Chapter 14 Winnie
WINNIE
Expression shifting from what I can only describe as intent to concerned, Patton leaps to his feet, tries the door, and looks it over carefully, before bellowing, “Austin!”
“Did he lock us in here? That sneak!”
“He hung the door backward and the lock is on the wrong side. How? Why? Hinges!” His tone is tight with frustration.
“So we’re locked in?” I bang on the door, but no one hears us because of the loud tools. “Are they using jackhammers?”
“Unfortunately.” Patton runs his hand through his hair.
We stand close together as if prepared to be the first to escape should the door suddenly fly open.
My gaze crawls up his body as I take in his profile while he examines the hinges.
Perfect posture, masculine features, eyes that—that meet mine for a beat at the recognition we’re locked in a small, intimate space together.
If he were any other man, I’d imagine I see a question there, a longing in the way his eyelids dip ever so slightly, the way his tongue peeks through his lips briefly.
My breath catches and I step back, practically flinging myself against the nearby wall to put distance between us. I tell myself I feel annoyed because I have work to do. Also, it’s suddenly so warm in here that I peel off my jacket.
Intending to cool the temperature with sarcasm, I say, “Nothing awful about being trapped with your nemesis.”
“Nemesis? That’s dramatic.” His eyes dance as if amused.
“Then would you call us frenemies?” I ask while waving through the window, but no one sees me.
Patton tilts his head in question, so I explain the definition.
“Ah, so like your grandmother and Judy Waples.”
“Precisely.”
He almost smiles, then pulls out his phone and sends a text, likely to issue a rescue.
We stand there in silence before it becomes unbearable. Having come from a loud family, if we’re quiet, that means something is wrong.
“So, are you excited about the hockey game at the Fire & Ice Fest?”
“I’m always excited to win.”
I snap my fingers. “There’s that humility again.”
“Humility doesn’t win championships.”
“Maybe not, but it makes you easier to be around.”
He leans against the wall opposite me, studying me with hazel eyes that, right now, remind me of the evergreens in the mountains. “You don’t seem to mind being around me lately.”
My pulse trips and then takes off at a trot.
Is he … is this flirting? Or am I reading into things because I’ve been trapped in a small space with him for all of ninety seconds?
The room shifts slightly, so I sit back in the chair and turn my focus to all the things that need my attention, rather than the man who strangely has my attention as his gaze scans me from head to toe.
He answers a text and then says, “Is there somewhere you need to be? Hot Valentine’s Day date?”
I realize my leg is jiggling. “What? No. Of course not.”
He looks rather pleased.
I’ve been foolish. Someone with a crush on him probably got him coffee and a doughnut hole this morning for Valentine’s Day, but he didn’t want it, so he left it for the person whose office is nearest his.
That makes a lot more sense. No universe exists in which Patton Cross would be anything but tickled pink that I’m alone, lonely on Valentine’s Day.
“Is there a reason you don’t have plans tonight?” he asks.
“If you’re about to tease or ridicule me for being single, save it for someone who cares.
I’m focusing on my career at the moment.
” I level him with my Nonna’s best sharp-eyed gaze—the one she uses when anyone in our family steps out of line.
It’s the shark-like one that comes right before a pinch on the soft skin on the back of the arm.
His eyebrows bobble.
I add, “Plus, there isn’t anyone in this town whom I’d date.”
“No? That’s a shame.”
“Is that what you really think?”
He lets a breath out through his nose. “I really do.”
Well aware that Patton merely wants to pass the time by making me feel bad, I change tactics. Two can play this game. Recalling how annoyed he got when the rookie mentioned grabbing lunch, I say, “Though I wonder if Hayes is available.”
“You’re not going on a date with Handsome.”
“Why ever not? You said it yourself. He is handsome.”
“Is that what you’re looking for in a man? Surface stuff?”
“Well, that and someone who is emotionally literate and has communication skills. Someone kind, thoughtful, and who doesn’t look at me as if he’s calculating how to get away with homicide.” I point a finger gun at him.
“I don’t look at you like that.”
“What makes you think I was talking about you, considering the qualifications?”
His expression darkens, fills with something that looks a lot like hunger.
Startled, I walk a half circle around his desk, putting space between us, dialing down Cupid’s mischief-making.
“Though, unfortunately, this evening, I have work for starters, not to mention the growing list of things that need to be fixed at my grandmother’s house.
