Chapter 20 Winnie
WINNIE
Mindy stands in front of a whiteboard in one of the Parks & Rec conference rooms. “Okay, so we need a multi-pronged approach.”
I stare at it. “Is that a flowchart?”
Thomas nods proudly. “Green is for activities Patton will enjoy. Yellow designates conversational topics and red is for danger zones.”
Pauline holds a clipboard. “We’ve been observing.”
My jaw hits the basement level of the building with shock and, fine, a bit of awe, but mostly concern. “You’ve been spying.”
“Strategically observing,” Thomas counters.
Mindy taps the air with her pointer finger. “Note the difference.”
In all caps, the project is titled Operation Make Maverick Smile. Beneath that, in color-coded dry-erase markers and sticky notes, I read their plan.
Goal: Make the subject smile and have fun at the Fireman’s Ball.
To note: Subject likes black coffee in the morning and beef jerky in the afternoon. Lives alone and is tidy. Hobbies include cooking and hiking. Personality: arrogant, grouchy. Appreciates himself.
Okay, I added that last one, but am I entirely right about that now that I’m getting to know Patton?
Danger Zone: Don’t mention his father unless he brings it up first.
There is more, but I don’t have a chance to read it, because this is incredibly problematic, partly because I haven’t mentioned the not-date and somehow that has remained private, not to mention I’m not entirely keen on deceiving Patton, despite our history.
“This feels manipulative,” I say quietly.
“It’s a masterpiece!” Thomas gestures at the board like it’s a work of art.
Mindy says, “You’re a people person, Winnie. This is what you do! You read people, anticipate their needs, and make them comfortable. We’re optimizing for your success.”
Wringing my hands, I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know—”
Mindy plants her hand on her hip. “We took a pool. A hundred and twenty bucks says you can’t do it.”
Oof. I do need the money.
“Plus, you’ll avoid interpretive dance routines while in a mascot costume after eating chili dogs at the Parks and Recreation Regional Convention.”
I pull a face, already feeling queasy.
Pauline catches my gaze and raises an eyebrow like she sympathizes, but just can’t resist rubbernecking. Plus, there’s the issue of the money. I’ll take it wherever I can right now.
“Fine, I’ll do it, but not like this.” I gesture to the whiteboard.
“We’re just observing,” Thomas says oh-so-innocently.
“I’ll do it my way. You three stay out of it, please.”
I’m about to go hide in the supply closet when I pause by the door. “Why are you guys doing this?”
“Winner takes all!” Thomas lifts his arm above as if leading a siege.
Pauline sighs like she’s auditioning for a telenovela.
“Someone has to do something about the flirty eye tag you and Patton play.” Mindy winks.
“We do no such thing,” I mutter.
But this is how I end up at the old firehouse two days later with homemade sandwiches, chips, and a tray of Grandma Joyce’s brownies.
The crew continues to work on renovations—Austin balances on a ladder and Scotty measures something with a yellow tape.
Hayes paints the trim like a modern artist. Reese assembles a table.
Patton is in the middle of it all, doing a bit of everything like the capable man he is.
Focus, Winnie.
“Lunch delivery!” I announce.
Everyone stops working.
Austin climbs down. “Food!”
“Homemade sandwiches. Grandma insisted on the brownies.”
“I love your grandma,” Reese says, already reaching for the basket.
Patton approaches more slowly, eyebrow raised. “What’s this?”
“I made extra. Thought you might be hungry.” I keep my voice light, casual. “Wouldn’t want anyone’s blood sugar to get low. Power tools and lightheadedness don’t mix well.”
“We were going to order pizza,” Patton says.
“Pizza is good. But so are fresh, homemade meals.” I gesture to the sandwiches. “Turkey, roast beef, and a veggie option for anyone who’s into that.”
Notably, that particular sandwich is neglected. I’ll offer it to Mindy. In addition to her “flavor of the week,” she rotates through a new diet or eating plan on a regular basis.
Thanking me, the crew swarms the food like ants at a picnic and takes a lunch break, chatting animatedly.
Patton remains by me, looking confused, suspicious … attractive.
“Why’d you do this?” he asks.
“I wanted to.” The truth and a thin plan to win the bet tangle together. “Besides, I needed to check on your progress. Parks & Rec has a vested interest in this project.”
“Right. Official business.”
“Exactly, and it looks like things are coming along nicely.”
He narrows his eyes. “I’m suspicious. You’re acting strange.”
“I’m being nice.”
“Same thing. You could’ve just called.”
