Page 12 of The Art of Falling in Love with Your Enemy
I’ll be honest, I had no clue what I’d do once I got to the office, I just knew it was going to involve a serious talking to…because that’s all I could do. As I was about to open her office door, Sergeant Lane flung it open from his side, stepping back in surprise. I’m pretty sure I mumbled something like “your other half just pulled up” as he went down to the parking lot to meet Zac.
Leaving me alone, in a room, with Amelia. The woman who will be known from this day forward and deemed as “traitor.” I’m dramatic, what can I say? I’m also realizing I’m in a bad mood pretty much all the time, but hey, I’m getting used to this state of mind.
I opened my mouth to speak, but instead of being a friend who was going to listen, Amelia grabbed her clipboard and brushed past me, telling me to follow her.
Which leads us to now, this moment where we’re walking side by side across the grass to where Zac is standing with Sergeant Lane as I fight the urge to wrestle her to the ground.
The fact Amelia is brushing this off tells me I need to fall in line, and fast. I can handle being not happy with this situation for a little longer, and tell her after they leave that it’s not going to be a good idea for me to be the point person, representing her, with Zac. At the end of the day, it’s Amelia’s business and I don’t want to be the jerk that screws it up for her—by opening my mouth and telling Zac what I really think of him or, you know, helping him take a long walk off a short dock or something of the like.
“Now that we’re all here, we should walk the site and discuss locations you want to use. You haven’t said if this is going to be overnight, Craig?” Amelia flashes her supermodel-perfect grin their way. She’s the kind of person that it wouldn’t surprise me to find out she likes to tame wild unicorns and save koala bears in her free time. “We have a few cabins that are two-bedroom setups but can sleep up to six adults, as well as a cabin with bunk style sleeping arrangements for twenty-four people.”
“It’s going to be overnight.” Zac Wright enters the conversation, ladies and gentlemen! “Ideally, we’ll arrive in the late morning and get settled, have lunch, then start on team activities.”
“Is it okay if we leave by lunchtime the next day?” Craig, AKA Sergeant Lane, asks as he crosses his arms in front of him. “I can arrange shifts around that time frame on my end for work. Plus,” he says, leaning closer to Amelia, “if this goes over well, we’ll be back with the other officers from the department that can’t make it to this retreat.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She points across the grounds toward the lake. “Let’s walk that way, over to the tree line, and I can show you the cabins.” She turns to Zac, pointing a thumb at me. “You should talk to Etta and rattle off any ideas you have for your event; she’ll write it all down. Won’t you?”
My eyes lock with Amelia’s, and in that moment, the very moment I see laughter behind her peepers, I realize she knows what she’s doing. When this is over, I’m totally going to kill her. She knows I find this man to be too much. He is flashy, a know it all, and a true pain in my derriere.
Yet, as I watch him walk away, straggling a little behind Amelia and his boss, my underlying irritation is drowning in the fact that he’s actually not that bad to look at. So at least there’s that, but he can’t pull the wool over my eyes. I still hate him.
“Etta, you coming?” Amelia’s voice snaps me out of my day-mare, my new made-up word for having a nightmare that you live through in the daytime. Clutching my clipboard, I jog twenty feet or so to catch them.
This is going to be the longest meeting of my life.
Ever.
SIX
Zac
You know the feeling you get when someone can’t stand you? It’s a feeling I’ve not felt since Christa Wallace in the fifth grade. I sat beside her in most of our classes because we sat alphabetically. Therefore, since Wright and Wallace were usually the only two “w” last names in the room, we would end up being near one another.
All that year, she would get mad at me for simply breathing. It felt like I never did anything right for her, and trust me, the fact that I felt these feelings as a kid and I still hold onto them now as a grown man should tell you something.
Now, standing here watching the back of Etta’s head—because she refuses to look at me—I’m taken back to that time. I came home super sad one day that Christa was being so mean to me, and while my dad told me to just ignore it, it was my mom who really threw me for a loop. She looked me in the eye and said, “Zac, I think it’s Christa’s way of telling you she likes you. I’m not saying it’s the right way, but sometimes people do weird things that are out of character to who they really are when love is involved.”
So now, as Etta turns my way to make sure I’m following her as we trod around the campground, I’m reminded of Christa Wallace and her immature way of showing me she liked me. I heeded my mother’s advice and Christa became my girlfriend eventually. It may have lasted only two weeks, but hey…Mom was right.
I wonder what Mom would say about Etta? She’d probably compare Etta to a bucking horse, advising me to cinch up the saddle, make sure it’s Western and not English, and make sure I hold on tight.
“This area is for any campfires you want to burn,” Amelia says, stopping in front of a giant fire pit. “I figure if you're staying overnight and the weather stays September-perfect, you’re going to want to light one.”
“Great idea,” I pipe in. Since I’m the one who’s coordinating, I need to open my mouth and pay attention and stop staring at little Miss Sunshine beside me. “I think we should do s’mores. They pair nicely with a fire pit, don’t they?”
“Ohh, great idea.” Amelia grins my way, flicking a hand in the air while Sergeant Lane bobs his head up and down beside her. “Etta, add that to our grocery list?”
“You bet.” Etta’s voice drips with overt Southern sweetness. I can feel her eyes rolling into the back of her head. When I turn to face her, she’s scribbling away in her notebook. She’s either taking some super detailed notes, or she’s doodling in order to keep her focus on her paper so she doesn’t have to engage with me.
I take a step to get closer to her. “Can we request cinnamon-sugar graham crackers?”
“What?” Etta’s head snaps in my direction, bringing with it a heady floral scent. Must be her shampoo.
“Cinnamon and sugar graham crackers. They sell them at Grocer Jim’s in town.” Etta doesn’t write this down, so I point to her notebook. “Go ahead, make a note, please.”
Only Etta doesn’t move. Dragging eyes flashing with mild rage away from mine, she looks pointedly at Amelia. I know women have this second nature way of communicating, but it seems Amelia didn’t get the memo.
Amelia’s face twists in confusion as Etta bugs her eyes out, primate-like. She flicks her gaze my way, then looks back at Amelia. Back to me, then back to Amelia. Finally Amelia and I lock eyes and she throws her hands in the air.
