Not Part of the Plan_A Small Town Love Story

by Lucy Score

  “I think we’re looking at the Beautification Committee’s fundraiser for your fire damage.”

  “So, if I bought a cup of apple cider, I’d be funding my own fundraiser?”

  He looked disappointed, and Eden laughed. “Are you really that big of an apple cider fan?”

  “Well, yeah. But I’m not giving those pyromaniacs a dime.”

  “Hot apple cider for a good cause!” Ellery screeched, scaring Mason into dropping a roll of quarters.

  Eden pulled him toward the stand. “The least a girlfriend can do is buy her boyfriend a cup of apple cider on a cold night.”

  “I’m not having you pay for my fire damage,” Davis argued.

  “Don’t be a baby,” Eden said lightly before stepping to the front of the line. “Ellery, Mason, what brings you two out on a night like this?” Davis let out a sound that was eerily similar to a growl, and she elbowed him.

  “Oh, hi, guys,” Ellery said, eyes wide and guilty. “We’re just doing some… fundraising.”

  “Tell us more about this good cause,” Davis demanded. Eden stepped on his foot, and he winced.

  “What good cause?” Ellery asked, batting her spider-like lashes.

  “The one on your sign,” Eden said, pointing at the poster behind Mason.

  For a Good Cause

  “Oh, that good cause,” Ellery laughed nervously. “We’re uh, um. Raising funds for… you… and neighbors like you,” she added quickly. “To make our community… better.”

  “Interesting,” Eden said. “Isn’t that interesting, Davis?” she asked.

  He still looked mad enough to say something stupid that could ruin their entire plan. Eden ducked under his arm and cuddled into his side. “How much for a cup?” Eden asked.

  “Oh, um.” Ellery blinked. “Five dollars?”

  32

  “I can’t believe you gave those arson-causing bastards five bucks,” Davis complained.

  Eden was still laughing as he held the door to the movie theater for her. “It was worth it just to see the look on your face.” She swiped at the corners of her eyes, clearly enjoying herself. “I can throw the cider away if you want me to,” she offered.

  He clutched the paper cup protectively. “No use letting it go to waste.”

  Town meetings were one of the things he’d missed the most when he’d moved away. The smell of the movie theater popcorn, the press of bodies dressed in bib overalls and decades-old tie-dye. It had all seemed normal to him growing up, debating socially acceptable behavioral standards that would never be up for public discussions anywhere else in the country.

  Moving to California for school and then work had given Davis some much needed distance. And with that distance came an even deeper appreciation for his hometown. Romantic, fading frescos decorated the ceiling held up by painted pillars. There was a podium, flanked by folding chairs on the skinny strip of stage in front of the heavy velvet curtain.

  After a quick stop at the concession stand, he guided Eden to the right-hand side of the stage. “The acoustics are better over here,” he told her.

  She shot him a funny look that turned to pure lust after he handed her a snack pack of chocolate coconut granola, her favorite in high school. They settled into the third and fourth seats from the aisle, just out of the draft of the overhead vent. He knew this theater, knew this town inside out. He’d been more than ready to come home before his father’s heart attack gave him the reason.

  “You look like you’re about to watch your favorite movie,” Eden commented, popping a handful of colorful candy into her mouth.

  Conversation buzzed around them as neighbors caught up with each other despite the fact that most of them had seen each other earlier that day. It was a small town, impossibly close-knit. Which was both a blessing and a curse.

  “This is my kind of entertainment,” he told her. “Beckett’s going to get up there and announce something ridiculous, and then seventy-two of his constituents are going to have questions and even more ridiculous solutions. It’s better than any movie.”

  Eden chuckled at his enthusiasm. Davis used her good mood to sneak a coconut cluster from her hand.

  He pretended not to notice the looks shot in their direction. Smug from Beautification Committee members, curious from feud historians.

  “Mind if I sit?” Eden’s friend Layla in full deputy regalia tapped the seat next to Davis. He caught a glimpse of the look Eden shot Layla. It was a warning.

