Chapter 21 Patton
PATTON
I brace myself for the town council meeting.
It’s packed and Mayor Barbie presides at the podium, wearing a sequined blazer that could double as a disco ball.
Treasurer Elmer Finch sits to her left with a paper-spool calculator and a three-ring binder.
Councilwoman Gail Clearwater is to her right, already lighting sage despite my previous warnings.
“Order!” Mayor Barbie bangs her gavel. “We’re here to discuss the Fireman’s Ball. Winnie and Patton will present their plans.”
We move to the front, and I’m aware of Winnie’s arm rubbing against mine as we scooch close together by the mic.
After greeting everyone and thanking them for being here, she begins, “As you can see in the budget breakdown—”
“What about the neon lights?” Mayor Barbie interrupts.
“We discussed this,” I say as calmly as possible. “The venue can’t support additional electrical load.”
“But think of the photos on the World Wide Web!”
Elmer Finch clears his throat, brandishing a printed spreadsheet. “Speaking of expenses, this brownie bar soda fountain line item is concerning.”
“The ice cream is a sculpted centerpiece,” Winnie explains patiently.
“It’s frozen water!” Elmer counters.
“Actually, dairy and we got a discount from Dimato’s.”
“This town is surrounded by frozen water! Can’t we just—”
“But it’s ice cream,” Winnie and I say in unison.
Mayor Barbie pulls out fabric swatches. “I’m thinking hot pink and turquoise for pops of color!”
“We’ve decided on the theme already and the cost of items is in the corresponding budget outline. Changing it now would require—”
Gail Clearwater stands, waving her sage bundle. “Before we continue, we must cleanse the energy of this space—”
The smoke alarm goes off.
I close my eyes. “Councilwoman Clearwater, we’ve discussed this. The sage sets off the smoke detectors.”
“It’s sacred smoke!” she protests over the shrieking alarm.
“It’s still smoke in a public building with fire code regulations!”
I grab the extinguisher—not to use, just to make a point—and Gail reluctantly extinguishes the sage with a petulant scowl.
The alarm stops.
Sam stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath. “I propose additional refreshments, including my special chicory cider!”
“Is it alcoholic?” I ask, already exhausted by this conversation.
“Is that relevant?”
“Very.”
Behind him, a burro trots in—Silver Sam’s companion, Buttercup, complete with a service animal vest that I’m ninety percent sure is fake.
“Sam, why is there a burro in the council chambers?”
“Emotional support! She’s registered!”
“With who?”
“The International Burro Bureau!”
“The IBB is not a real thing!” I rub my temples.
Buttercup brays, drowning out my objection.
Lucky stands, pulling up a PowerPoint on his phone. “I’d like to propose myself as the Ball’s centerpiece.”
Winnie and I exchange identical looks of panicked concern.
“Specifically,” Lucky continues, “a statue of me. Holding a Gus the squirrel figurine.”
“You want a statue of yourself holding a squirrel? That would require special permits.” Elmer looks apoplectic.
“Not a live squirrel. A carved one as part of the statue, showing my dedication to Huckleberry Hill’s heritage.”
“Do you have any idea of the costs incurred? Cement has gone through the roof, never mind marble,” Elmer sputters as if it were Winnie and my idea.
“Worth every penny,” Lucky says firmly.
For the next ten minutes, the council argues about squirrels, Lucky’s statue pose, and whether the chickaree should be smiling cheekily or have its chest puffed up with pride.
I look at Winnie. She looks at me.
“Are you witnessing this?” she says through gritted teeth.
“Unfortunately.” I swipe my hand across my forehead.
Mayor Barbie brings over her fabric swatches. Elmer produces a pie chart about décor to dollar ratios. Gail tries to sage Buttercup, who kicks over a metal trash can.
Winnie’s voice cuts through the chaos with surprising authority as she holds up the folder with all of our plans. “This is what we’re doing. No neon lights. No changes to the color or theme. No to Lucky’s statue—”
“Oh, I see how it is,” Lucky protests with a grumble.
Winnie continues, “—but yes to an amazing night of fun for our community.”
The chatter lowers to a hush.
She continues as she pulls out squirrel merchandise, “Plus, I have a gift for everyone.”
That silences all those in attendance.
