Flawless: (Fearsome Series Book 4)

by S. A. Wolfe

  “I have a business, and I don’t wear Chanel suits,” Imogene says, chewing on a soft Bavarian pretzel.

  “You work in a shed. A nice jewelry studio, but it’s still a shed,” Jess says. “We’re talking about Talia now.” She snaps her fingers multiple times in front of Imogene’s pouty face that’s bulging with a mouthful of pretzel dough.

  “All of these expensive symbolic gifts, and I get a dog. Does that mean I’m destined to be a dog walker?”

  “No. You have a career, too. It’s a growing career with a lot of potential,” Jess says. “And Archie said Norma’s estate isn’t settled yet, so I expect some money may be coming your way, too. But I do think you’re blind to what’s in front of you. You have someone to love. I’m referring to a certain man. Baby really signifies settling down and making commitments.” Jess sounds so sure of her analysis.

  “As much as I hate listening to Socrates over here and her symbolism”—Imogene flashes air quotes and rolls her eyes—“I have to agree with her on this one.”

  “Ladies,” Peyton says as he passes by us. “A table has been set up for you and your friends over there.” He points to one of the extra-long tables in the center of the room and keeps walking, too busy to stop and chat this time. He’s got Lois on his back about auction displays.

  He makes my heart flutter, and when it feels like it’s slamming against my rib cage, I have to redirect my brain to non-Peyton thoughts, such as peeling potatoes for the massive amounts of garlic mashed potatoes I make for the Lopez family every week, or the nasty surprises Baby keeps leaving in various corners of our home. There are plenty of ways to distract me from thinking of Peyton, but they never last.

  The restaurant has officially opened for the evening and customers are starting to pour in, hoping to get a good table near the stage. I’m not sure why, since there won’t be a band or entertainment, unless they consider Lois a one-woman show worth paying seventy-five dollars a head to have emcee.

  I’m listening to Jess and Imogene ruminate about me, but I’m watching Peyton in my peripheral vision, and then Adam walks in with two men. Greer greets them and escorts them to their reserved seating. No doubt Lois made sure to have the richest man in Hera seated near the stage so she can cajole him into excessive bidding.

  I’m torn, watching and silently mooning over Peyton, and feeling excited that Adam is here, too. I don’t know what kind of woman that makes me, other than simply a confused one.

  “He’s handsome,” Jess says, looking over at Adam.

  “A lot of good-looking men here,” Imogene adds. “But who is the hottest in the land?”

  “I’m partial to Carson,” Jess says.

  “Choosing your husband is always a safe response. I suppose I have to go with Cooper. What about you, Talia? You’re a single woman. Out of all the men here, who do you think is the most handsome? Who do you lust over? Is it more than one man?”

  “I’m taking the first amendment on this.”

  “Oh, honey,” Jess laughs. “It’s the fifth amendment that gives you the right to not speak in a court of law. You’re taking the fifth.”

  “Not answering the question speaks volumes,” Imogene says. “You’re unsure.”

  “I’ve been there.” Jess picks up her big hobo bag that is overstuffed with extra diapers and hoists it on her shoulder. “How about we go sit at our reserved table? You’ve been hiding back here long enough, Talia.”

  “Sometimes I like being in the background. Lurking. Observing.”

  “Move it,” Imogene demands.

  The three of us get up and wind our way slowly around the restaurant, saying hello to friends and neighbors. I socialize without really listening to anyone. It’s difficult. On one side of the room, I see Adam fully engaged with his friends, talking, smiling, taking long swigs from the pilsner glass in front of him, and then there’s Peyton, walking around the restaurant, greeting the pretty florist, Kris, and helping the waitstaff carry the extraordinary centerpieces to every table. Peyton isn’t the kind of guy to have flowers in his restaurant; he prefers masculine minimalism. Another piece of information I’ve acquired since I started sleeping with the man who is wrong for me in every way.

  I wish I could simply turn off the desire like a water spigot, and then give it fully to a man who could be Mr. Right. I want to find the right man the same way Jess and Imogene did. They found their perfect matches in Carson and Cooper, but Peyton is nothing like those men. Peyton wouldn’t be satisfied if his career lived and breathed in Hera. Plus, for all the kind things he does for me and the sweet things he says, it’s only a matter of time before the tension and stress in his life drives him into the arms of another woman who crosses his path.

