Chapter 3
Three
“Jonah, it’s so good to have you back! Y’all enjoy your breakfast now and thank you for your service.”
As the comfortably curvy woman who owned Crystal’s Diner—Crystal, Brax presumed—strode away, the three of them tucked into the morning’s special of eggs, bacon, biscuits, and grits. She was the fourth person to welcome Jonah home since they’d sat down. Did his buddy appreciate being seen as a hometown hero? Would he, in Jonah’s shoes? Brax didn’t know. As far as he could tell, everything about Eden’s Ridge was about as far from where he’d come from as it was possible to be. He didn’t know if those differences were something he could get used to or not.
“Does everybody know you here?” Brax asked.
“Not everybody. But since Mama owns the salon in town, everybody does know her, so by proxy, they’ve kept up with me all these years.”
Holt split a biscuit and started layering on bacon and eggs. “That’s nice. Makes you feel like people give a shit.”
“It is nice. Most of the time. It was hell as a teenager any time my friends and I got into shit because, nine times out of ten, somebody had notified our parents before we got home. But there’s comfort in that, too. It was a good place to grow up. I don’t think I appreciated that at the time, and I didn’t know I’d want to come back. Then again, I never figured on retiring from the Navy this early.”
The head injury that had damaged Jonah’s hearing and left him with a prolonged case of post-concussion syndrome had seen to that. Though his brain had healed, Brax knew his buddy was still working through some emotional fallout about the premature termination of his career. They all had their issues around leaving military service.
“So, what’s the plan today?” Brax was itching to do something.
“Meeting with Porter at ten. Until then, we’ll work on tossing what can be tossed. Starting with the questionable lingerie border.”
Holt made a face. “I don’t think what’s hanging on those walls can be called lingerie. That implies a level of class that just isn’t there.”
“Ferguson, I’m gonna have to issue you a citation for not letting me know you were back in town.”
They all looked up at the guy with the badge who’d stopped by their table, a to-go cup of coffee in hand.
Jonah’s face split into a grin. “Xander.” He slid out of the booth and embraced the other man in a back-slapping hug.
“How the hell are you, man?”
“I’m good. We just got in yesterday.” He nodded in their direction. “Meet Brax Whitmore and Holt Steele. They’re friends of mine from Syracuse who came down to help me with the cleanup. Y’all, this is Sheriff Xander Kincaid, one of my good buddies from high school.”
“Nice to meet y’all. I heard you might be doing more than just cleanup.”
“Maybe. Porter’s been talking, huh?”
“He mentioned it at family breakfast at the inn this morning.”
“We’ll see what he says after he gets a good look at the place.”
“Be awesome if that ‘maybe’ means you’re coming home for good.”
“We’ll see.”
As the two of them continued the small-town catch up, Brax leaned a little closer to Holt and murmured. “Does this feel like another planet to you?”
“Yup. I think I like it, though.”
“You thinking about taking his offer?”
“Haven’t decided yet, but leaning toward yes. No other options on the table at the moment, and I’m not sure I’ve got a good reason to say no. You?”
“Jury’s still out.” But the overwhelming friendliness of the town was a weight on the side of staying. The truth was, he didn’t have a weight on the side of going anywhere else. Maybe that was a sign unto itself.
The radio on Xander’s duty belt crackled. He fiddled with a knob. “That’s my cue. I gotta get on. But we need to get together while you’re here. Kennedy will want to have you out to dinner, and Caroline needs to meet her Uncle Jonah.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“I’ll be in touch. Brax, Holt, welcome to Eden’s Ridge.”
There were at least three more interruptions by the time they’d finished breakfast, and two more on the way to where they’d parked. By the time they made it to the bar, it was already past nine.
Jonah wedged a busted chunk of cinderblock against the heavy black door. “We might ought to prop open the pass through and the back door, too. See if we can’t get some cross ventilation going to air the place out. The cold’s gotta be better than the smell.”
“Meanwhile, did you pack some hazmat suits?” Brax asked.
“Got gloves and industrial-size garbage bags. That’ll get us started.”
They went to work, pulling down bras and tossing them in the big garbage cans. As they stripped the walls, Brax examined the building with fresh eyes.
“You know, if that wall dividing the kitchen from the front isn’t load bearing, it could be ripped out and moved further forward to enlarge the kitchen. That’d leave room for all the extra ovens and cooling racks we’d need.”
“If the business was set up to be mostly a pick-up and carryout situation, there wouldn’t be need for anywhere near this level of seating,” Holt mused. “Maybe just a half-dozen tabletops.”
