Page 18 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Claire

I study a handful of packages of cellophane-wrapped, shimmery white garland like my life depends on it.

That’s how all this prep for the anniversary extravaganza—or, shhh, the “gala”—has been. Grandma’s done most of it, but the things she’s assigned to me, I’ve taken seriously. I will beg, borrow, or steal to make this all come together.

Not literally!

At least, probably not literally.

It’s today. The gala is happening in a couple of hours and I’m at Party World in the Denver Southeast area, grabbing the rest of what they have in the way of white garland.

I’ve already cleaned out the other party supply stores in the Denver metropolitan area and, be proud, I haven’t had to beg, borrow, or steal…yet .

Slouching against my crutches, I start to count the packages in my head, hoping there’s enough here.

“Hi Claire!”

I startle. It’s Benson, in all his musky, clean, manly scented glory.

“You scared me! I was counting.”

“I messed up your counting? That was a jerk move.” He frowns, but there’s a teasing quality to his tone.

I quirk a smile. “It was. I’m figuring out how many of these we need.”

He waits until I’m finished adding them all up. “For the…” He leans closer and whispers, “Gala?” giving me another whiff of his clean scent as I flip through the packages in my hands.

I nod, waylaid for a moment by his closeness.

“You had to come all the way to this part of town for it?” he asks.

I tear my gaze away from the garland. “I have my dress and everything I’ll need for the event tonight in my car, so I can go straight to the venue. Just picking up last-minute things.” I peer at him. “What brings you here?”

“Indie signed up to bring party decorations to school. But it’s for the day after they get back from their trip, so her mom won’t have time to get them.”

“That’s fun. Do you know what you need?”

“They have to decorate their classroom for an end of the year read-in. I was thinking some streamers or something.” He shrugs.

Now that he’s here, I’m having a hard time thinking of anything besides him.

My gaze narrows. “Like crepe paper streamers? Those are sort of hard to manage.” I drop the garland on the lowest shelf, turn, and crutch my way down the aisle.

At the end, I pluck a large package off a peg and hand it to him.

“Instant party in a bag. Everything’s color coordinated and good quality and comes with sticky tabs so you don’t even need tape.

It’s way easier to handle than crepe paper. ”

He surveys the package. “You had me at instant party.”

“I only wish my Grandma would be okay with something like that for tonight. Nothing she wants is that easy.”

He gestures to the packages on the bottom shelf as I make my way back to them. “White garland, huh?”

“It’s the last thing on my list. We already have a lot, but Grandma was worried we’d need more.

Better safe than sorry.” I stop and adjust the crutches so they fit better under my arms, then pile the packages in the shopping basket.

“I should go, though. I’m supposed to help hang these.

I’ve already been over to the venue a few times today and it looks amazing.

But this will add a little extra something. ”

“I hope it all works out.” He lingers, like something is on the tip of his tongue.

I check my shirt for wayward buttons but then remember I’m wearing a t-shirt. I pile the packages in my basket, which I loop through my arm, and then begin making my way to the registers.

He catches up to me, deftly lifting the shopping basket from my fingers and carrying it for me. “That’s wild that we ran into each other like this. Can I help? My ankles are healthy. I can hang stuff up for you.”

“Oh we have like four ladders and a lot of people. Don’t worry, I’m not personally climbing on any ladders.” I point to my ankle. “I’ll be supervising and bossing people around. Thanks though.” I flash a smile.

It would be fun to have him there, but I wouldn’t ask him to sacrifice his Saturday night for it .

Once we reach the bank of registers, two right next to each other open at the same time.

We share another smile as we’re both called forward.

I have to put my keys and stuff on the counter to dig my wallet out of my small, crossbody bag.

His things go right next to mine as he gets his wallet out of his back pocket.

“The Longdale Longhorns, huh?” He points to my keychain, which is a plastic reinforced crocheted circle in the school colors with the name and mascot stitched right in.

