Fanatically in Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  Even though I knew perfectly well what time it was, I checked my watch with an unnecessary, dramatic lifting of my wrist. “It’s almost seven.”

  “She’s been working hard.” Mom folded one leg beneath her as she sat on the couch. “I guess she needs some rest.”

  Jaz had been working hard? “She has a yoga session on the square scheduled in a half hour. Hundreds of people ready to stretch and bend with a pop star are counting on her. If this is what Reese has to put up with every day, it’s no wonder the girl has a tic.”

  “I’m sure Jaz is doing the best she can.” Mom blew on her coffee before patting the cushion beside her. “Do you have time for a chat?”

  Oh, no.

  Chats were not good in the Sutton household. There were three levels of communication requests in my parents’ world. A conversation was small-talk with a hint of inquiry. A discussion was lecture infused with subtle notes of disdain. But a chat was a deceptively casual term that belied the fact that one of my parents was about to get confrontational and say something to tick me off.

  “I really need to get to yoga.” And grab a bagel at Bugle Boy. “Then I want to check on some final details for Jaz’s afternoon song-writing clinic.”

  Mom decided to push play on the “chat” anyway. “Your father and I have been talking.”

  Oh, good heavens. Nothing good ever came from those words. “Yes?”

  “We’d like you to come work for us.”

  I tucked a handful of hair behind my ear, certain I hadn’t heard correctly. “What’s that?”

  “I said your father and I think you should leave Sugar Creek and come work for us.”

  “Doing what?”

  Mom reached for that zebra pillow and squeezed it ’til it released echoes of South Africa. “You’d start out cross-training, working in different departments and learning the basics of every role.”

  “And then?”

  Her lips, already glossed in cherry lipstick, curved in a gentle smile. “Then you’d travel with us and be your dad’s assistant.”

  If one of Sarge McShane’s suspected UFOs crashed through my living room, I could not have been more gobsmacked. “His assistant?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes lit as she unraveled her pitch. “You’d handle his social media, communication, and appointments. Of course, you’d also take over event-planning details. Clearly, organization is a gift, and it’s something our team needs even more of. Plus, you know your father. So, unlike other assistants, you’d understand when to step in and when to stay out of his way.”

  Once when I was ten years old, my family went to Gulf Shores, Alabama. I’d waded out into the ocean by myself, and a series of giant waves crashed over me, taking me under and holding me down. Just when I thought I was shark bait, my feet gained purchase in the sand, and I swam to the surface. No one had even seen it.

  That’s how I felt now. The waves had landed and crashed, and though worn out and battered, I swam back toward the sun. “No.” I shook my head with vehemence. “No, Mom.”

  “Now, listen to me, Paisley. I—”

  “Why?” My voice cracked on the single word. “Why would you ever think I’d leave my business and go work for you?”

  “It’s an incredible opportunity.”

  “For whom?”

  My mother returned the pillow to its spot and stood. “This town has nothing to offer. It never has.”

  “That’s not true. We’re a growing tourist destination.”

  “Less than five thousand people live here.”

  “And that’s a good thing.”

  “Paisley, be reasonable. You came to Sugar Creek to keep the business afloat long enough to sell the property and make some money. Somewhere along the way, you got off track and changed course.”

  “Yes, when I discovered I was really good at event planning. Mom, I like what I do, and I’m successful at it.” I grabbed one of Jaz’s gold-trimmed coats from the floor and folded it with fitful hands. “All my life you’ve wanted me to fit into the Sutton box. And I do—just not the M.K. and Ellen Sutton box. I’m my own person with my own talents and goals. I’m not a left-brained brainiac like you and Dad. I’m artsy and musical and creative. You’ve never known what to do with that or how to accept me for who I am. All you’ve ever done is try to redirect me to your way of life and your pursuits.”

  “I respect your talents.” Mom’s tone took on a sharp edge. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be offering you a job. But what happens when you outgrow this tiny town? What happens when you’re out of a job, and all you have on your resumé is party planning and former pop star?”