She dispenses samples of stickers, enamel pins, a frisbee, a mug, a tote bag, and more, all while explaining the new merch that we’re debuting at the Fire & Ice Fest, but she adds that we will also have items available at a table during the Fireman’s Ball for additional revenue.
Everyone buzzes excitedly about the free stuff.
Before we fully lose their attention, I say, “No sage during the event. But we will use battery-powered LED candles that look like flame but won’t set off alarms or violate fire code.”
“What about my burro?” Silver Sam asks.
“Buttercup can be in the promotional photos,” Winnie says diplomatically. “Outside the venue.”
“And my chicory cider?” Sam follows up, hopeful.
“We will already be providing food and beverages. Free of charge.”
Silver Sam considers this. “Fair.”
Mayor Barbie bangs her gavel. “Motion carried. Meeting adjourned.”
Winnie mutters, “Before anything else ridiculous happens.”
As we file out, Elmer Finch actually shakes my hand. “Good work keeping the budget reasonable.”
Gail Clearwater nods at Winnie. “I appreciate the LED candlelight. It’ll set the mood.”
Once again, Winnie looks at me and I look at her. Her lips ripple with laughter and before we have to dodge any more questions or comments, we hurry to the parking lot. When we’re out of earshot, we both burst into laughter.
“Small town politics, am I right?” she manages between giggles.
“You handled that brilliantly,” I admit.
She looks pleased, color rising in her cheeks. “I said it before and I’ll say it again, we make a good team.”
“Yeah. We really do. Except at Tacos & Trivia night.”
Winnie’s laughter continues as snow falls in lazy drifts, catching in her hair like glitter.
“Want to walk?” I ask before I can overthink it. “Debrief?” Spend a little more time together.
“Sure,” she says as if she didn’t need to think twice about it.
We wander down Main Street, our breath making white clouds in the cold air. The shops are closed, but the window displays still glow, making the whole town look like a greeting card.
“Despite the town characters and their inquiries, it’s not so bad,” she says.
“When it’s quiet like this,” I agree.
When we pass the library, Winnie says, “Are we back to our enemies-to-lovers status quo?”
I stop walking. “Enemies to what?”
Her eyes widen in panic. “What? Nothing! I just meant enemies to—to smothers! Like smothering a fire. Safety first. That’s what I meant. Fire safety. Which is important. Very important. The most important thing.”
She’s babbling, which is adorable and also tells me she’s as nervous as I am about whatever this is between us.
“Winnie,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?”
“What did you really mean?”
“By any chance, do you read romance novels?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, in my book club with Peony and some other women in town, there are plot and character devices called tropes. One of them is when two people seem to hate each other at the beginning and then something shifts …”
I gesture between us. “Like this?”
Biting her lip, she nods.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s terrifying! I thought you were the most infuriating person in Huckleberry Hill. Now I’m eating homemade pickles at your house and coordinating burro management at council meetings, and I don’t know what we’re doing!”
“Neither do I,” I admit.
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Would you prefer I lie?”
“Maybe?” she asks, uncertain.
“Or we could go with the truth.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You want the truth? Okay, here goes. I thought you were incredibly smug.”
“How so?”
“You strutted around, smirked, smoldered. You argued with me about permits, procedures, and the placement of ant bait containers. You take charge of everything.”
“I’ve been doing this for a long time. I prefer to think of myself as confident.”
“Cocky.”
I tip my head to the side because her comments are endearing rather than scathing. “Is that all?”
Riled up and cheeks growing darker still, she counters, “No, I’m just getting started. You never asked for help, teased me in front of people, and wouldn’t share your Crush Cakes.”
“I just try to be the best at my job and maybe—” I rock back on my heels. “When I first saw you, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time. Maybe ever. It felt dangerous, so I deflected. Yet couldn’t keep away. It’s foolish, but looking back, I was scratching an itch by getting a rise out of you.”
“I don’t even want to know why. You’re also devoid of emotion except for grouchiness—the kind of person who doesn’t talk about their feelings, avoids meaningful conversations and connections with people. Your house is empty, a tribute to your lone wolfiness—”
“That would be Scotty.”
“You probably have neighboring man caves. No, dens.” She’s on a roll and can’t seem to stop herself.
