“It has pink flowers.”
“Honestly, the whole gendered colors thing is extremely ridiculous to me. Colors are colors. How can one be masculine and one be feminine?”
“I’m going to skip over this part of the conversation if it’s all the same to you.”
“It is.”
“Great. What was Lydia doing here? Was she part of the plant installation?”
“No. Our missions were separate and coincidentally intertwined with each other.”
“She’s really into your barbecue idea. Congratulations on your evil plan working, by the way.”
“I don’t think it’s the barbecue she’s into.”
“Are you still gnawing on that bone?”
“You don’t need to whip out that much leg to talk community barbecue. Also, she was a little chilly to me.”
“Why?”
Sadie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “She’s threatened by me. Me and my azalea.”
“She has no reason to be,” he said.
“You like her that much?”
“I like you and your azalea that little.”
“Dammit, Sheriff, right in my soft white underbelly. I’m trying to be nice to you.”
“You’ve put me in a position I don’t want to be in. Now I’m going to have to advocate for your little circus.”
“Why?”
“Because. You heard her. The whole Chamber of Commerce is really excited, and it’s an indicator of my commitment to the community. And my votes are riding on this stupid crap that I don’t want to do.”
“Oh. Ouch. Public opinion is a new concern for you, isn’t it?” She didn’t look at all sorry. She looked downright gleeful.
“Not exactly,” he said.
“You have to join forces with me,” she said. “Assimilate or die.”
“You don’t have to enjoy this so much.”
“But I do!” she crowed. “I really do. And anyway, it’s not going to be that bad. No one’s going to make you participate or smile.”
“I need boundaries,” he said. “And a plan. If it’s going to happen, I’m going to oversee it.”
“Control freak much?”
“Yes,” he said. “Much. And I’m fine with it. Now, if you’re going to do something on my property you have to be okay with it, too. You don’t have to like it, but the bottom line is, you will do as I say, or it doesn’t happen at all.”
“Oh, really? I thought you acknowledged that I had you over a barrel.” She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and arched her brow as if to say, Gotcha.
No. Way.
“Oh, no, baby,” he said, not sure where the endearment had come from or why it had rolled off his tongue, but he didn’t stop to try to figure it out. “You may have me in a position where I have to be willing to consider your idea, but make no mistake, it’s you who has the most to lose. I don’t have to do a damn thing, and I’m the one with his name on the title for this chunk of earth. So if you want to play, you’ll play my way.”
* * *
Sadie felt an unfamiliar surge of raw, unmitigated anger course through her veins. This was not her style. It was not her game. She didn’t do toe-to-toe shouting matches. Not with men, not with anyone. No. She did yoga. She meditated. She had a pottery wheel somewhere. That she never used, but still, she had outlets. Outlets that were not screaming like a child. Or hitting people with your fists until the anger beast cooled in your chest.
She didn’t believe in giving free rein to negative emotions. It was healthy to acknowledge feelings, yes, and to talk about them in a safe space. But to let them explode out of your mouth and through your chest and let them take over all of everything? Which was what was happening right now, whether she wanted it to be happening or not.
She was...seething. And it was overflowing. Onto her, onto him, onto everything. And sure, maybe planting the azalea had been a step too far. But Lydia had shown up when she was dropping it off. And something about the other woman made her feel...competitive. Which was annoying.
But somehow she’d told Lydia that she was supposed to be there. Planting the azalea. And Lydia had lingered. Her mere presence a challenge. So plant it Sadie had.
And he was rejecting it. Honestly, even if her gesture was weird, it was nice. And he was being an ass.
“I bought you a motherfucking azalea!” she said, the words shooting out hard and short, intense like gunfire.
“And I didn’t want it,” he said, taking a step toward her. “I don’t want it here. I don’t want you here.”
“Why?” she asked, moving nearer to him, compelled forward by the kind of deep, negative emotion she hadn’t even known she possessed. “Because I’m getting my dirty, been-arrested, other-side-of-the-tracks, poor-girl filth all over your hallowed Garrett walkways?”
“Because,” he said, “you are a mess. And I spent most of my life managing a giant-ass mess, and I don’t see any reason why I should willingly subject myself to another one. I have things just the way I want them.” He moved closer, a muscle in his square jaw ticking, the cords on his neck standing out. “And I do not need you coming in and ruining anything.”
