The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(88)

Gamble cups his hands around his mouth and shouts even louder, “HEY, EVERYBODY!”

Chevy manages to wrangle King off June’s lap in a flurry of gobbles and flying features. Thankfully, the Bobs give it a rest.

Gamble’s gaze travels over the total disaster that is now Dark Horse. He looks one part irritated and one part flabbergasted. “Y’all know I support Feastivus, but unfortunately, I’ve got to shut this down.”

The reaction to this is stunned silence and some light gobbling from King, who is pecking at a pile of dropped biscuits. Shame rolls through me, hot and thick. I absolutely did not think about permits. And I should have, especially given the way Billy Waters shut down Lindy and Pat’s reception in the town square for a similar reason. I’m sure Billy alerted Gamble in the first place.

But I’m the one who should have thought about this, who should have known it might be an issue.

Gamble waves a hand toward the front gates. “Go on, now. Y’all need to disperse, and I need to figure out whether I’ll have to cite the owner with a violation.”

Even better. I squeeze my hands into fists, wishing one of the dogs had dragged me off like a giant turkey leg. My stomach is in a freefall down my body. I try to catch James’s expression without meeting his gaze, and the man looks like he’s turned into a statue.

“For what?” That’s Pat, sounding indignant and about two seconds from starting a brawl.

The fire marshal glares. “For starters, you have a permit for construction but no certificate of occupancy for a group of this—or any—size. Now, if you’d all start moving in an orderly fashion toward the gate, I’d like to get back to my meal.”

Well, there goes the holiday.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE





Winnie



The scent of fried turkey and failure hangs in the air when I sneak back over to Dark Horse. Most of the Feastivus-goers moved to Mari’s diner to eat what was left. Which was, essentially, a lot of pie and anything Big Mo and Mari could whip up from the kitchen. The people of Sheet Cake always find a way to soldier on.

I suspect that James Graham, however amazing his shoulders are, may not be similarly equipped.

It’s why, when I sneak back over to Dark Horse, I come armed with two very important things. The first is pie, and the second is my laptop with the presentation I’ve been working on with plans for Dark Horse. I hope the pie will provide enough drugging sugar to pacify James. And the presentation is my redemption for the disaster of today—showing him how I can be an asset to the future of Dark Horse, rather than the harbinger of disaster like I was today.

I’ve mentally crossed all my fingers and toes, accepted a pat on the back from Tank, and sat through a mini pep-talk from Lindy and Val while shoveling pie into my face. Is this the ideal way to go out on a limb asking James to keep me on in a more full-time capacity?

Not even in the slightest.

It’s more like I was thrown out of an airplane and I’m pulling all the cords I can pull, hoping one of them goes to a parachute.

I squeeze my way through the closed gate, equally careful with the pie and laptop. The outside is still in a state of disarray with toppled tables, broken glass, and paper plates blowing like tumbleweeds in the cool breeze. The strings of lights have been unplugged, but from somewhere inside the building, there’s a dim glow.

Cautiously, I walk inside, shivering a little. Darkness has fully fallen, and without the heaters fired up, the night air definitely has bite.

Though the outdoor space is still a mess, inside, the floor has been swept, the tables removed, and James is running a mop over the concrete. I take in the stiff line of his shoulders, the ticking muscle in his jaw, and debate my approach.

I know James is overwhelmed. Irritated. Frustrated.

I could just offer him pie and an apology tonight. Maybe a massage to work out some of the stiffness in those shoulders.

But I can’t shake the idea that my presentation will give him something more. It’s me, offering myself up to James. Telling him I want more—not only with the business but with him. I want to be more of a permanent fixture, both at Dark Horse and in his life. This is my grand gesture, an apology, and an offering all rolled up into one.

“Need a hand, boss?”

James stiffens. His gaze flicks to me, then back to the spot on the floor he keeps going over and over. I have a very vivid mental image of Tank, Big Mo, and a mound of mashed potatoes that I hope will one day be funny.

“No,” James says.

Ever since I pointed out that this is his favorite word, James’s lips have curled up when he says no to me. Right now, his mouth is in what looks like a very permanent frown.

Again, indecision crowds my brain. James is in a MOOD. I would be too, honestly. I could wait—maybe I should wait. But everything that happened today is my fault. I asked about using Dark Horse. I brought in all the people without thinking about permits—which is ridiculous. Billy Waters had Pat and Lindy’s vow renewal shut down in the center of town a few weeks ago. I have zero doubt he’s the one who called up the fire marshal and reported Feastivus.

I’d like to toss Billy into a vat of mashed potatoes.

But back to James—maybe he just wants pie and a hug? Or pie and then to be left alone? Or … just to be left alone?

Maybe it’s that part of me that just has to push, but I’m not satisfied with that. I wanted today to be about a preview for James, showing him what could be. I simply can’t leave things as the epic fail they were.