  Hot tears pushed at my eyes, and I blinked them away. “Enchanted Events is growing faster than we can even keep up with. We have waitlists for months. We’re booked through most of next year. I don’t need a corporate office in a fancier town or a mansion to go home to at the end of the day. I have all I need in Sugar Creek.” Including people who cared about me and loved me for who I truly was. “I’ve found my purpose here. Don’t you get that?”

  “We’d pay for you to go back to school. You could get your bachelor’s, then maybe an MBA.”

  My chest lifted with my deep inhale. “No.”

  “But, Paisley—”

  “I don’t want your life.”

  “We help a lot of people.”

  “So do I.”

  “You keep finding dead people.”

  Any other time that would’ve made me laugh. But not now. Not when my mother had just spit on everything I held dear and all that I’d built.

  Her hand rested on her pearls. “Your dad’s vice-president is single. We’ve wanted to set you up with Stephen for a long time. Working with us would give you two a chance to finally meet.”

  Good Lord, did she want to customize every area of my life now? “I have Beau.” I didn’t want anyone else. Beau was kind, funny, loyal. He was strong and protective, yet never in a way that held me back or overwhelmed.

  “Stephen has a wonderful job,” Mom said. “He’s wealthy, he has a summer home in Hatteras, he’s nice looking. Your Beau is—”

  “So much more than all of that.”

  “But honey, he’s so Sugar Creek. It wouldn’t hurt to just meet Stephen.”

  “I would never do that to Beau.” Because he wasn’t just some guy I was dating.

  “It can’t be that serious already.”

  “I love him.”

  My stomach fell like the last pitch of a roller coaster as the words jumped off my tongue and hovered right in front of me.

  Oh, geez. Oh, no.

  What had just happened?

  I loved Beau?

  Nope. Nope. Nopey, Nope.

  I couldn’t do this. It was all too much. I shouldn’t have to deal with the return of Jaz, finding a dead body, my mother’s rejection of my entire existence, and the realization that I could possibly be hopelessly in love. “I need a drink. I mean, I need to go.” Must get out of here. Need air. Fresh air. “I . . .I have work to do.”

  Mom followed me to the door, her flats smacking against the hardwood floor. “At least think about it, honey.”

  My hand on the latch, my heart racing like a stock car on the game-winning lap, I turned and faced her. “I think it’s time you stopped trying to shape me into your vision and instead started asking yourself why you don’t have it in you to love me as I am. I’m a business owner. I’m successful. I’m financially stable, and most importantly, I’m happy. So I don’t think I’m the problem.” Sunlight burst through the room as I opened the door. “Maybe, just maybe . . . the problem lies with you.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  By ten a.m. I’d downed four cups of coffee, two bagels with enough cream cheese to frost every carrot cake in the tri-state area, half a cinnamon roll, and three slabs of bacon Alice shared, thanks to her low-carb diet. Oh, and one green juice. Because the only thing my mom hadn’t criticized was my lack of vegetables, and by darn, if she tried to play that card, Ellen wa
sn’t getting me there today!

  I glanced up from my laptop at the knock and found Beau standing in my office doorway.

  He wore a Fox Falls t-shirt, baseball cap, and jeans that had seen many a workday. By my mother’s standards, Beau was underdressed, undereducated, and not fit for a Sutton. But as he stood there where the sunlight danced across the wall, he looked like my idea of heaven.

  “Is that a box of cupcakes in your hand?” I asked, trying to forget I’d said the L Word only hours before. Beau was not ready to hear that. I wasn’t even sure I was ready to feel it.

  Beau walked inside, those long legs carrying him toward my desk with that subtle swagger and an easy confidence that held up his bones. His mouth tilted in a rogue’s grin, and his eyes both assessed and appreciated. “Frannie made some fresh strawberry cupcakes and thought you might want some.”

  I held up what remained of my green juice. “No sugar for me this morning. I’m all about nutrition.”