  “Help yourself,” Davis said, offering his bag of popcorn.

  Not one to pass up a snack, Layla dug a healthy fistful from the bag. She stretched her legs out under the seat in front of her, the picture of relaxation.

  “I take it you’re not here in a professional capacity?” Eden asked.

  “I’m on duty, but since every single citizen is in this building, I figured it would make sense to be here. Plus, I wanted to see Cardona and the mayor in their stupid powdered wigs.”

  Bruce Oakleigh had finally successfully lobbied for town officials to wear the powdered wigs of their ancestors for official town meetings, a town ordinance two years in the making. It horrified the straight-laced Beckett Pierce, which entertained the entire rest of the town who had voted unanimously for the motion.

  “What are you two crazy kids doing after this?” Layla asked.

  Eden leaned forward in front of Davis. “What is this? An interrogation?”

  Layla let out a low whistle. “Someone’s feeling persnickety tonight. Don’t worry, Davis. Just feed her something chocolate and tell her she’s pretty, and she probably won’t rip your face off later. I mean, they don’t call her Moody for nothing.”

  “It’s my last name, assface,” Eden sniped.

  Layla gave a careless shrug. “Don’t mind her, Davis. I mean, I don’t need to remind you that she’s basically a loose cannon.”

  Eden bared her teeth at her friend. “I know what you’re doing, and if you want twenty bucks that much I will give it to you.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” Layla sniffed.

  Davis had a feeling he was missing an important key to the conversation.

  “If you two get in a fight, who’s going to break it up?” he wondered out loud.

  Eden sat back in her seat in a huff. “I need to make new friends,” she grumbled.

  Layla grinned triumphantly as if she’d won a tough victory.

  The lights flickered, signaling that the festivities were about to start. People started filling in the auditorium seats.

  Davis took Eden’s hand and squeezed it. The purpose was two-fold. One, he wanted to hold her hand. Two, it was one less appendage she could throw punches with. He didn’t want to get thrown out of the meeting before the fun started.

  The lights flickered again and then dimmed. The speakers crackled on, and the opening strains of “Eye of the Tiger” blasted through the theater.

  Beckett Pierce, in powdered wig and a suit, slumped his way to the podium at center stage. The town council members plus Sheriff Cardona took the stage behind him, filing to the single row of seats next to the podium. Millie Murkle, Blue Moon’s police station manager and dispatcher, jogged up to the front of the theater and snapped about a dozen pictures of Donovan sitting miserably between Bruce Oakleigh and Elvira Eustace.

  He felt the weight of Eden’s gaze on him and schooled his features into an impassive mask. She leaned in. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this,” she whispered.

  “I don’t want you to be embarrassed by your boyfriend fanboying over a town meeting,” he returned.

  Eden snickered behind her hand and Layla leaned forward and gave them a hard look. “I’m not losing my twenty to Sammy,” she hissed.

  “Next time you sleep over, I’m shaving your eyebrows off,” Eden threatened.

  “Don’t threaten an officer of the law,” Layla whispered back.

  “Ladies, if we could save the threats for later?” Davis suggested, drawing a line in the
air between them with his arm.

  On stage, Beckett was making a slashing motion over his throat. The music cut off abruptly.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for braving the cold tonight and coming out so close to Thanksgiving,” he began. “As you know, our HeHa Festival is almost here, and we wanted to take this opportunity to make sure we’re as organized as possible.”

  Davis grinned. Last year’s HeHa had been an organizational disaster. Information about drop-offs had gone out with a typo in the address and forty-seven bags of winter clothing were deposited onto Juan Garcia’s front yard. His pet ferrets had escaped—again—and burrowed into the bags of down vests and heavy sweaters. It took two hours for the dozen volunteers to find the ferrets.

  “It’s come to my attention that our co-chairs for the HeHa Festival have both stepped down, citing irreconcilable differences, which really only applies in divorces,” Beckett said into the mic. A low rumble of speculation rolled through the crowd.

