Page 7 of Small Town Frenzy
I scoff, looking back at her again. “Studying humanity is not the same thing as caring about it.”
Shaking her head, she laughs. “He really put a bee in your bonnet, didn’t he?”
“No bees. No bonnet. But he did piss off his boss.”
“Uncle Bryan?” she deadpans, dragging my dad into this.
Savvy’s good.Very good.“It’s amazing how you know just the right buttons to push with me.”
“Aw, cousin,” she replies with a laugh. “It’s just because we know each other so well.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Payback and all that.”
With a heartier laugh, she stands just as the printer starts spitting out paper. “Can I quickly note that it’s adorable you already have a nickname for him?”
“Please don’t.”
“Bah humbug, Grinch.” After snatching several documents off the tray, she slaps them on my desk. “Good luck today. You’re going to need it.”
“I don’t need luck, ye of little faith.” Picking up the contract, I laugh. “But Griffin Greene does.”
Settling back at her desk, she replies, “I have no doubt he’ll need all the luck he can muster when he comes face-to-face with you. You’re known as a hard-ass for a reason.”
“No one says that.” I start to laugh.
She huffs. “Fine, I just call you that behind your back to get the other employees to treat me like I’m part of the team instead of a Dover who got the job by association.”
I can’t even fault her for it. It’s something we will always have to fight. We will always be proving ourselves even after succeeding. But I’m still not letting it go. “The reputation fitsbecause I work my ass off to make it this hard, and I’m quite proud of it. Do you know how many squats I have?—”
Her phone vibrating across the top of her desk silences me. It’s fun to work with my built-in family best friend, but sometimes we forget we’re supposed to be working, and as the events coordinator for Dover Creek Winery and operations manager of the team and stadium, our work never seems to end. We’re busier than ever and growing like wildfire. We both take pride in our contributions to the Dover empire.
While she listens to a conversation on the phone, which is probably a vendor of ours, she covers the microphone with her hand, and whispers, “What time are you going to the stadium today?”
I hold up four fingers, then waggle them. “Are you still bringing Jacob with you?” I whisper back.
She nods. “We should be there by five.” Returning to her call, she says, “But we ordered eight cases for the Mider reception. Five won’t cover it, so what do you suggest?”
I return to the mass of emails that have accumulated in my inbox since I didn’t bother returning to the office yesterday. After getting soaked, I went home to take a much-needed bath, then enjoyed dinner with my favorite little guy. That more than made up for the rotten ending to the workday.
Despite the emails demanding my attention, I’m still slightly distracted by this Greene guy. Sure, he’s rude and utterly intolerable from our brief encounter, but I’m a little thrown by his biography. His hardened gaze pops into the forefront of my mind, and I have a difficult time reconciling the man I met with the one I just learned about. Everything happened so fast, though, so maybe I was blinded by rage and didn’t give him a chance to right the situation.
Why do I always have to be the bigger person?
It’s a weakness I really need to overcome.
Get the paperwork signed, check out these apparently notable eyes, and get out. No harm. No foul. No more encounters. I like having a plan, and this one is now in place.
Knowing I have a confrontation ahead of me, I click open the first email and get busy replying.
Despite the rain yesterday,no humidity clings to the air.Thank goodness.
It’s a perfect spring day. My hair looks amazing to boot, putting me in a great mood. Bonus: I’m not sweating through the thin tee I put on before coming out to the field today.
April is such a perfect weather month in Texas. Though I know summer is just around the corner to torture me again, I’ll enjoy seventy-degree temps while I can.
I wave to Coach Barth when I come out of the tunnel into the sunlight of the field and climb the stairs to a different section of the stands to mix it up today. As I settle onto the metal bench and set my bag beside me, the players switch positions. Just my luck, the third baseman is my direct line of sight, which means I’m in his as well.
Annoyance wriggles through my good mood, souring it.No, don’t let him win. Maybe he was having a bad day. Or perhaps he gets hit up by fans all the time. I imagine that could be quite tiresome some days.Or maybe, Cricket, he’s just an asshole baseball player.It’s probably the latter despite wanting to try to justify his behavior yesterday.
