“That’s unbelievable!” Snyder exclaimed, his voice getting loud.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Snyder, but that isn’t exactly an unusual condition in this business. You’ve booked a cabin I could not rent to others due to my commitment to it being available to you. You cancel with no notice, you pay the whole week.”
“Are you full?”
“Her capacity is not your business,” Deacon stated as he took the last step and joined Snyder on the porch. “Ms. Swallow has explained your situation. You can rent towels from her, buy them in town, or go to a hotel but you’ll pay for your week. Decide.”
“I don’t need to be strong-armed by you,” Snyder spat.
“Man, I’m five feet away from you reiterating the policies of Glacier Lily. That’s hardly strong-arming anything,” Deacon returned.
“Okay,” I forged in, taking a step through the door to join the men on my porch. I looked to Snyder. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy with the situation but even so, I can’t make an exception for you. If I did, I’d have to make an exception for everybody and I’m sure you can understand that wear and tear on linens, not to mention laundering, is at a cost to me. Therefore I cannot provide it for free. If you wish to leave Glacier Lily, that’ll be disappointing for your family because it’s lovely, peaceful, and quiet here. But I’ll understand. I’m also happy to run and get you some towels. But we really can’t spend more time discussing this. Your choices have been communicated to you and I’m afraid to say, no matter your argument, they won’t change.”
“I’ll buy towels in town,” he clipped. “I’m not giving another cent to you. And you can expect a poor review on-line.”
That had happened before from people like him. The first one I saw cut deep. The second one didn’t feel much better. The third one just stung. Now I was over it, mostly because the way they were written, even an imbecile could read it was about them being assholes, not about Glacier Lily.
“That’s your prerogative,” I murmured.
“It certainly is,” he retorted, turned, and stomped by Deacon and down the steps.
Deacon and I watched him go. When he was out of sight, he turned to me.
“You okay?”
“Not the first or the last time, honey.”
He nodded.
“Need a drink?” I asked.
“Yup,” he answered.
I grinned and walked into the house.
Deacon followed me, went straight to the glass on the counter, and downed it in one go.
When he put it back to the counter, he gave me his eyes.
“I can deal with that,” I said quietly. “I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t feel super-awesome that you heard it going down, got off the roof, and took my back.”
He didn’t move toward me, take my hand, cup my jaw, get in my space, but he didn’t need to. His eyes said what he needed to say.
“It also feels super-awesome that you make it clear you’re at my back but you let me deal and don’t catapult us into Badass Zone and take over.”
His eyes kept communicating but this time his lips did too.
“Anytime, Cassie.”
I nodded.
“Anything, baby,” he continued.
God, that felt good, because I believed him, mostly because he was proving it.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“I’d kiss you and feel you up, but I got shit on my hands.”
I smiled and bossed, “Right, then go fix my roof.”
That was when he moved to me, bent in, brushed just his lips to my forehead, turned, and walked away.
*
A week later, my roof was fixed. The pots littering my front porch and the steps that led up to it were bursting with flowers and greenery. And Mr. Snyder and his family were gone.
With downtime finally on our hands, I’d found that Deacon did not hike. I’d also found that he did do lunch, something we did in Gnaw Bone at a great place called The Mark. I’d learned he didn’t have a motorcycle. I’d also learned when I mentioned it that he wasn’t averse to the idea. Thus, we’d also gone to Carnal to look at some restored Harleys a man named Wood had for sale there. We took two for a test drive, me on the back, pressed tight to Deacon, who not surprisingly knew how to ride.
And life got sweeter.
He didn’t buy a bike because one was red, the other was silver, and Deacon wanted black. But we did give Wood my number so he could call if they ever had a black one.
Now, I was in the kitchen with my phone to my ear, my mom talking to me, my other hand carefully balancing a big dish with my loaded potato casserole in it that I was trying to shove into the oven at the same time listen to my mother.
I had not yet pulled out that casserole for Deacon because it was a bit of a fiddle. But I knew he was going to love it. I knew this because I’d also learned my man was a meat and potatoes man.
Tomorrow, we were going to the breeder to pick my puppy.
And life would be sweeter.
“You were right,” Mom said in my ear. “Titus blew a gasket.”