I reach out and sweep snow from her hair the way I did sawdust in the bakery. But this time, I let my hand linger.
Winnie’s gaze darts everywhere but at me. I cup her face and my touch silences her—that’s a detail worth jotting on a sticky note.
“So what you’re saying is you and I are alike, two flames matching each other’s energy?”
“No. What? That’s not—”
I continue, “I’m not saying you’re a grouch or even smug, but you don’t back down. I push, you dig in. You’re unshakable, even when I’m at my—”
“At your growliest,” she finishes for me with an adorable little snarl around her choice of words.
I find myself grinning. “My job is to tame fires and you refuse to be anyone but yourself. You don’t let anyone dim your light. I happen to respect that. You. Maybe I even like it.”
She pushes out her bottom lip, but her eyes find mine and in them I see a spark.
“If we’re going to tell the truth, I want you to know that I don’t have this figured out.
I’m terrible at relationships. You’re right, I push people away.
I carry everything alone because I’m terrified of losing anyone else.
But with you—” I pause, trying to find the right words.
“With you, I keep forgetting why I’m supposed to keep my distance. ”
“Patton …” she starts as if she expected us to have a throw-down, knock-out fight when, in reality, we just keep shifting closer and closer together.
“I know this is complicated. I know we’re working together. I know the whole town is watching and probably betting on when we’ll—”
Standing still, she seems to lose her balance.
I catch her reflexively, and I draw her close, let her lean on me until we’re inches apart. Her hands land on my chest, my arms loop around her waist, and we both breathe hard.
Snow falls around us like we’re in a snow globe.
“Thank you,” she whispers, eyes capturing mine.
I don’t look away. “Took you long enough to fall into my arms.”
“I didn’t fall—I lost my balance.”
“Sure you did.” I wipe a snowflake from her cheek, letting my hand linger again. “That’s what they all say.”
“They?” Her eyebrow arches.
“You.” I’m grinning now, can’t help it.
But I feel very unsteady inside as her gaze lowers and lands on my mouth.
For once, we both agree as our lips brush together.
Just a touch. Soft. Simple.
I should pull back. What if this is a mistake?
Her breath catches, and I feel her smile against my mouth. Every doubt evaporates.
I’m smiling too—can’t help it, can’t stop it—and we stay there for a moment with our lips skimming, then barely touching, only to meet again and we can’t resist. Both of us grin like fools before breaking into soft laughter.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispers against my lips.
“The worst,” I agree, kissing her again anyway.
After we part, remembering we’re in public, the walk back to our cars is quiet, but the space between us crackles.
“So, maybe we have been playing flirty eye tag after all,” she whispers, still smiling.
“Could very well be,” I say, knowing full well we most certainly have.
We’re both quiet for a moment as if replaying the last months leading up to this.
My breath fogs in the cool night. “I’ve officially compromised my by-the-book reputation.”
“Do you have a manual for off-site, snowy walk smooching?”
My grin only grows. “No, this is a first.”
She says, “I’m worried the whole town is going to know about it.”
“I’m not the kind to kiss and tell and chances are they’re all half asleep after the rowdy town meeting.”
“I’d rather not be the subject of gossip.”
“Then you picked the wrong town, but not the wrong guy to kiss. Should’ve thought of that before you fell into my arms.”
“I, um, felt dizzy.”
“And now?”
She lifts onto her toes. “Steady, sure.” Her lips dust mine again. “Zero regrets.”
“So it was worth it?” I nip at her mouth.
“Definitely.”
I let my lips brush hers once more, gentle and sure, sweet.
“By the way, my middle name is Elizabeth after Grandma Joyce’s mom,” she says, not moving.
A secret part of me smiles at this new information. “Mine is Charles.”
She grips the door handle of her car. “The Fire & Ice Fest is this weekend.”
“Glad you’ll be there to witness greatness.”
Her lips twist. “There’s that confidence.”
“You like it.”
“Maybe I do.” She slides reluctantly into the driver’s seat. “See you Saturday, Maverick.”
“See you Saturday, Parks & Rec Princess.”
When she drives away, I stand in the parking lot like a lovesick teenager, watching her taillights disappear around the corner.
This woman leaves me with a sugar crash and I can’t say I mind.