“How long have you been seeing her?” he asks and I don’t know how to answer.
My throat’s tight and I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, looking past the parking lot to the thicket of trees just beyond it. There’s a slight chill in the early morning air.
“Really, man? Friends for how long, and you know I know.”
“You know what, exactly?” I ask and my question comes out defensively. For a moment I think he knows about it all. Every sordid detail. Even the reason I broke up with her in the first place. I never should have gone against my gut and trusted my father. I knew it was a mistake. Still, it’s hard to blame my father, or anyone other than myself. None of what happened next was supposed to happen.
“That you never stopped being sweet on her.”
“Yeah, well … yeah. Not much else to say.”
“So … is she going to say yes or what? You single or not?”
“It’s whatever she wants.” Staring off into the trees, I pretend the box in my jacket pocket isn’t burning against my palm.
“And if it was up to you?”
“I wouldn’t have asked her if I didn’t mean it.” My tone’s harsher than I’d like it to be, my words curter.
“True. I’m sorry to bring it up. I didn’t realize ...”
“Not your fault. It’s not like I told anyone what’s between us.”
“Your mother?” he questions, once again bringing her up.
“Hell no … No one.”
“Not to sound like an ass,” Asher starts and I side-eye him, certain he’s going to sound exactly like an ass, “but did you tell Magnolia what’s between you two?”
I can’t help the laugh that leaves me from deep in my chest. “She knows,” I say and smile at him, but it’s forced. “I thought she knew how much—” The words are cut off, stuck at the back of my throat.
“Well … you know she knows now.”
“Of that, I am most definitely aware.” Licking my lower lip, I think that’s the end of it, but Asher presses on.
“Guess you should’ve asked her before Mr. Paine showed up, huh? That’s his name: Brody Paine?”
His questions answer my own regarding just how much he knows. That blow to the chest I was expecting earlier hits hard. I suppose it was bound to happen eventually.
“Yeah … guess I should have.”
Brody
Griffin’s muted laughter is at complete odds with my wince as I peel off the tape and gauze, ripping out several pieces of hair on my arm along with the tape.
“What are you laughing at?” I ask as we walk down the sidewalk, the sun shining and the breeze carrying that hint of salt I love so much. The weather and this town are straight from the pages of a storybook, but there’s not a single thing that could brighten my disposition after this morning.
He finishes his text, nearly tripping on a worn tan brick that’s sticking out from the paved sidewalk, and then turns his broad smile toward me. There’s a ball of anxiousness that won’t quit churning in my stomach, and Griffin knows. He’s doing his damnedest to lighten the mood. With my throat going tight at the thought, I ball up the tape and toss it into the nearest trash can on our walk.
“Just something Renee said.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” His grin stays in place although he drops his phone to his side. I have to admit, he’s more at ease with Renee than I’ve ever seen him with a woman.
The thought of Renee inherently reminds me of my own dilemma.
That incessant insecurity stirs in my chest at his answer. I imagine they’re talking about us. About Mags, me, Bridget … and unfortunately, Robert. I won’t be all right until I get the results back from the blood test. Two to seven business days. That’s two to seven days too long, if you ask me.
“What’s going on with you two?” The question leaves me as we reach the front entrance of our bar. I can’t help the faint smile on my face, even if my nerves are eating me from the inside out. It’s all coming together faster than I thought. Griffin wasn’t lying when he said as soon as the paperwork was done that we’d be ready to go within weeks.
“Nothing.” Griffin sobers up slightly at my questioning, slipping his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “Yet,” he adds and tilts his head, gesturing to the sign that’s ready to be placed front and center of the building: Iron Brewery. It’s wrought iron with a rustic feel and we’re only waiting for a guy named Asher to come down and install it. According to the town, he’s the one with the equipment to do any of this.
“Nothing?” I shoot him a grin at the ridiculousness of that statement. Running his hand through his hair, Griffin clears his throat and doubles down. “I’m telling you. There’s nothing going on.”
I stare him down, from his work boots that match mine, bought after the unfortunate incident of Griffin stepping on a rogue nail in his flip-flops, all the way up his faded blue jeans to his simple tee before meeting his gaze. “Yeah, okay.” My response drips with sarcasm.
His only response is to shrug before opening the doors to our joint business.
“Shouldn’t lie to your business partner,” I mock scold him.
“I swear to you, nothing’s going on,” he repeats and I shake it off. There’s chemistry between them and if he doesn’t see it, he’s blind.
Judging by his smile and how fast he reaches for his phone when it goes off again, so fast the door nearly closes and smacks him in the face, he’s not blind at all. Catching the door before it can deliver him the karma he has coming for fibbing, I stare at his phone with my brows raised, the question not needing to be spoken when he finally looks up from whatever she’s sent him.
His expression is hilarious, like a kid caught with his whole arm in a cookie jar, sitting on the floor with crumbs scattered about his face. “I just think she’s a cool chick.”
I don’t buy that response for a second, but whatever he wants to tell me is just fine. I have my own shit to worry about. Shrugging like he did and wearing a hint of a smile, I let it go. The second I do, though … I’m brought back to that gut-wrenching pull. All I can think every single time there’s a second that passes without my mind being occupied is that I might be a father. That cute little girl with curly hair … she might be mine.
I could be a father. Right now. To a child I’ve never even met.
My stomach drops again and so do all of the positive feelings that should come to me as I take in the bar. The flooring’s in place, the lights are being hung and the smell of fresh paint lingers in the air. All that can be heard are the intermittent sounds of power tools mingling with the country music the crew has playing in the background. The old radio with a swipe of paint across it is covered in a fine layer of sawdust.
I expect Griffin to go through the rundown of our checklists like he’s done every morning. Every day we do a hundred things, and yet the to-do list has been longer and longer the closer we get to the opening.
That’s not what he asks, though. “Did Mags answer you?”