The man in question was behind them loudly lamenting his fate to the vegan wiener lady.
“Sam,” Ryan began. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you.”
“Doc!”
They both looked up and spotted Sheriff Donovan Cardona jogging toward them across the park.
The Beautification Members scattered like cockroaches.
“Just got a call from Animal Control over in Lewisberry,” Donovan announced. “Hoarding situation on a farm. They need help triaging the animals.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Sammy told him. “Tell Rainbow I’m canceling my booth for tonight. She’s hiding from you behind that tree.”
Donovan gave her the thumbs up and hurried off.
She took a breath before she turned back to Ryan. “These situations take a while to sort out. Can you find a ride back?”
He nodded, then reached for her hand and held on. “I meant what I said. I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
“Me neither,” she admitted softly. “Maybe it’s for the best. Less time to make it awkward.”
Ryan sighed and stroked his knuckle over her cheek. “You’re one of a kind, Sparkle.”
“I hope you get everything you want. Give ’em hell.” She rose on tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to his stubbly, sparkly cheek. “I’ll think of you every time I see glitter. Goodbye, Wrong Ryan.”
He shook his head as she stepped back. “I’ll see you around, Sparkle.”
With a sad little wave that almost broke her heart, she turned and started to jog after Donovan.
To: Beautification Committee Members
Subject: Operation Wobbling Osprey
Dearest Beautification Committee Members,
* * *
We have hit a tiny, insignificant snag in Operation Wobbling Osprey. Not to worry! We will have everything sorted out in time for tonight! Don’t forget to share your favorite nude photos of fellow committee members on your social media to increase sales of our fundraising calendar!
* * *
Bruce Oakleigh
* * *
P.S. If any of you are willing to spend the next eighteen hours working with some very fun and exciting paperwork, you will be excused from your booth shift at the Solstice.
26
Ryan watched the Volkswagen Bus Lyft pull away from Carson’s farmhouse.
He waved at Fitz, the skinny driver with the receding hairline compensated for with a foot-long rat-tail down the back. Fitz tooted the horn a little too hard. It got stuck and blared the entire way down the lane.
Stan trotted over to investigate a spot under one of the big pine trees in the yard. Only in Blue Moon would an Lyft driver not bat an eye when the passenger requested a pick-up for a sheep.
Ryan kicked at the bottom step and looked up at the cozy, white farmhouse. The snow was almost completely melted, but the heavy clouds above hinted that there was more to come. He most likely wouldn’t be here to see it.
He’d be on his way back to normal.
So why wasn’t he jumping up the stairs two at a time and throwing his shit in a bag? Hurrying back to the life he’d missed?
Back to anonymous neighbors. Back to co-workers pitted against each other, kicking and scratching their way to the top for sport.
All for what?
He glanced around. There must be something stupid in the air on this side of the country, he decided. The competitiveness had never bothered him before. Neither had the toxic leadership or long hours behind a desk that ate away at his life outside the office.
It was still what he wanted. Still what he’d planned for. It was still better than some arranged marriage by a deranged nudist colony. Even though the bride was Dr. Sammy Ames, a woman he hadn’t known he’d been looking for.
Ryan’s Newest Plan
1. Book the ticket.
2. Pack his bags.
3. Steal a casserole out of Uncle Carson’s fridge for the road.
4. Leave Blue Moon… and Sam in the rearview mirror.
Sam. Pictures of her flipped through his mind like a collection of Polaroids. Her amusement with his hangover. Those big lavender eyes full of anxiety when he held up that fat stack of paperwork. Her face softening with pride over her horse’s growing confidence. Her body spread out under him, naked and needy.
“I need you, Ryan.”
Those words had filled a hole inside him he hadn’t known existed.
Instead of going inside, he veered off toward the barn. He would at least bring the chickens in to roost so Sammy wouldn’t need to do it that night. She’d be tired after a long, hard day. Disappointed in herself for not finding a way to make it all work. Dejected at failing. And he wouldn’t be there for her.
He’d seen the pang in those blue eyes just before she covered it up. The realization that there would be no grants this year, no wreaths, no booth, no fundraiser. Everything she’d hoped for had been swept off the table in one fell swoop.
Meanwhile, he’d gotten everything he wanted. A reprieve from the tailspin of the unknown. A second chance at his old life.
His clients hadn’t been “impressed” with Bart Lumberto in Ryan’s week-long absence. That’s how Randall Finnegan, senior partner, had put it in the phone call. The firm had been “too hasty” in their decision to let him go and would welcome him back. It wasn’t exactly the groveling apology he’d fantasized about immediately after his unceremonious firing. However, it would put him back where he belonged.
Sammy had lost, and Ryan had been victorious. Yet they’d both go home tonight alone.
And that felt wrong.
Instead of heading to the door of the barn, Stan disappeared around the side.
“Don’t even think about running away,” Ryan called.
He followed the sheep’s path past the open bay of rusty equipment and around the far side. Stan hadn’t gone far. Tail flicking, he stood in front of the first of several short, neat piles of cut Christmas trees wrapped with green tarps.
They’d be going to waste, Ryan realized.
Just like the Beautification Committee’s bizarre, convoluted plot.
Just like the wreaths and grant applications.
Just like a team of inexperienced volunteers trying to recreate six months of state reporting.
Just like a funny, sparkly, sexy veterinarian with a pathological helpful streak getting matched to his unworthy, loser cousin.
Ryan hated waste. And he hated the idea of his cousin getting within one hundred yards of Sammy. No one in their right mind would try to match her up with a shiftless, immature, overgrown, entitled child.
Of course, no one in their right mind would concoct a fraudulent mortgage scheme just to hook up two complete strangers either. That was the problem. He’d be leaving Sammy in the unfit hands of the deranged Beautification Committee.
“They can’t be serious,” he complained to the sheep. “My cousin and Sam? It’s laughable. She deserves someone who’s going to reel her back in, to keep her focused on her own plans. Not someone who’s going to take advantage of her.”
Stan didn’t seem nearly upset enough at the prospect of Sam and Shithead Ryan ending up together.