Page 25 of The Parent Playbook
CHAPTER 11
ANGEL
With septic system plans and permit applications sprawled across the picnic table on the ranch house porch, I’m channeling all my power tonotthink about Scotty’s arms.
How absurdly firm they felt, how unsettlingly nice it was to be so close. The weight of his hand as it brushed mine. The sense of security he brings when he takes charge and, you know, saves the ranch from burning down.
It feels like it was all a dream. Last night might have been emergency fixes and finding solutions under the stars, but this morning, it’s just me and a stack of paperwork that smells like bureaucracy and frustration.
I catch myself tracing the line of his jaw in my mind, the way his smile seemed to light up the dim barn as if he’d screwed in a new bulb by sheer will.
Come on, Angel,a voice inside me says.You need a mental smack for going there with your thoughts. Romance? Now? With everything hanging in the balance here at Happy Horizons?
That’s about as well-timed as a raccoon in the henhouse.
Scotty’s the quintessential good guy, though. He’s got that easy charm, a knack for turning up right when I need a hand,and that disarming blend of humility and confidence. It’s exactly because he’s such grade-A material that I’m in this mess of a mind maze.
I should be poring over these documents, not daydreaming about his—well, everything.
Back to the septic system diagrams, I go. They’re as thrilling as watching paint dry.
My mind, traitorous thing that it is, wanders again, this time to his laugh, the solid sense of his presence.
“Focus, girl,” I mutter under my breath. “Fixing septic tanks, not fixating on you know who.”
But it’s tough. The more I try to anchor my thoughts to the task at hand, the more they drift away, sailing back to last night, how he rolled up his sleeves and tackled problems, to the unexpected ache in my chest when he looked at me like he’d never seen a woman hammer a joist before.
Scotty MacFarland might be too good to be true, and I’m … I’m me. Complicated, a bit jaded, and with a ranch to keep afloat. The timing might be all wrong, but then, when has timing ever been right?
Sigh.
I flip a page in the septic hygiene manual, the paper slicing against my thumb—a sharp little reminder that I’ve got real problems to solve. But as blood wells, I’m dangerously close to admitting I wouldn’t mind solving these “emergencies” with Scotty by my side.
I can’t even believe myself!
“Mom! Guess what? Guess what?” Andy is practically shouting, which only adds to the piercing quality of his voice that I’m sure could shatter glass—if not my last nerve this morning.
Andy and Lil, bright-eyed and practically vibrating with excitement, interrupt my brooding session over flow rates and filtration fields.
“I’ll bite. What?” I close my folder with a resigned snap.Anything to postpone the inevitable headache from these septic tank specs.
“Maple Fest is this weekend already! And Lil’s never been. We’ve got to go together!” Andy declares as if announcing a trip to Disneyland. Beside him, Lil nods vigorously, her blonde locks bouncing with each enthusiastic jerk of her head.
“Hmmm, I don’t know …” I hum and haw, though the festival’s been marked on our calendar for months. It’s one of Maple Falls’ few claims to fame, a weekend where the town shows the world it’s as quaint and charming as any of those places in a Hallmark movie.
Andy grabs Lil’s shoulders, launching into a showman’s act. “There’s gonna be pumpkin carving, and not the boring triangles-for-eyes business, but serious carving. Ian from the Regent’s said he’s making a pirate ship pumpkin. And hayrides! Nighttime ones with ghost stories and everything.” His words tumble out faster than popcorn kernels in hot oil.
Lil’s eyes widen and I have to keep myself from chuckling.
“And don’t forget the corn maze,” Andy continues, barely pausing for breath. “It’s going to be huge this year. Plus, there’s the apple bobbing contest, and they even added some new games, like a pumpkin toss and a scarecrow-making competition where you can dress up a scarecrow in whatever costume you like!”
As they describe more of the festival’s quaint activities—from the cider tasting stand to local bake-off that I’m somehow roped into judging every year—I get caught up with them. Their faces light up thinking about Maple Fest, and it’s infectious.
“They have a new thing this year,” Andy finishes with a flourish, “a haunted barn! But it’s only a little scary, so kids can go in.”
“Sounds like the whole town’s been busy.” Lil looks from Andy to me. “You really think we can go?”
“Of course,” I say, brushing a lock from her eye. “It’s a blast for everyone.”