  “Who were the chairs?” Eden asked.

  “Charisma Champion and Fitz,” Layla whispered.

  Charisma, with her long black hair and purple glitter tunic, stood up. “I’d like the record to show that I was willing to work with Bill Fitzsimmons, but he made it impossible.”

  Beckett leaned into the mic. “There is no actual record.”

  A rat-tailed, skinny hippie in a Save the Bay t-shirt that didn’t quite cover his pasty belly rose on the other side of the theater. “And I’d like the record to show that my schedule is a complex organism.”

  “There’s still no record,” Beckett put in.

  “You own a bookstore that’s open twenty hours a week,” Charisma shot back.

  “I’m also an exotic dancer,” Fitz announced.

  A crowd-wide shudder made its way through the building as everyone remembered the Facebook video of a nearly naked Fitz being hauled out of the barn at Pierce Acres during Phoebe Merrill’s bachelorette party.

  “You spent two days last week restocking your underground bunker!” Charisma was working herself up to a full-fledged fit.

  “Well, someone has to be prepared!”

  Beckett rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes as if in a bid for patience.

  “It’s your fault that we have three weeks until the festival and absolutely nothing in place!” Charisma shouted.

  “Let’s try to get back on track here,” Beckett said, shouting into the mic to be heard over the din. “We’re looking for two volunteers to chair the event which, just as a reminder, includes a day of community service and a town-wide dance.”

  Rainbow Berkowicz got to her feet. “I volunteer Eden Moody and Davis Gates to co-chair.”

  Davis lost his smile.

  “Oh, hell no,” Eden said next to him. Layla snorted out a laugh.

  “Seconded,” Ernest Washington said from under his denim cap.

  “That’s not how asking for volunteers works,” Eden muttered.

  Davis mentally rolled through his to-do list which included zero room for organizing a huge community event. Although, it would also give him even more time with Eden…

  Beckett cheered considerably as the burden of public service in Blue Moon was passed to someone else. “Great. If anyone has any questions about HeHa, please see Eden and Davis after the meeting.”

  “What the hell just happened?” Eden whispered.

  “We were just thrown under the Blue Moon Volkswagen bus,” Davis answered.

  Beckett picked up his gavel and banged it ceremonially. “On to the next order of business. It’s been brought to the council’s attention that the rumor that businesses do not have to pay their taxes is circulating again. Once again, it is very, very important that you file and pay your taxes every year. For more on this subject, please welcome Mason Smith.”

  33

  “I can’t believe that just happened,” Eden breathed out a silver cloud. The chaos of the town meeting was behind them in the theater where half of the town was still throwing tax questions at the sweet and sweaty CPA. The quiet of an empty One Love Park was in front of them.

  “I can believe it,” Davis said, leading her across the road into the park. “We live with a bunch of manipulative sociopaths.”

  “It’s not like you have time to deal with this. I mean, you’ve got the insurance company, the fire damage, plus all of your usual work.” Eden ticked off the items on her fingers. “And why are you smiling at me like that?”

  Davis scraped the grin off his face. “It’s kind of nice seeing you mad on my behalf for a change.”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, poking a finger into his chest.

  “Like what?” he asked innocently.

  “Like you want to kiss me.”

  He took a step closer to her, and Eden felt her heart climb into her throat. Anticipation twined nicely with the knowledge that she should not want Davis Gates’s mouth anywhere near her. Eden slapped a hand to his chest.

  “Fluke,” she reminded him.

  “Sometimes lightning strikes twice,” he countered.

  “You’re just trying to get in my pants,” Eden said, annoyed that her voice was so breathless.

  “They’re very nice pants.”

  “Davis,” she gave a half-laugh. “We have a big problem. The entire town is counting on us organizing the best Helping Hands Festival ev—” The realization hit her like an ice cream truck on a sticky summer day. “Oh, my God! That’s it!”

