me to fix everything. Even Fabrizio, with his apologetic texts about the restaurant, treats my help like an imposition he’s forced to accept.
But Patton just … shows up. Fixed my car. Rescued me from a squirrel. Didn’t make a big deal about either. Well, except for the report comments and the repeated delay of our Fireman’s Ball meetings.
Grandma adds, “For some people, it’s how they express their appreciation or affection.”
“Those two words don’t apply here.”
“He may have his reasons or he could be too stubborn to admit how he feels.”
“Doubtful.”
My phone buzzes.
Patton Cross: Misplaced my jacket. By any chance, is it in your office? We can get that planning meeting over with then.
Short. Professional. So Patton.
I don’t reply. Stubbornly refuse to acknowledge how I feel.
Then another message appears.
Patton Cross: Glad you weren’t hurt today.
I stare at those five words for a full minute. He’s teasing. Has to be.
Me: Yes, your jacket is there.
Patton Cross: Thanks.
That’s it. But somehow it seems like more.
Grandma looks at me knowingly.
“What?” I ask, squealing inside.
“Nothing, dear. Just wondering who could’ve texted that would’ve brought such a big smile to your face.”
“I’m not smiling.” I so am.
My phone buzzes one more time.
She arches an eyebrow.
“Patton left his jacket in my office. I plan to return it with mud in the pockets. Shaving cream. Something gooey. What is it about that man that makes me feel so juvenile?”
“Maybe it’s because he’s like that boy who sat behind you in third grade and would pull on your pigtails.”
“Christopher McCall?”
“He had a crush on you.”
“He certainly did not.”
She shakes her head as if to say that I’m hopeless. “I never said that boys or men are necessarily emotionally literate. It takes some practice.”
Though I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on one of those Crush Cakes. I check my phone, recalling I have another text waiting.
Patton Cross: Guess we’re stuck together.
I read it twice, looking for annoyance or resignation. But all I can hear is the gentle way he spoke to that scared squirrel.
Maybe he isn’t just a cold, unfeeling grouch. A smug-faced jerk.
Maybe there is more to him than the wall he built between us.
Maybe I want to find out what that might be.