Last week, it was the plumbing. Well, still is. This week, a light keeps flickering.”
Concern replaces whatever bloodlust I thought I witnessed in Patton’s features. “Do you know electrical wiring?”
“Video tutorials know how to fix wiring. I’m just along for the ride. But if you could spare your crew for a few days, I bet they could make quick work of the repairs,” I joke.
He wears a faint smile, a tease of what it could be. Suddenly and without warning, I understand why Mindy and half the women in this town walk into walls and forget their names when he’s around. My mouth is suddenly dry. I’m starving.
“You’re resourceful,” he says, breaking me out of the moment.
“I have to be.”
“But you don’t always have to do everything yourself.”
“Says the man who was single handedly working a full-time job, building a business on the side, and trying to negotiate supplier accounts before I stepped in.”
“Touché.”
Our phones buzz at the same time. Grandma Joyce writes a long missive about the ongoing brownie battle (it started at the Summer Street Fair last year and there is no end in sight—allegedly, this comes after the resolution of the decade’s long Christmas Sugar Cookie Scrum), how Judy Waples launched an offensive, and that she’d like me to send reinforcements.
I groan.
“Problem?” Patton asks.
“Other than being locked in here?”
“Is it so bad?”
I look around. It’s peaceful, quiet, and organized. The company is fine. And I mean that in the traditional sense, not the slang way, as in Patton is attractive, handsome, hot …
I fan my face. “The Great Brownie Battle has entered its next phase.”
He chuckles. “It now has an official name?”
“This iteration does.”
I explain about the Fire & Ice Fest brownie sundae station, about Grandma Joyce’s innovative approach with espresso powder and sea salt, and Judy Waples’ traditional family recipes and deep suspicion of store-bought shortcuts.
“They’re in a fierce competition. I have to taste-test both and declare a winner while navigating their baking feud. ”
The tease of a smile on Patton’s lips has grown into a slight grin. It’s unfair how good-looking he is. I mean, objectively speaking. Still tan from a summer spent outside. Large callused hands. A little bump in his nose, suggesting it was once broken.
“This town,” he says, shaking his head.
“Right? Everyone has opinions, history, stakes.” I pause and glance out the window as a weird fantasy of him rescuing me and carrying me down the ladder attached to the big engine plays quickly through my mind.
As if reading my damsel-in-distress thoughts, he says, “I’d love to know more about your time as Parks & Rec Princess.”
It takes me a moment to piece together what he means. “You mean being Miss Nevada?”
He nods, and I can’t tell if he’s curious or setting up another joke.
Either I’m about to give him more ammunition or set him straight. “I competed and won the state title.” I pause, waiting for his reaction.
His eyebrows lift as if he’s impressed.
“Took the runner up place at Miss America.”
“That’s a big deal.” The edges of his voice soften as if he now realizes what this means to me and that I’m not a paper doll.
I’ll admit that the petty part of me takes pleasure in his surprise. “Most people hear ‘pageant’ and assume I’m vapid or fake. That I smiled my way into this job.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I heard what you said to your crew last June before you left for the summer.”
He has the decency to look uncomfortable.
“It paid for my master’s degree in public administration, actually.” I meet his eyes. “Turns out pageants are more than hair and swimsuits.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did. Everyone does. But I worked my butt off for that title and I’m not ashamed of it.”
“I bet your family was proud to have a princess in the family.”
“Technically, I had a crown, not a tiara, so the terminology is off, Lieutenant.” I smile despite myself.
“I know what people assume, but pageants taught me how to think on my feet, speak in public, and organize events under pressure. Turns out that translates pretty well to small town government. It also taught me how to handle people underestimating me.” I hold his gaze.
Something flickers in his eyes. “Huh.”
“Surprised?”
“Maybe a little.”
“People see the crown and the sash and assume I’m all surface level. That I don’t know what I’m doing—”
“I never said—”
“You called me ‘Parks & Rec Princess’ before we even had a real conversation. You decided who I was based on a pageant I did ten years ago.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “You’re right. I did. I’m sorry. For the record, you’re beautiful, smart, and talented, but you don’t need someone like me to tell you that.”
I want to tell him that he’s right, but it is nice to hear the compliments even if he only said them because he felt like he had to. Instead, I laugh.
“I’m being serious.”
“Sure, you are.”
But his gaze doesn’t waver. He doesn’t toss a barb or joke my way.