Page 86 of Fall With Me
I slap a hand over my mouth, praying the bile shooting up from my stomach doesn’t spill out. “That’s way too much. Carter’s going to kill me.”
“What do you want me to do?”
I want to say let me call Carter and find out, but he’s working this morning and I don’t want to bother him, especially with a project he trusted me to complete. We could donate the leftovers to a shelter, not do the caramel apple station and only have these as dessert, or take the leftovers into the office next week. Instead, I settle on, “Tell the bakery the least they can do is provide extra boxes. We’ll send a dozen treats home with each family attending tonight. It can be part of their thank-you gift.”
“All right. I’m on it. See you in an hour.”
“Thanks, babe.” I’m going to need all the help I can get.
I head outside, seeing if Dawson’s come yet with the decorations from his garage, but my car is the only one in the parking lot. Great. Just great. Is he not coming because of what I did? Yeah, I made a mistake, but holding items hostage is petty. Which isn’t like Dawson. Did something else happen? Grrr. I just want him to respond.
I want to know that Finn is okay. Dawson too. I want Dawson’s help, like we originally planned. His muscles would make setting up way easier. Instead, I got all the tables and chairs up on my own. But the barn is plain.
The tables are waiting for the white tablecloths and burlap runners with the vases for the flowers I have in the industrial-sized fridge in the kitchen. All the white chairs need the red, burnt orange, and golden-yellow bows on the back. The wooden posts are missing the hay bales, pumpkins, and scarecrows around them. The ceiling needs the lights and leaf garland strung up. And I can’t hang the signs on the front of the wood pallets stating what each station is without Dawson’s staple gun.
I try to phrase my message in a polite and professional manner, but my anxiety over this festival bombing takes over.
Me: I hope you and Finn are okay, but I’m desperate. Can I pick up the stuff in your garage? If I don’t get it soon, this festival won’t happen. Response asap, please.
Tapping my phone against my palm, I look around, seeing if there’s anything else I can do right now. But between the rain and Dawson’s late delivery, I’ve done everything I can inside the event center. Pulling out a chair at a table in theback corner, I drop my head in my hands. As much as I hate to admit this, the truth is undeniable.
I can’t do this alone.
Chapter 40
Dawson
Willow called and no matter how many times I’ve poked my head into Finn’s room, telling him we need to leave, he won’t hang up. Is he purposely ignoring me? I told Chloe we’d be there hours ago. The truck and trailer I borrowed from Dad are loaded up and ready to go.
I can’t wait any longer. Chloe may have taken over the festival, but I still need this night to go well with Creative Solutions. Going into Finn’s room, I rip my phone out of his hand.
“Hey!” he screams. “Give it back. I’m not done talking.”
I look at my ex of four months. She’s on the other line painting her toenails. “This isn’t your normal call day. Finn and I have somewhere we need to be. He’ll call you later.”
“Sorry,” she says snarkily. “I was enjoying time with my son.”
Right. Like she didn’t have years to do so when we lived in the same state. I shake my head. “I can’t do this right now. Goodbye, Willow.” I hang up before she can say anythingelse. “Finn, people are waiting for us and have been for a while. Please get your shoe and let’s go.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You promised you’d help today, remember?”
“No! I’m not going!”
Of all the days for him to have a stubborn meltdown.Lord, grant me strength.
My phone pings. “Shoe, please.” I check my phone and my stomach drops to the floor. Chloe’s texted and called more than a dozen times. We might not be together anymore, but I never meant to leave her hanging or thinking I’m a jerk.
“I said I’m not going.”
I’m at my wits’ end. I get it. We’ve had a rough year, but my patience is out. “You can get your shoe and get in the truck on your own, or I can do it for you.”
Finn jumps off his bed, scrambling under it.
I appreciate his hiding skills, but he’s so not helping the situation right now. “Finn,” I warn. “We. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This.”
He grunts.