“I could’ve, but I’m not above bribery.”
He snaps his fingers. “I knew it. What do you want?”
“I’m joking. Can’t a person just bring lunch without an ulterior motive?” Guilt skulks off as shame over how this could be viewed as manipulative, takes its place like a gold medal winner on the podium.
Patton says, “Not you. You probably have a five-point agenda.”
“Only three points, actually. You’re overestimating me. If you feel morally compromised by lunch, that says more about you than it does about yours truly.”
He almost smiles. “I feel very compromised.”
We end up sitting on the back steps together, sandwiches balanced on our knees. It’s an unseasonably warm winter day and the sun feels good on my face.
“This is good. Thanks, by the way,” Patton says.
“Grandma Joyce takes lunch very seriously.”
“Like her Great Brownie Battle with Judy?”
“Much like that.” I take a bite of my own sandwich.
Patton tells me about progress and adds, “We’re on schedule for the early spring opening.”
“Austin said customers will be able to slide down the brass pole.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “Yep. Want to try it?”
I nearly choke on my cranberry juice. “Um, is that safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is it allowed?”
“Yep.”
“Do I need to confirm that with the town council? The building inspector? OSHA?”
“I’d rather you not.”
I squint, trying to blur the line between my job and erasing this part of the conversation from the public record. “I like that you’re honoring the history of the building while creating something new.”
“That’s the goal.”
Despite our banter before about lunch motives, now that we’ve broken bread together multiple times, I feel at ease with Patton. I could tell him anything. Well, almost.
I add something to the “dangerous” column on Mindy, Thomas, and Pauline’s whiteboard. Being comfortable with him, enjoying his company without the constant bickering, and liking the curve of his lips should not happen.
“Can I ask you something?” I venture.
“Depends on the question.”
I consider asking him if he knows anything about flirty eye tag. Instead, I say, “Tell me about Captain Kendrick.”
His expression shifts toward guarded, but not entirely closed off. “He was a true hero.” He tells me about some of the sketchier calls he answered, the fires he attacked, and the respect he had for fire and the men who protected people and property from them.
“That’s remarkable. Don’t hear about too many of those.”
Patton gazes into the distance. “He was also a father figure. After my dad died, he looked out for me. Made sure I didn’t completely self-destruct. Though I put in a solid effort.”
While I register the sarcasm, I cannot imagine this squared-away man doing anything of the sort.
“You were close?” Without clarifying, I realize this could sound like I’m asking if he was close to imploding or close to Captain Kendrick.
“Yeah. He believed in this crew, in our community, in leaving things better than how he found them. Me included.” Patton bites the inside of his lip. “He always said the best way to honor the fallen is to keep living fully. Building things. Taking calculated risks.”
The vulnerability in his voice makes my chest wrench.
“What about you?” he asks, turning the tables. “Why Parks & Rec?”
“I like building things too. Just with events and programs for people instead of buildings.” I thumb over my shoulder at the bakery.
My cheeks are pink, probably from the sun, as I pause and consider how much to share. “Before I came here, I was stuck in a job where no one took me seriously.”
“Same coin, different side. Someone has to provide the container. Others fill it. Glad you’re here to fill it.”
“I thought maybe a leadership role in a small town would be different.”
“Has it been?”
“Mostly. Except for this one grouchy and smug firefighter who treats me like a nuisance.”
He gasps. “I don’t treat you like a nuisance.”
“You literally pretended I didn’t exist for two months.”
His jaw ticks. “The fall is dry brush season—”
I almost don’t want to hear the rest, so I’m relieved when Reese pokes his head out and says, “Mav, the counter installers arrived. We need your opinion on the placement.”
Patton stands, offering me his hand. “Thanks for lunch.”
I take it, let him pull me up, sending little heart bubbles through my veins and directly to my brain, making me feel dazed. My voice sounds floaty when I say, “Anytime.”
While Grandma watches an episode of “The Sweetheart Report,” a reality dating show, I brainstorm and noodle around on a graphic design app.
I watched loads of how-to videos after my ex asked me to create branding for his startup.
I did a few projects for some people at my church, too.
Incorporating fire and baking elements, I create some logo ideas for Crush Cakes.
Pleased with my work, a few days later, I arrive at the municipal complex with a digital portfolio. The firefighter I love to hate is in his office across the hall, and I march over there with a black coffee and a skip in my step.
“Good morning, I’ve been working on something for you,” I announce.
Patton looks up from his computer, confused. “Morning.”