Wearing a knowing smile, she shakes her head. “Thomas was off a few inches. Patton is all bark, no bite. Trust me. I’ve known him since high school.”
“He seems pretty bite-y to me.”
“He’s protective of his space. His time. His people. But once you’re in his circle, he’s loyal to a fault.”
“Great. Except I’m not in his circle. I’m barely in his peripheral vision.”
She squints. “Why are we talking about Maverick?”
“Maverick? You mean Patton.”
“Same person. Long story.” She waves her hand and passes me the box of doughnut holes as if they’re truth serum.
I tell her about Mayor Barbie assigning us to plan the Fireman’s Ball together.
“She sent you right to the front lines.”
“But why is there so much animosity between us? I just don’t get it. I showed up, all smiles and ready to do my job. He instantly shut me down with his sour puss smug smile and named me the Parks & Rec Princess.”
With a knowing grin, she gets to her feet. “Everyone has their story. Maybe he’ll open up and share his if you give him a chance. I have to get to work, but good luck.”
Frowning, I call after her, “That wasn’t helpful.”
Taking a deep breath, I gather my meticulously organized materials and march up to Conference Room B. When I get upstairs, my phone buzzes.
Patton Cross: Can’t make the meeting.
Figures. I stick my tongue out at the screen as I go back to the Parks & Recreation floor while typing a reply.
Me: When can you reschedule?
Patton Cross: I’ll let you know.
Exiting the stairwell, I mutter, “Are you kidding me?” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Mindy, Pauline, and Thomas look up from their desks.
Mindy says, “Let me guess. Lieutenant Punctual is late?”
“He’s not late. He’s absent. Again.” I want to throw my laminated seating charts across the room, but that seems wasteful.
“There was an accident out on Route 50,” Pauline says.
My shoulders drop. Now I feel like a jerk because he’s just doing his job—a noble one at that.
Thomas says, “At least you have time to?—”
A high-pitched chittering sound cuts through the office.
We all freeze.
“What was that?” Thomas whispers.
The sound intensifies. Something crashes in my office.
I rush to my doorway and stop short.
A chickaree squirrel—Huckleberry Hill’s beloved mascot, the creature immortalized in that giant carved statue outsideHuck’s—sits on my desk, clutching one of my goldenrod sticky notes like it’s a treasure map.
It’s not a plush, stuffed animal.
