Chapter 2
Not a morning person
Evan’s eyes popped open, a rush of adrenaline forcing him awake. Not a lot of sleep last night, thanks to his nerves firing wildly, so he was running on fumes before he even started. Just fucking great.
In the dark of his bedroom overlooking the backyard of his dad’s home, he squinted to make out the red blur of the clock across the room.
He rolled to his side and grabbed his phone off the nightstand.
Bright light and generic blue digital wallpaper shined excessively and he winced as he adjusted.
Ten more minutes, and his alarms would start blaring.
It had been a while since he’d had to work under any particular schedule, so he’d set the most obnoxious alarm tone he could find on his phone and set the ancient alarm clock from his childhood in the dresser, so he didn’t blow it on his first day at his new job.
Not that he had a boss—or anyone, for that matter—who would care if he opened late.
Bleary-eyed, Evan rubbed the fatigue away and lay as sprawled as possible on the twin-sized miniature block of a bed.
Not that the bed hadn’t been cramped when he’d been a teenager, but now, as a twenty-eight-year-old who knew the pleasure of sleeping on a bed his feet didn’t hang off the end of, the bed seemed to have shrunk.
As it would take a miracle to fit even this bed around the narrow corner at the end of the hall, he accepted the temporary discomfort.
Tucked away from the noise of the rest of the house, his bedroom had probably been intended as a closet.
It would have been nice to move back into the apartment over the garage, but he knew Pops could use the extra cash from renting it out.
Either of his siblings’ old bedrooms were options, but… maybe.
Evan grumbled and pushed to sit up, drawing his legs in and resting his forearms on his knees.
Not that it was terrible living with Pops, but as soon as he had enough income from the shop, he was absolutely moving into his own place.
He flung off the sheets and padded across the small room and into the hallway. Instantly, the scent of scrambled eggs, sausage, buttered sourdough toast, and blessed fucking coffee wafted up the stairs and nailed him in the gut. Following his nose, he headed straight for the kitchen.
“Morning,” Scott said as Evan dragged down the stairs, through the small entry, and into the heart of the home.
No more dried flowers or doilies. The place was so different from even a few years ago. Scott had avoided the bachelor pad clichés thanks to his daughter-in-law’s design for the space, and it was clean without feeling empty.
“Hey, Pops,” he croaked, then cleared his throat and tried again.
The stovetop was covered in steaming, freshly used pans.
Flowers from the backyard filled a vase on the table.
Nothing like Mom would have lovingly arranged, awkward, even, with mismatched colors and irregular heights, but it was adorable that he’d tried.
Two plates, steaming and heaping with a savory breakfast sat waiting.
Scott quickly poured a second cup of coffee and set it in front of one of the plates before taking the spot across the table.
Evan rubbed his hand over the back of his neck as he sleepily wandered over. “Thanks, this looks amazing.”
“You’re very welcome.” Quietly, Scott dug into his breakfast, eyeing Evan over the flowers just often enough to make it weird.
Evan savored a long draw of coffee, letting the hot brew flow over his tongue to cool before swallowing.
Still staring.
Fuck.
Evan scooped in a few bites of breakfast, filling his belly while he ignored the impending pep talk. Or lecture, but a pep talk was more likely.
A few hits of coffee, the sleepy film over his brain started to fade. “Yes, Coach Halseth?” he asked, lifting a single eyebrow as he glanced across the table, and then focused back on his food.
Scott twitched a shrug and laughed. “Am I that obvious?”
“Powering up your starting quarterback before the big game?” Evan winked and grinned across at his dad.
The twinkle in Scott’s sweet grin quickly faded, and he winced and looked down at his plate.
“Uh-oh,” Evan said. “What’d I say?”
Scott sighed and lifted his coffee cup, cradling his hands around it and resting his elbows on the table. “I didn’t want to push, and you clearly didn’t want to say, but I talked to Zoe last night, and she said that you and Jagger called it quits.”
Fuck. He nodded, his food turning to cardboard in his mouth. Chewing until he could chew no more, he shrugged and lifted his coffee. “Way past time.”
“I’m so sorry. You know, you can tell me this stuff.”
He twitched a lazy shrug. “It had been coming on for a while. I mean, we’d hardly even seen each other lately. It was for the best.”
“Zoe said he wanted you to move to San Francisco?”
“I’m the one who started the ultimatums. The last few months, it felt more like we were—”
Evan cleared his throat before he made his dad blush by saying he’d felt more like a fuck-buddy than a boyfriend. Jagger’s suggestion to move in together had been out of left field and had been a complete mind-fuck.
“—Anyway, I said I wanted to get serious or break up. So, he said I should move in with him. I mean, he came out after the Super Bowl win, and so far, the press has been mostly positive. He got all excited and said how awesome it would be if we got serious and I came with him to stuff, came to the games as his boyfriend and set an example and… fuck, I don’t want all that attention. For any reason.”
Scott gripped his mug tighter, his heavy sigh blowing steam off the top of the mug. “Sometimes I wondered, if you’d gone pro, how you’d have handled the publicity. For any reason.”
