Just Pretend (Just… #1)

33. James

CHAPTER 33

JAMES

With all of the sanding and trimming I did yesterday, I’m able to get the boards from the California live oak to fit together into one tabletop. It wasn’t easy since I was altering the natural inclination of the tree, but with some time and love, the wood comes together seamlessly, creating a new chapter in the tree’s life. After all of the time I spent agonizing over what to do with such beautiful wood, it’s a relief to finally have a vision for this project. What’s even better is that it’s not a custom order I’m going to pour my soul into and sell off to some rich stockbroker. While those orders pay my rent, this piece is for me, so I can be a little more creative and take some risks.

Standing over the tabletop, propped up on a couple of sawhorses, I get to work on sanding the wood, wanting it to be the smoothest I can get it before I apply the stain. I’m going to turn this wood into what I hope will be an impressive dining room table. I can already picture the chairs I want to make to go with it someday, once I have the space for a table this size. That’s one of the issues of having a love for woodworking and living in a one-bedroom apartment. I’ve already maxed out the furniture space that’s available to me. But one day I plan on having a house with plenty of room for my designs, and this table is going to go perfectly in a dining room.

As I run my hand over the smooth surface, I think about the family that will be sitting around the table one day, sharing Thanksgiving dinners, blowing out the candles of tiered birthday cakes. I can see two or three kids in pajamas eating pancakes and cinnamon buns on Christmas morning. And across from me at the table, I see Hallie, with her smile and shining amber eyes that take my breath away.

I’ve been without my own family for so long that it catches me off guard to feel such a strong attachment to a family that isn’t real, at least not yet. But as clearly as I see them in my head, I can feel them in my heart, and it nearly knocks me off my feet. I turn off the sander and take a step back from the tabletop, wondering where these feelings are coming from. If anything, my experience with my own father had turned me away from the idea of having kids of my own. I don’t want to screw anyone up like my father almost did to me. And yet, I can’t deny that the idea of starting a family with Hallie is very appealing. I haven’t thought about settling down with someone ever since Simone, and that dream only brought me heartache.

I lean back against the workbench, allowing the pain a moment to move through me. I’ve been shoving it down inside of me for so long, refusing to deal with it, that I lost out on years of happiness. I shut myself down and kept the world at arm’s length, not wanting to get hurt again, refusing to let anyone else get close. Even now, the moment when Simone broke my heart, the day I realized she never loved me but was only interested in my status and money, still cuts me like a knife. She even admitted that she recognized me right away that day we met in the movie theater. She helped me with the kids because she knew I was James Sinclair, heir to Rupert Sinclair’s real estate empire, and not because it was love at first sight.

I replay our breakup in my head, the pitying look on her face, the way she couldn’t move out fast enough. When I told her what happened with my father and how I quit my job, I was actually excited. I thought I had just freed us both of being chained to my family. I thought we would backpack through Europe or hike the Appalachian Trail. Simone laughed in my face, asking if I really thought she’d fly to Europe with me if it wasn’t on the family’s private jet. Do I look like I belong in coach? she had scoffed.

Maybe I should have kept my heart locked away. Maybe I never should have let Hallie in. I can’t deal with this hurt again. I can’t suffer another blow like that.

But another thought comes to me, quietly like a whisper. After the memories of Simone come flooding back and I’ve let myself linger in the pain and humiliation, I hear a voice in the back of my head, telling me that Hallie isn’t Simone, reminding me that she didn’t even know I came from money. She doesn’t have any expectations of private jets or expensive gifts. She fell in love with James Cole, the modest woodworker. This isn’t the same as with Simone.

The bell rings in the storefront and I take a breath before heading out from the workshop to greet whoever walked in. There’s an older man standing by the door, examining a rocking chair that took me months to get just right. I watch silently as he leans in to examine the carvings on the back of the chair, nodding in appreciation.

“Let me know if you need anything,” I say softly, not wanting to startle him.

The man looks over at me and I nearly gasp when I see it’s my father. His face bears more wrinkles than the last time I saw him in person, five years ago, but he’s still a massive, intimidating presence in the room. I freeze up right away, not knowing what to do or say, wanting to turn and hide in my workshop, but my father calmly looks back at the chair, running his hands over one of the arms.

“Not bad,” he says. “I like how you honored the woodgrain instead of working against it.”

I try not to react, but I can’t help wondering how my father knows anything about woodworking. I can’t imagine him doing anything that would callous his soft, white-collar hands.

“What are you doing here, Rupert?” I ask, trying to temper the anger in my voice.

My father laughs in amusement, looking up at me. “You never were one for idle chatter. You just get right to the point. I always saw that as your superpower in business. No BS, just making the deal. It was such a shame when you walked away from the gift you had.”

“It was more like a burden than a gift,” I say, even though I have no desire to have this conversation yet again.

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses and are finally back on board with us,” my father continues. “I knew you’d come around. I wish it hadn’t taken so long, but now you’re back and that’s what matters.”

I’m waiting for an explanation or a punch line or anything that will make sense of whatever the hell my father is talking about. As I stare at him, however, he just smiles back at me, that same thin-lipped, self-satisfied smile I used to see in the boardroom, day in and day out. It becomes clear only after a moment of confused silence that he’s waiting for me to say something.

“Back?” I ask, still completely thrown. “Are you kidding?”

“Of course I’m not kidding, this is what you wanted and I’m here to say I accept.”

I give my head a shake, wondering at what point I did or said anything to indicate I wanted to be back in the family fold. Assuming that it’s not a coincidence that I just saw my brother, this must have something to do with my conversation with Trey, and yet I know without a doubt that I didn’t say anything that even remotely suggests that I wanted to go back to work. All I wanted from Trey was a favor—for him to talk to Rupert about easing off the Evanses. How the hell did that translate into me looking for my old job back?

“I’m a little lost here,” I stammer, folding my arms over my chest. “Have you talked to Trey?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” Dad nods.

I look back at him, even more confused than I already was. I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on when my father steps towards me with a smug smile on his face. Standing right in front of me, he reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder, clamping down and giving me what I’m guessing he thinks is some fatherly gesture of approval.

“The whole idea is ingenious actually,” he says with a quick laugh. “I have to say I’m a bit surprised, but you have really come through, son. When you didn’t come to the party, I assumed that was that. We’d officially parted ways, and you were done with the family. But when Trey told me about the Evans girl…”

My eyebrows shoot up as my father laughs again, louder this time, as if he’s really enjoying himself. His eyes move around the shop, taking in chairs and shelves before his eyes settle on a hand-crafted chess board that I made, complete with carved pieces made from pine and ebony wood.

“I’m not sure what Mark has up his sleeve with that damn camp of his,” Dad continues, picking up the King and examining it closely, “but now that you’ve cozied up to his daughter you can give me all the intel. It should be a smooth transaction, but Mark is smart, and he has a crazy attachment to that camp—not that I’ve ever understood why. He’s not going to make it easy for me to get that land back, but with you getting information from the daughter, I’ll be one step ahead.”

Swallowing the chess piece in his fist, he turns back to me, nodding with approval.

“Well done, James. Well done.”