  I can’t blame him for seeking attention from women who satisfy a basic need. After all, that’s what he and I have been doing until I find someone who isn’t as nomadic as Peyton or doesn’t have more emotional baggage than me. In some ways, Peyton is too similar to my father—the charm, the handsome playboy good looks, the absentee dad. I am a tough critic, but I need someone who is the exact opposite of my father.

  As we approach the large table where my friends’ husbands are already toasting with beers, and other people are paired off in couples. I suddenly feel the need to escape their domestic compatibility.

  I tell Jess and Imogene I’m going to talk to some friends, and I’ll meet up at our table later.

  A few tables away, I spot people I know and slip into one of the two vacant chairs at their table. They are a couple, too, but Hoyt is so antisocial that he couldn’t care less about my dating life. He doesn’t even stop eating to say hello.

  “Look who’s here.” Ian, the nicer one, puts his phone down and smiles.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while. Thought I’d stop over for a visit.”

  “Hoyt. Put down the roll and say hello.” Ian picks up the salt shaker and holds it over Hoyt’s plate. “I will dump salt all over your plate if you don’t stop for a minute and show some civility.”

  Hoyt sighs and puts the roll down. “Hello, Talia. Nice weather we’re having. I recommend the currywurst, and the herb chicken is especially good. How’s that?”

  I’m used to Hoyt’s abrasiveness. He intimidates most people, since he’s at least six-five and built like a bear, and he wears a full beard like a lumberjack.

  “As you can see, my husband is repelling everyone in town. We have to sit at the children’s table because Hoyt is a big, crabby baby.” Ian’s remark is rewarded with a grunt from Hoyt.

  Hoyt looks at me and pulls his plate closer to him. “I’m not sharing, in case you’re wondering.”

  “You’re delightful,” I say.

  “Isn’t he? I’m a lucky man!” Ian shouts to the whole boisterous dining hall.

  “Don’t worry, Hoyt. I’m not here to mooch off your plate. I’m here every day, so I get plenty of free scraps from the kitchen.”

  “Good,” Hoyt says as he gnaws through half a chicken with his big hands.

  “For God’s sake, use your flatware.” Ian stabs a cherry tomato from his own salad.

  Hoyt is unfazed by Ian’s complaints. “You’re here for something. What do you need?”

  “Love that you don’t engage in small talk. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

  “Lord.” Ian gives Hoyt a disapproving look.

  “I just want to eat and get out. Is that too much to ask?” Hoyt puts the chicken carcass down and picks up a sausage with his fingers.

  Ian mumbles a curse.

  “Way to be part of the community,” I say. “Aren’t you going to bid on anything? The library needs the money, and you love food, so you should bid on my donation. Lois promised she’d jazz it up. All I know is I’ll be cooking a gourmet meal for the lucky winner. That could be you.”

  “Get to your point, woman. What do you want?”

  “Can’t you feel the love rolling off him?” Ian says.

  “Here’s the thing,” I explain to Hoyt. “I
want to sit here and be chummy with you. Pretend you’re really into me. I’m trying to get Adam Knight to notice me.”

  “Honey,” Ian brightens. “I’m sure he’s noticed you. I’ve already checked everyone out in this room, and I’m sure he has, too. He’s already scoped out all the attractive women, just like I’ve already scoped out all the attractive men in case I need a replacement husband.” Ian takes another dainty bite of salad.

  “Yes, but I want more than the hello dude-head-nod. He’s one of my clients, and I don’t know if I’m mistaking our flirting banter for something else. I’m trying to figure out if he’s actually interested in me or if it’s his mo.”

  “God, what is mo? Does he have some rare disease?” Ian asks.

  “His mo. You know, his modus operandi. Maybe it’s his mo with all women.”

  Ian laughs. “His MO. Got it. That was a good one.”

  Exasperated with laughs at my expense, I nab a cherry tomato off his plate and chomp on it. “Done laughing? I’d like to get Adam’s attention, and I need an accomplice, a date. And Hoyt stands out.”