  “You seem to have something on your mouth.” Beau stepped closer. His finger brushed over my top lip. “Cream cheese?”

  “Probably cauliflower.” I brushed his hand away. “What brings you by today?”

  He sat on the edge of my desk and watched me for a heavy moment. “Bad day, Pop Princess?”

  I looked at the man in front of me and wondered how he felt. I knew he liked me. But if I told Beau I was having white picket fence fantasies, would he jump in one of his kayaks, paddle away, never to be seen again? He’d told me some time ago that commitment wasn’t his native language.

  “I’ve had better mornings.” I peeked into the box and sniffed the berry-scented air. “But I’m guessing you already knew this.”

  “Saw you storm out this morning. And your grandma texted. It was all in code, but I got the gist of it.”

  I’d called Sylvie on my way to Jaz’s yoga in the park and told her everything. By the time I ended our conversation, I was in no mood for downward dog or watching Jaz preen in tight spandex pants on a small stage for everyone to see. Though she did really have enviable form.

  Beau pulled me from my chair, only to sit down and tug me to his lap. “You okay?”

  Resting my head on his chest, I decided I was too high on sugar to care how unprofessional this would look if anyone came in. “I just want to be loved for me. No demands to conform. The unconditional type of love that doesn’t come with strings, unrealistic expectations, and regular intervals of shaming.”

  “I think I know something that could make you feel better.”

  “A private jet to fly Jaz and my mom back home?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m assuming my next guess of a teleportation portal probably isn’t what you have in mind.”

  He pecked my cheek with a kiss. “How about you clock out of here for a bit and go help me pick a dog.”

  I leaned back and studied his face. “You’re serious.”

  Beau gave a reluctant nod. “Maybe we should go before I change my mind.”

  I leaped from his lap and hustled to the door, only to turn back and grab the cupcakes. “Better take these.” I slipped my hand in his. “For the dog.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A white metal building housed the Sugar Creek animal shelter, surrounded by a cheery perimeter of flowers in bright shades of red, blue, and butter yellow. I normally tried to stay away from these places, as I was likely to come home with everything that wagged and drooled, but knowing this was a no-kill facility made the trip a little more bearable. And it was for Beau. For him, I could be brave, strong, and not sneak six terriers under my shirt.

  Holding open the door, Beau paused. “Do we need to review my specs?”

  “Nope.” I stepped inside, immediately greeted by a cacophony of animal calls. “Big dog, kind eyes, smart enough to do all your outdoorsy stuff.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Good afternoon, folks.” A round fellow behind the front desk peered around the family he assisted and smiled. His badge identified him as Tom, a volunteer. “The air-conditioning is on the fritz, so it’s a little warm. I’ll be right with you, though.” He returned his attention to his customer, reciting care instructions to a young boy who held a fluffy marmalade kitten.

  The shelter smelled like disinfectant and dogs chow, and the two ceiling fans wobbling above us barely made a dent in the oppressive heat. Beau’s hands tapped a nervous beat on his jeans, and I noticed his eyes moved quickly about the room as if trying to identify the source of all 100 barks, meows, and howls. I reached into my purse, filled with emergency items I now carried for instances of jittery brides or boyfriends who dealt with the remnants of PTSD.

  “Have some water.” I handed him a bottle and watched him unscrew the lid and take a deep drink.

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you all right?” Now it was my turn to be concerned.

  “Yeah. Totally.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “No.” Sweat beaded at the hair curling at his temple. “If we don’t find the ideal dog, we leave.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m serious, Paisley. Don’t think you can talk me into coming home with something that’s not what I’m looking for.”

  “Got it.”

  “I won’t be swayed by your big green eyes and pouty lips.”

  “You got me pout-free for the next half hour. No bleeding heart here.” A gray cat bounded onto the counter and nudged the computer screen with its chin. “Aw, look at the—”

  “Dog,” Beau said. “We’re here for a dog.”

  The door opened behind Tom, the volunteer, and an overly tan woman shot out like a cannonball. “Who’s next? Who’s ready to complete their furever family?”