And this was exactly the conversation he’d worked his ass off to dodge by moving out of state after college. Had avoided very nicely for years. Then when he came home, there had been a lot more to worry about than old football dreams.
Evan thought he’d ducked out of exhuming the past long after any zombies could surface, but now, it was like Scott was trying to parent in overtime.
Evan leaned back in his chair and ran his thumb along the handle of his mug. Being back in this house, breaking up with a guy who had the career he’d dreamed of, sort of fucked with a person’s head.
Knowing eyes settled into a sympathetic frown. “I think, if you really cared for Jagger, you’d make it happen.”
Evan nodded slowly.
“Maybe I’m biased, but I think if he was the right one, he’d be willing to give up some things for you, too.”
Evan drew in a long breath and glared at the diminishing steam rising from his mug.
His parents hadn’t been the perfect couple, but they’d been great together.
How many times had he interrupted either a stolen snuggle, a steamy kiss, or, something far less serious, both in the grips of a tear-filled giggle fit over something no one else would find nearly so funny?
They’d curl up for movie night, Brenda hiding under the blankets during the scary scenes, Scott chuckling adoringly and letting her know when it was safe to look again.
Now his siblings were the same. Zoe and Ryder had hit it out of the park when they’d aimed for a flyby. Finn and Haley hadn’t been looking for anything serious, but they’d been it for each other, at-first-sight sort of shit.
And then there was Evan. In a casual, fuck-buddy relationship with the guy living the dream and loving the spotlight.
In a blow-up, nearing the end sort of fight, Jagger said Evan’s expectations were impossible, which Evan thought was absurd, because he was surrounded by relationships that easily exuded what he thought a relationship should be like.
Jagger would never have moved to this tiny town anyway, and he’d never understood Evan being content to hide in this small corner of the world.
A loner spending his days in a dark room smoking meats for his family’s pub.
“I should get going,” he said as he rose from the table.
He picked up his plate, and Scott waved him off. “I got it. You go on up and get ready.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Thanks for everything. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but it’s good to know I have you if I blow it.”
Scott lovingly rolled his eyes as he got up and started collecting dishes. “First, you’re not going to blow it. Second, if you do blow it, it’s not like I don’t have the space. And you will always have a place at the pub.”
Evan rolled his eyes as he fell into a desperate smile, a flood of relief at the reminder, and dashed up the stairs.
After a quick shower, he was dressed and out the door. Not even a five-minute commute, and he was parked in his reserved spot behind the shop. Energy and nerves and thrill fought for dominance. He climbed out of his Jeep, cradling his coffee, and he breathed in the cool, misty air.
A few lights were on in the condo over the shop, so someone must have moved in. Or, well, a vacationer, as he’d heard most of the condos were vacation rentals, bought out by people with way more spare cash than he would ever have. Customers—with deep pockets.
He wandered around the side of the building, and stopped to absorb.
Wow. Fuck. The shock should wear off, eventually.
The developer had known exactly what they were doing, and Evan was glad he’d jumped on board.
Well, so far. Time would tell if the developer had been overzealous with the project, but right now, he was calling this a right time, right plan, and a damn lucky find.
Lampposts lined the middle of the courtyard in front of the shops, benches and plants and tables scattered throughout, welcoming folks to come with picnic lunches, enjoy their coffee, enjoy the obscenely pretty vistas—and shop. Evan was counting on the latter.
High end, but at least the style matched the cozy alpine vibe of the rest of town, with a modern flare like the newer and updated buildings popping up all over town.
Plus, it was a huge upgrade from the crumbling warehouse that had been here before.
At the edge of town, right before the flat turned into a gradual slope down toward the river and residential areas took over, the placement was ideal.
The view from his shop should inspire about anyone to stock up on hiking and climbing gear, snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, and even for the golf course going in soon.
Foothills had been needing something like this, as it matured officially into an old mountain town, but far from worn down.
The coffee shop was just opening. No customers yet, but the lights glowed and someone was just propping open the door and dragging out metal cafe tables.
When she saw him watching, she waved. Evan waved back, and she went back inside for another load.
Evan keyed in and stepped into MountainActiv. While he finished his coffee, he propped open the door and leaned against the doorframe to breathe in the damp morning air. And calm his erratic pulse.
Down the way, coming around the far end of the development, he could just make out the silhouette of a runner.
A light jog, and then something must have changed, for fun or out of a burning need for speed, the runner sprinted to the lamppost. Then he slowed to a jog, then sprinted to the next lamppost.
In black running shorts with reflective stripes on the sides, shoes with reflective bands, no shirt, the guy was clearly a regular runner.
Evan shifted to go inside, but he stayed, curious as the runner got closer.
There was the shirt, tucked into the back of the waistband of his running shorts. Not just a runner, fucking fit everywhere.
He kicked up his speed again, running from something or to something, but pushing hard, chest high, and he moved.
The corner of Evan’s mouth tilted up. He stepped back before the guy caught him checking him out, and locked himself in the shop until kickoff.