  “Right, encouraging jealousy by creating a fake boyfriend with a gay dude is always a solid plan,” Hoyt deadpans.

  “Oh, this is good.” Ian picks up his phone. “Let me take a photo of my grumpy-ass husband and his pretty new girlfriend.” He snaps a photo. “This is a keeper!”

  Hoyt points at Ian. “You better not post that anywhere, or I’ll smash that fucking phone with my fist.”

  Ian sighs dramatically, puts the phone on the table, and then holds his hands up in surrender.

  “You two are an anemone.”

  “You mean an anomaly,” Ian corrects. “But I like your word better. Shows you can’t help who you fall in love with. I wanted Tom Ford and sharp suits. Instead, I got Grizzly Adams and flannel.”

  I’m pleased I happen to recognize that old TV reference.

  Hoyt breaks into one of his rare smiles, and it makes me smile, too.

  “Come on, Brokeback Hoyt. Step up and be her stud. It’s just for show.”

  “And you don’t see the conflict here?” Hoyt directs at me.

  “No. You’re so elusive and introverted that Adam doesn’t know you’re gay.”

  “Or married,” Ian adds.

  “Or married,” I confirm. “He may get a little jealous in a good way when he sees me with you. Instead of asking me to have dinner with him because I’m the only woman available, he may pursue me. Or not. But it’s worth a try.”

  “So he’s already asked you to dinner?” Ian sounds seriously intrigued.

  “I didn’t accept. I kept thinking he was just looking for some company when he’s in town. The rest of the time, he’s in the city, surrounded by women. I don’t want to be the Hera dinner mate.”

  “No, of course not. He should be asking you to have dinner with him in Manhattan, four courses and nothing less. Or at least Woodstock. It’s not a real date unless he drives you at least ten miles.” Ian is adamant.

  “Who is this joker you’re trying to impress, and why do you want me involved?” Hoyt asks.

  “Why do you think I married you? Because you’re a sexy mountain man who makes men and women drool, you fool. Own it.”

  “You’re both very attractive men, but—”

  “But Hoyt stops traffic. When he stands up to go to the restroom, all heads will turn,” Ian chimes in.

  “That’s because I’m tall.”

  “It’s because you belong on a show like Outlander, or at least on a roll of paper towels,” I say. “That’s why I chose you for my devious man-trap plan.”

  “And as your fake boyfriend, what would you need me to do?” His tone is softer and kinder. Underneath the perpetual grimace, the beard, and his massive bulk, the man is really a gentle giant.

  I scoot my chair next to him to make sure we’re in Adam’s line of vision. “Pretend I’m your favorite person, and you adore me.”

  Hoyt turns his head to look for Adam.

  “Don’t look!” I pull his bearded jaw back.

  “I can’t look? I don’t even know who he is.”

  “That’s perfect. Just be flirty,” I say.

  Ian bursts out laughing. “He doesn’t know how to flirt. On our first date, he thought it would be romantic to take me to a furniture convention at the Javitz Center. Then he bought me a beer at some filthy bar in the Village where my shoes literally stuck to the floor.”

  “I bought you a steak, too. Porterhouse.”

  “It was a whole side of beef. I needed a chainsaw to eat that thing.”

  I put my arm around Hoyt’s shoulder, which is a little awkward. He’s too tall and wide. So I settle my arm on his back with my cheek against his arm. “While Ian teases you, I’ll dote on you. We make a great couple.”

  “Can I at least finish my food?” Hoyt asks.

  “How about I feed you a few bites, like we’re crazy for each other?”

  “Hell no. I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “Fine. Eat.” I glance behind Hoyt’s back to see if Adam is paying attention and get caught in the act.

  He smiles at me with the dude-head-nod. I smile and wave back. Here we go again with the smiling and waving.

  “This is nice,” Ian says. “I feel like we’re in middle school, where tweens play peekaboo with their crushes in the cafeteria. And I have to say that that Adam man is hot. I remember him coming into the shop. He spent a fortune on furniture. Hoyt, are you sure he didn’t see you there?”

  “So what if he did? He doesn’t know me. I thought we all established that.”