I give a shy smile. “Yes. I’ve had it since high school.”

He nods, trying to cover up a smile. “Go figure.”

“What? I rotate through several Longdale-themed keychains now.”

At his smile, a rash of defensiveness boils up inside me. “What?” I ask.

He taps his debit card to pay. “Nothing. I like that you have roots there. We moved four times in my growing up years, so it was different for me.”

“Longdale’s the best. I doubt I’d even want a city job if I were in a different place.”

“So it’s less about the position and more about Longdale itself?”

It’s time for me to pay now, so I pause.

Then, “Yes. I want the city manager position because if Rich gets it, he’ll probably be in it for a long time.

It’s sort of now or never for me. I don’t want to manage any other town.

And I’m ready. I’ve created so many spreadsheets about how I’d do the job if I get it. ”

“You’re going to get it.” He takes the receipt and his plastic bag from the cashier. His impossibly dark eyes study me.

My ears burn hot. “You sound so sure. I wish I was that confident about it. I still need to finish my application.”

“Nobody loves the town as much as you do. ”

“I could either be offended by that or take it as a compliment.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe you’re saying Longdale isn’t as loveable as I believe it is,” I challenge.

“I’m not saying that. I happen to love Longdale, too.”

I gather my keys and phone and shove them in my crossbody bag. “It’s probably a moot point, though. The mayor is best friends with Rich’s father. It’s going to take a miracle for him to hire me over Rich.”

“Does he get to make the decision?”

“The city council votes on it, but they’ll never go against Mayor Whitten’s recommendation.” I gather the plastic bags overflowing with garland, trying to hook them all on my fingers, but it’s tricky with the crutches.

“Hold up. Can I carry the bags for you?”

I let him extricate them from my fingers. “Thanks.”

“It’s nice you’re accepting help. Wasn’t sure that was possible for you.”

I frown and tip my head back. “What are you even talking about? I allowed you to piggyback me down a mountain.”

“It very nearly killed you to accept my help.”

I shake my head and look away, focusing on the task of maneuvering my way to the exit. He’s right, but I also have the right to be embarrassed about it. Once outside, he helps me into my car and leaves the bags and crutches on the back seat.

“Nice running into you,” I say. It was just the shot of adrenaline I needed before the big show.

“Good luck tonight at the—” he lowers his voice. “Gala.”

“The…gala,” I whisper back. “Is going to be perfection in a sea of white everything.” I roll the window down while he closes my car door .

“Have a nice time.” His smile is kind and genuine, and without any control, my stomach jolts awake.

“Give Cinnamon a big hug for me!” I smile back,

He groans. “I’m not hugging that dog. She’s a thorn in my side.”

I give up a lilting laugh as I drive away.

The gala-extravaganza-what-have-you might be “perfection” but I’m starting to think maybe Benson is, too.

I hobble through the doors of the venue north of Longdale when a text comes in:

Hey, this is Benson. Did you steal mine? Somehow this ended up in my bag.

A photo of Benson chimes through. In it, his mouth hangs open in mock surprise, holding up…wait a minute. Does he have my phone?

Somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, it registered that there was something off about the lock screen when I saw his text.

I attempt to text back, but his phone is password protected.

Then, Benson: So you can respond, my password is 0914.

Me, after typing in his password: How can you take selfies of my phone while using my phone?

Me : #hesawizard

Benson: I took the photo with my tablet.

Me: Oh. Also, did you ever think maybe you stole my phone?

Benson: They look identical. One of us must have grabbed the wrong one at the registers at Party World.

Me: ( A GIF of Homer Simpson smacking his forehead) Actual Party World surveillance footage of you taking my phone.

Benson: LOL. It’s disturbing that you don’t have a passcode on your phone, BTW.

Me: It’s lucky for you right now that I don’t.

Benson : Send me the address to the venue and I’ll bring your phone there ASAP.