Home > Eye Candy (Fighting for Love #3)(2)

Eye Candy (Fighting for Love #3)(2)
Author: Jiffy Kate

But monogamy looks good on him.

“We’ll have to buy another fucking storefront,” Cage grumbles, turning his attention back to the rest of us. “If we keep this up, we’ll own the whole damn block.”

“Think we could get Mr. Jones to sell his appliance store?” I ask. “That building he’s in has a sweet balcony on the backside. I’ve always wondered what was up there.”

Cage just huffs his annoyance and walks over to the coffee pot for a refill.

Since I’ve been here, we’ve remodeled the space on the other side of the gym, making another apartment. For a brief time, Gunnar and I shared it, but now he’s living with Frankie and I have the entire place to myself.

And thank fuck for that.

No one wants to share walls with Cage and Tempest.

“Ozzi called yesterday,” I mention, reaching over for the last muffin—Folsom Prison Blues, my favorite. After I take a large bite, chewing and swallowing, I add, “He mentioned something about coming to Green Valley to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Sounds like that Erickson invasion might happen sooner than later. I hope Green Valley is prepared,” Cage mutters.

On that note, Gunnar, Frankie, and Cage leave the kitchen and head down the stairs that lead into the studio, leaving me and Tempest alone.

She starts to tidy up the space, putting a few dishes in the dishwasher and humming to herself, but then she stops and turns to face me. “I can tell you have something weighing heavy on your mind,” she says matter-of-factly, letting out a deep sigh. “I also know how it feels when you think you don’t have anyone you can confide in. So, I just want to put this out there and tell you if you need someone to talk to, someone who’s family, but not, I’m your girl. Zero judgment.”

Pushing off the counter, she walks over to stand on the opposite side of the table. “I’m at the bakery every morning until eight, except on Wednesdays,” she continues, pausing to smile. “Come over any morning and I’ll serve you up a muffin of the day and a fresh cup of coffee… and a listening ear, if you need it.”

I think about what she’s said for a minute, trying not to let my face tell on me. My mom always says I can’t lie because my face always tells the truth. “I might take you up on that offer,” I finally say, averting my eyes to the table, running my hand over the weathered wood. “If for nothing else than the muffins.”

She gives me a knowing smile and shakes her head. “All of you Ericksons are alike,” she teases, walking toward the stairs.

“Take that back,” I call out, but smirk, because she’s right. We are alike, which is what makes us love each other fiercely, but also annoy the shit out of each other on a daily basis.

I always wondered what it would be like to have a sister. I’m glad to now know what that feels like and I wasn’t lying when I said I might take her up on her offer. It would be nice to get some shit off my chest, but I’m not sure I’m ready just yet.

Just the thought of Dallas and everything that transpired before I tucked tail and ran to Green Valley still makes my stomach turn and my anger boil. Out of all the brothers, I’m the least aggressive, which is probably what made me not as good as Cage or Gunnar in the ring.

Growing up, I loved the sport, still do, but I didn’t have what it takes to make me a prodigy.

I wasn’t the oldest, so I didn’t get to call the shots.

I’m not the youngest, so I never got the attention Ozzi and Gunnar got.

I’m the middle child, often overlooked, and most of the time it’s okay with me. But lately, I’ve felt the force of my position in the family. As a matter of fact, being in the middle is a good euphemism for my life.

I’m not happy, but I’m not sad.

I’m not wildly successful, but I’m not sinking.

I’m not content, but I’m not completely dissatisfied.

I’m just in the middle and I’m trying to hold on until something better comes along.

But this is the beginning of a new year, so I’m hoping for a fresh start.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

Maggie

 

 

“Margaret,” my dad calls from the back room that doubles as a break room and office. “These numbers aren’t adding up.”

His tone is full of confusion and frustration, and I know if I don’t hurry in there and figure it out for him, there will be a full-blown meltdown in about five, four, three…

“This computer isn’t working right,” he grumbles, louder than the first time.

I smile and hand Mr. Beardsley his change and receipt. “Thank you for coming in today,” I tell him with a smile.

“Sounds like you better get back there and help your daddy,” he says with a knowing smile.

Most people who come into our feed store have been regular customers my entire life. They’ve watched me grow from a baby who played in a fenced-off area behind the counter, to a little girl who helped dust the shelves and greet customers, and eventually, to a teenager who earned her keep by doing it all.

I was homeschooled, so I spent every day of my life in this store, learning the business from a young age.

“Tell Mrs. Beardsley I said hello and thank you for the rhubarb jam.”

The Beardsleys have one of the best gardens in the valley. They set up at the local farmer’s market, but during the winter, Mrs. Beardsley spends her time making jams and baked goods. And she’s always so sweet to send something for us when Mr. Beardsley picks up their monthly feed order.

“Coming, Daddy,” I call out once I place the invoice in the box.

When I walk in, his glasses are pushed up past his bushy, gray eyebrows and he’s rubbing his hands over his face. I smile and go over to the computer, nudging him out of the way. “Let me finish this,” I tell him. “Mama left you a sandwich in the fridge and I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”

“Have I ever told you you’re my favorite daughter?” he asks, standing and giving his shirt a fresh tuck in the back.

“I’m your only daughter,” I say with an eye roll he can’t see. “Now, go eat your lunch.”

When I finished my homeschooling, I enrolled in online college classes. Since I’m needed here at the feed store, I thought it was the best bet for me. Plus, my mama and daddy are old school and extremely protective. Some would say overprotective, but I say they just love me and want what’s best for me.

However, their love is suffocating at times.

For instance, I’m twenty-four years old and still live at home. The furthest I’ve ever been from Green Valley is Nashville for a family vacation. My closest friend is a pen pal I’ve had since the second grade. I’ve only been on three dates. And my only job experience is in this feed store.

Well, and the column I write for the Green Valley Ledger, but no one knows about that except the editor of the newspaper.

It’s the only secret I’ve ever kept from my parents.

And occasionally, it makes me feel so guilty my stomach hurts. But I’m afraid they wouldn’t approve, and I can’t risk it, because I love it too much to give it up. Besides, there’s the part of my job at the paper where anonymity is key.

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