  “Take off your wedding ring.” Ian quickly reaches across the table and tugs on Hoyt’s ring. “I can’t get this thing off your beefy finger. It’s like a damn kielbasa.” Ian keeps tugging.

  “You have to take that ring off, Hoyt,” I say. “I don’t want him to walk by our table and think I’m an adulterer.”

  “This is ridiculous.” Hoyt pulls the large gold band off his finger and slips it in his shirt pocket. “I can’t believe you’re going along with this silly charade.”

  Ian shrugs. “I think it’s fun.”

  “Then let’s do this right.” Hoyt throws a big, heavy arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a side hug that feels like he’s crushing my rib cage. I press my hand against my heart to catch my breath.

  Ian winces. “Flirt with her. Don’t smother her.” Then he snaps a photo of us.

  “Just be you,” I say to Hoyt.

  “This is me. I’ll even buy you a beer.”

  “Now you got him, Talia. Wait until the big romantic tells you about the new table saw he set up in our garage.”

  Hoyt’s eyes light up, and for the next twenty minutes, he tells me all about their new home workshop, describing in detail the new equipment right down to the special nails made by Trappist monks or some guys who live in tents and forge their own steel goods.

  “Why aren’t you at the table I reserved for you?” Peyton’s voice comes from behind us. He comes around the table and studies Hoyt’s arm around my shoulders, then looks down at me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Don’t give me the eyebrow treatment,” I reply. “I’m visiting with my friends, Hoyt and Ian.”

  “I know Hoyt and Ian,” Peyton says dryly.

  “We’re playing a game,” Ian adds, and I shoot him a dirty look.

  “What game?” Peyton asks me. There’s no humor in his tone.

  “We’re trying to see who can convince Hoyt to drink a strawberry daiquiri,” I reply, thinking of the fruitiest red drink that Hoyt would never have.

  “Are we serving daiquiris now? And frozen margaritas?” Sunny, the most effervescent waitress, asks excitedly as she overhears.

  “No, we’re not,” Peyton replies. “Never.”

  “Why not?” Sunny whines. “I have a whole table from the senior center who always ask when we’ll start serving fun, frozen drinks.”

  “No,” Peyton says.

  “No
w I’m thirsty for a frozen margarita,” Ian says.

  “No, you’re not,” Peyton says, irritated.

  “Why are you so down on frozen drinks?” Sunny asks. I give her credit for not backing down against Peyton.

  “Because this is a German beer hall, not a TGI Fridays. And because blender drinks are pathetic concoctions of sugar and ice. And I hate the noise!” Peyton shouts over the sudden, piercing screech of Lois’s microphone that she’s testing on the stage.

  Sunny sighs with exasperation. “Peyton MacKenzie, I am determined to break you until you embrace delectable, fruity beverages that are frothy, frozen, colorful treats to people everywhere.” She marches back to the kitchen, and I laugh at Peyton’s obvious frustration.

  He turns to me. “You know these two are still newlyweds, right? You’re like the third wheel here. There’s room for you over at the other table. Your sister is there.”

  “Like I don’t see enough of my sister.” I roll my eyes. “At that other table, I’m the third wheel to at least four different couples.”

  Peyton sighs and stalks off toward the kitchen.

  The microphone starts shrieking again, and Lois attempts to talk over it. All conversations cease and all eyes turn to the stage.

  “I can help with the mic!” Kimberly is giddy. She eagerly jumps up from her chair and circles her way around tables to get to the stage. “I’d like to say a few words, too!” She nabs the cordless mic right out of Lois’s hand and fiddles with it. She doesn’t look like she knows any more about it than Lois. Then Kimberly whacks the mic on her thigh a couple of times and repeats the words “testing, testing” a few times. The audience laughs. The indignation on Lois’s face is priceless when Kimberly thwarts Lois’s attempts to retrieve the microphone again.

  “I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight for this great cause,” Kimberly shouts into the microphone. Her voice is amplified so loudly that people cover their ears. “And I want to thank Peyton and Bash for letting us use Swill. And a super big thank you to Bash for the fantastic food. Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Kimberly Baker. Most of you know I’m the head librarian and also a specialist in archival history for the county. And we’re here tonight to make Hera’s own little library a reality! Let’s hear it for libraries!”