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“Uh-huh.” Todd must have told him.
His gaze flickers downward, to the fitted green sweater I chose to match the St. Patrick’s Day theme tonight, then meets my eyes again. I see the humor in his.
The challenge.
“What’s in the box?” I ask.
“This? Just some treats from one of my favorite bakeries. I thought the residents might enjoy them.” He shrugs as if to say, “It was nothing.”
“You brought a giant box of sugar for a room of elderly people to enjoy. Do you know how many people in here are diabetic?” My voice drips with reprimand.
His smile never wavers. “Which is why there’s an assortment for various dietary needs, from celiac to diabetic to lactose intolerant.”
My expression sours. “You thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“That is very thoughtful of you, Garrett,” Harper says. “But we follow a strict menu here. I’d need an ingredients list—”
“Let us live!” Shirley squawks from her spot, pounding the table with her fist.
Harper shakes her head at the outburst.
“I figured as much.” Garrett sets the box on a table and fishes a printed paper from his back pocket, stretching his sweater across his fit upper body. He hands it to Harper. “Here’s the full list of ingredients.”
What a perfect little Boy Scout.
Harper cocks her head—a sign that she’s impressed. Not much impresses her. “Well, okay then. Let me grab my glasses so I can go through these, and then we can dish some out before Shirley wages war.”
He chuckles, as if that’s not a plausible outcome. “Sounds good.”
Harper marches away.
He looks around the room. “So this is where you spend your Friday nights before you accost innocent people at Route 66.”
I climb down the ladder. There are too many ears perked and hearing aids cranked up for this conversation. “Follow me.”
But he doesn’t, instead wandering toward Nancy and her atrocious sweater. “Is it bingo night?”
She tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes. Every Friday is bingo night.”
“Oh man … I used to go with my grandmother to the bingo hall when I was young. Every Tuesday. She loved it. That was so long ago now.” He pauses. “They’d let me call the numbers sometimes. That was fun.”
I snort. It is so obvious what he’s trying to do. I’m going to kill Todd.
Nancy studies Garrett, then the bingo ball cage, then Garrett again, biting her bottom lip in thought. “If you want to … I mean, if you’re still here when we start …” She gestures toward the ball cage.
My mouth drops with a gasp. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been asking for months and in walks Pretty Boy, and you melt into a puddle?”
She scowls, her face burning. “You help everyone cheat. You don’t take it seriously.”
“That is incorrect. And he has never played a round of bingo in his life.” I jab at Garrett’s chest with my index finger. “He doesn’t even have a grandmother.”
Garrett laughs, as if my suggestion is absurd. “Of course I have a grandmother. At least I did. She passed away a few years ago.”
“Oh yeah?” I step in closer until I’m forced to tip my head back to meet his stare. His delicious cologne wafts in my nostrils, but I ignore it. “How many bingo halls are there on the Upper East Side?”
A devious spark flashes in his eyes. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d like having me check out this place that you recommended for Richard.”
“I see what’s happening here.” A lie for a lie. Payback for me embarrassing him in front of his uncle and boss. He’s going to sabotage my connection to Shirley.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But everything about his expression says he finds this game hilarious.
And I sense attention on us. No doubt eagle-eye Shirley is watching the showdown.
“This little act of yours?” I swirl my index finger in the air, aiming at the cake box. “Another goodwill gesture? It won’t work. You can’t buy these people with vegan squares.”
“I just want to have a genuine conversation to hear concerns. They are Polson Falls residents, after all, and their voices matter.”
I barely stifle the eye roll. “You want a genuine conversation? Really? Okay. Hey, Shirley.” She’s the only one he’s here to see. “HG wants to hear your opinions on everything they’re doing to Polson Falls.”
She pauses to scrutinize him from head to toe before turning back to her cards. “Let’s see those desserts first. Then maybe I’ll talk to the harbinger of destruction. If I feel like it.” She’s negotiating like a prisoner being pumped for valuable information.
Folding my arms, I smile wide at Garrett. “You heard the lady. Let them eat cake.”
Shirley sets her cards down in front of her, her sharp gaze dissecting Garrett across the table. “A run and a set, deadwood equals two.”
“Nice.” Garrett tosses his hand into the pile. “Have to say, I haven’t played rummy in a while.”
