Page 65 of Fast and Dirty
“You will be here next year.” I say, turing her around and pulling her back against me. My arms come tightly around her, bracing her close.
“How do you know?” She tilts her head my way the best she can and I look again at Marcus Ripps, entering his bid.
“Just a feeling,” I smile.
25
KIRA
“Cheers…” Hattie leans in from her lawn chair to clink her beer bottle with mine, and then West’s. “To Kira for pulling off the best time this town has ever seen… and West, for achieving his white whale of restoring a classic Rolls and selling it in one night!”
West grins from down where his head lays in my lap on the blanket we have spread out on the lawn of the park.
In the distance, a few people are still milling about as vendors pack up while we all bask in the aftermath by the bistro lights strung around the nearby gazebo. And here, we’ve congregated for a few celebratory beers with plenty of blankets and lawn chairs, including the one containing a half-bombed Agnes who seems to feel the need to wear her sunglasses at night. I can’t tell if she’s asleep or just basking like the rest of us.
“Thanks, I’ll drink to that,” I feel a pleasant smile from the buzz of accomplishment and the help of a little BushyTail. “Finally something I didn’t fuck up.”
West gives the bare skin of my knee a few strokes of his fingers, probably his way of reassuring me that I don’t suck at life.
“If you’re sick of getting fired, you could go into business foryourself,” Agnes pipes up, jolting all three of us slightly. “Seems you have a knack for event planning.”
“Huh,” I muse out loud to myself with an airy chuckle. Because planning this festival was hectic and fun; stressful as all hell but in such a good way. I feel so accomplished, like I gave something back to this little town that’s provided me with a safe haven.
“It’s not a bad idea, baby,” West gives my leg another pat. “This was your first time and look how it went. You’re a natural.”
I feel a glow at his encouragement. This guy has not once blinked at my shortcomings. Factor in how he’s handled Ryan and I swear, he sees the good in people. Maybe it’s because of his own past brushes with the law and how he’s turned it around.
“That’s sweet of you, but remember I’ve been cut off. Where would I find the startup? And don’t you try to give me the money for that damn antique car again,” I hold my finger down in front of his face when he opens his mouth. “I’ve had handouts all my life, let me struggle a little.”
“You have a degree. You’re not a dumbass,” Agnes reminds me in a surly tone.
“In historical architecture,” I point out. “All I can do with that is tell you all that the old inn over there,” I point across the street to the borderline haunting figure of the dilapidated old building lurking in the shadows, “looks to be a Queen Anne Revival style, likely built in the 1890s if I’m going by the pitch of the roof and the size of the windows. It could possibly be on the cusp of the Edwardian era, but I’d have to see the inside to be sure.”
“Nice flex,” Hunt announces his presence as he strolls up with Mack at his side. “I’d kill to restore that thing,” he looks over at it wistfully, and I notice that he’s still sporting dark pink lipstick. Only, it’s smeared. Weird.
“Mack, I see you met my BFF, Hunt,” West observes lazily from my lap, unaware of the way Mackenzie’s head snaps inHunts direction and back. Her eyes do an impression of dinner plates before she seems to shake out of it.
“Yep…” she nods primly. “Didn’t realize you were so close, though. Fuck,” she mutters under her breath as she goes to take a seat by Hattie.
“Nah, I can’t stand that motherfucker.” Hunt chuckles, looking away from West’s middle finger and back up to Mack as she sits. “How do you know him, though?”
“Mysisterjust moved here, you oblivious clownfuck,” West rattles at him, making his eyebrows shoot up.
He clears his throat and scoffs. “Pfft, yeah. We met… briefly. I mean not too briefly but – holy shit is that beer?” He points at the cooler before walking over to take a seat on the opposite side of Agnes from Hattie, who reaches in the cooler, retrieving a beer for her.
West raises his wrist in front of his face and leans in close trying to read the time when he drops his head back with a sigh.
“I should get some sleep,” he grumbles.
“Pussy,” scoffs Agnes and we both ignore her.
“Got a lot going on tomorrow.”
“It’s Sunday,” I point out as he rolls over on the blanket and sits up.
“I know, but I’m on call for any tows, and I have to prep the Rolls for pickup.”
“Don’t you dare pick up any runaway brides. And I’m so glad to have that thing out of our lives, it’s like a bad omen.” I remark on both his claims respectively.