  Stifling a laugh, I pushed Beau forward. “This man would like to complete his furever family.”

  “Perfect!” The woman swished toward us in a bright orange pantsuit that matched her cotton candy hair teased to glory. She could hide kibbles and a few parakeets in that bouffant. “I’m Lois. Aren’t you a lovely couple? I bet you’re newlyweds.” Lois spoke in machine-gun bursts and didn’t bother checking my hand for a ring. “I’ve been working here for five years and love every day of it. Especially when we get newlyweds in.”

  My cheeks flamed. “We’re actually—”

  “Here to find a dog.” Beau took my hand in his. “Large, smart. Maybe a lab, retriever, pit or some mix of those?”

  “Oh, goody!” Lois’s eyes lit up like mine in the presence of ice cream. “Why don’t we step back into the kennels and go find you a new friend?”

  “Ready, sweetie?” Beau gave me a devastating wink and tugged me along.

  If he’d only known what I’d shared with my mom, he wouldn’t be playing this game. He’d probably run away as far as possible.

  Or would he? I had no idea what was going on in that beautiful head of his.

  As we walked into the inner recesses of the shelter, the noises grew louder.

  “Oh my! The little darlings are sure happy to see you!” Lois waved at two workers who appeared to be high schoolers. “Our animals are caged as little as possible. They get lots of outdoor time in our giant runs out back. The cats have access to the whole building except at beddie-bye-time.”

  We walked past a carpet-covered cat tree that was as big as my car. Five felines lounged from different heights, relaxing in their penthouse suite.

  “No cats,” Beau reminded me.

  I’d had my heart run through the blender, and I was in a weakened state. I wanted to adopt every animal in the place and give them all happily ever afters.

  “Here’s a darlin' little Labrador.” Lois stopped by an enormous cage where a yellow Lab sat in eager anticipation. He pressed his nose through the wire and gave her hand a lick. “These dogs are, of course, a top pick for family pets. Any plans for children in the near future?”

  Her question stuck in my head like an arrow, and I found I couldn’t find my tongue to ans
wer. Children? Did Lois here know I’d been imagining my life with little cherubic duplicates of Beau?

  “We already have five,” he said.

  Five. Wow. Weren’t we productive?

  I caught his grin, and some of my tension slipped away. “At least three of them are Beau’s.” I wrapped my arm through his. “I think.”

  Lois reached for the lab, who upon release, licked his rescuer in the face and jumped on her orange pants. “Skipper here’s a feisty one. He actually has a waitlist of adoption applicants, but we could add you. Down, snookums. Say, miss, are you that pop star?”

  “I was.” I patted Beau’s mighty fine pectoral muscle. “But I gave it all up for this guy. He couldn’t stand to live without me.”

  Beau accepted the dog from Lois. “Hey, Skipper.”

  The dog wiggled and barked, as his tail wagged like a propeller.

  “Skipper’s only three months. He’ll get tall, of course.” Lois scratched the top of the pup’s head. “He’s peppy. Gets into everything and is a bit of a chewer.”

  After a few more minutes of petting the spastic puppy, Beau handed Skipper back to Lois. “Maybe we could see a few more?”

  “You bet.” Lois continued her tour, passing two small poodles, four cats, and a dog big enough to lead an elephant stampede.

  “How did you two meet?” Our guide stopped at a medium-sized terrier. His ears perked as he went on hind legs to stand and greet us.

  “Beau was one of my groupies.” I reached through the cage and pet the terrier, whose nameplate said Mugsy. “He ran my fan club and would sneak onto my tour bus all the time and leave me notes. This man writes the most beautiful poetry. What was that you were always comparing me to, dear?”

  He pretended to give this some thought. “A rabid chihuahua?”

  “Isn’t that lovely?” Lois’s red-lined lips parted in a confused smile as she retrieved the dog. “Mugsy here has only been with us for two weeks. He fetches, knows his name, and seems to be very teachable. Loves a good car ride.”