  “What’s it?” Davis asked, bringing her hand to his mouth so he could brush kisses over her knuckles.

  “We’re going to get into a huge fight at HeHa and break up!” It was so poetically perfect. “Think about it. This all started for us when you stood me up for the dance. The B.C. is counting on us spending this time together and falling deeply in love. But we,” she poked him in the shoulder, “are going to make sure history repeats itself.”

  Davis was looking slightly less lusty and a little more nauseated. “Run this by me again?”

  “We’re going to stage the most spectacular breakup in the history of Blue Moon during HeHa. They’ll be talking about it for years to come! This is perfect!” In celebration, she launched herself at Davis and kissed him square on the mouth.

  “Is it weird that I get turned on by how turned on you are by revenge?” he mumbled under her lips’ advances.

  “Not weird. Revenge is hot. Keep kissing,” she ordered.

  “Wait.” He gripped her by the shoulders and held her back a step. “Does this mean we’re still dating?”

  “Fake dating,” she reminded him.

  “Good enough,” Davis said, drawing her back in. His mouth quickly devoured hers. Eden felt her knees go weak.

  “I think we’re going to fluke again,” she whispered into his mouth.

  “Thank God.”

  “My parents left for their Thanksgiving trip,” Eden said, sliding her hands under Davis’s jacket. “Their house is a block from here.”

  Only Ned and Lilly Ann would forget to lock their front door before leaving for a week-long trip. Eden pushed open the front door and picked up the stack of catalogues under the mail slot. “Welcome to Casa de Moody,” she said, flipping the switch for the overhead disco ball her parents used to light the small living room.

  It was a cramped space made even smaller by the two full-sized couches and throne-like wingback chair in pink velvet her mother insisted they needed “for company.” The last time her parents entertained had been Eden’s fourteenth birthday.

  There were bookshelves crammed full of books, trinkets, and family photos behind every oversized piece of furniture. One shelf partially blocked the large bay window. The carpet was orange shag. The table lamps were draped with pink gauze for mood lighting.

  “Wow,” Davis said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m surprised I didn’t burst into flames walking in the door.”

  “They must have deactivated the Gates deterrent system,” Eden teased. She
took his hand and slid his coat off of his shoulders. “Now, where were we?”

  “I believe I had my tongue down your throat like a teenager,” Davis recalled.

  “You’re a funny guy, Gates.”

  “Just think of all those years you missed out on my humor. Guess we’ll have to make up for it now.”

  There was nothing fake about the way his eyes raked her body when she shrugged out of her coat. And, damn it, there was nothing fake about the way her body thrummed with anticipation.

  She backed her way to the stairs, Davis following her. “Want to see my room?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “I’ve been waiting fifteen years for that invitation,” he told her.

  She bit her lower lip, refusing to be charmed by him. She turned and jogged up the stairs to the landing. “Coming?”

  “God, I hope so.”

  Giddy at the sound of his footsteps, Eden hurried ahead and pushed open the door to what had been her bedroom for eighteen long, happy, painful years. The walls were still papered with the dozens of posters—Evanescence and Nirvana and Foo Fighters—she’d hung. She rolled the switch for her lava lamp and was delighted when it began to glow orange.

  “Always the rebel,” Davis observed from the doorway.

  The twin bed stood between them. Her black rose comforter had been traded in for a cheery checkered throw that matched nothing for guests that her parents never hosted.

  Davis stood on the other side of the small bed, tension in every muscle, waiting for her.

  Eden bit her lip and took the plunge. She unhooked the clasp on her pants and shimmied out of them.

  Without tearing his eyes away from her, Davis toed off his loafers and ditched his pants. His thighs were lean and muscled, and she caught a glimpse of the growing bulge in his black briefs. It made the throb in her core intensify. He straightened, waiting again.

  Eden closed her fingers on the hem of her sweater and slowly dragged it over her head. When she heard his sharp intake of breath, she was thankful she’d gone with the purple lace set and the condom in her purse.