Jonah flashed a grin. “Admit it. Y’all are intrigued by the idea.”
“Thinking about it,” Brax conceded. “Don’t know what it’d cost, but ripping off the current roof and going up so we could vault the ceiling would significantly change the profile of the building and make it feel more open. Maybe add some beams and skylights.”
“Skylights, he says,” Holt scoffed.
Brax shrugged and tossed another bra into the can. “If we’re gonna dream, why not dream big?”
“It’s worth asking Porter about,” Jonah agreed. “Though that kind of massive structural change would significantly increase renovation costs.”
“Might be worth it to truly change the face of the place. I get the impression people’s memories here will run long. If we truly wanted to start a new business here, seems like it would be important to make this place look as little like the original structure as possible.”
Holt pulled down the last bra. “You make a good point. But there’s got to be stuff that can be done that’s more budget friendly. I know we’ve all got money put back that we can invest, but we need to be smart about it.”
“Hence today’s consultation,” Jonah reminded them. “Which is about to begin. I think I hear a truck.”
A rangy blond guy strode in a minute later, travel mug in hand. His eyes widened as he took in the initial changes. “Well, that’s already a drastic improvement in decorating.”
“We figured it was the best place to start. How you doing, man?” Jonah offered his hand and got pulled in for another of those back-slapping hugs.
“Good. Faith is teething, so nobody’s sleeping, but everybody’s healthy, so we sure can’t complain.”
“Great to hear. Porter, this is Holt and Brax, my prospective business partners.”
Something flickered over Porter’s face before he seemed to shrug it off. “Good to meet you.”
Brax wondered what that was about.
“Jonah mentioned one of you was Army?”
Holt nodded. “Rangers.”
“I was Reserves for about eight years. There are actually several Rangers here in the area. Buddies of mine from back in the day at Fort Benning. One of them—Sebastian Donnelly—opened an equine therapy center here. And then Harrison Wilkes and Ty Brooks both settled here with their wives.”
Holt brightened. “Harrison’s here? We went through Ranger school together. I haven’t met the other two, but I know them by reputation.”
“I’ll put you in touch,” Porter promised.
“Are we ready to get this show on the road?” Jonah asked.
“In just a bit. I’m waiting for my business partner. She had to stop by the office to pick something up but was more or less right behind me.”
The crunch of tires on gravel announced her arrival.
“That’ll be her now. She’s really the one you’ll want to talk to. She’s got a lot more experience with commercial renovations than I do.”
A minute later, a woman strode through the door, clipboard under one arm, a phone pressed to her ear. She hesitated in the shadowy entryway. “No, we need that order for the Saint James’ house.”
Everything in Brax went on high alert at the sound of that voice.
“I’ve got to go. I have a consultation. Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, Marty. You’re a jewel.” She hung up the phone, shoving it into her back pocket as she stepped into the bar. “Sorry I’m late. I?—”
Her eyes met his, and the clipboard clattered to the floor, all the blood draining out of those all-too-familiar golden-toned cheeks.
“Brax.”
His name came out in a whisper because Mia couldn’t breathe for the elephant that had just dropped down on her chest.
The husband she’d lost all those years ago—the man she’d thought never to see again—was right here. Bigger, broader, and bearded, but she’d know those storm-dark gray eyes anywhere. No one else’s gaze had ever felt like a physical touch.
He was here , in Eden’s Ridge, in the flesh. And it was more than apparent he hadn’t come in search of her, as those arrogantly sensual lips went from an O of shock to pressing into a thin line.
One of the other two men with him glanced between them. “Uh, you two know each other?”
She couldn’t process fast enough to actually respond. How could she even answer that question in a way that wouldn’t necessitate lengthy explanations?
Brax sucked in a slow breath through his nose, not taking his eyes off her as he crossed his arms. “We used to. Mia’s my ex-wife.”
Oh, like that.
His words slid swift and vicious into her heart, and it took everything she had not to fall to her knees as the hope that he’d ever want her back, that there was ever a way to fix what she’d broken, simply died. Grief rose like a tidal wave, crashing against the shock of seeing him again. Curling her hands in on themselves, she pushed back at them both. If all she had left were the scraps of her pride, by God, she’d cling to them like a life raft to keep from falling apart in front of him and everyone else. She was a fucking professional.
“If that’s your end goal, then we can deal with that while you’re here.” Her voice came out admirably steady, considering she felt as if she was bleeding out from some mortal wound.
His brows drew together. “Excuse me?”
She managed to take in another breath, to keep speaking in a calm fashion. “A divorce. It’s probably long overdue, considering.” Just saying it hurt. But if it was what he wanted, she had no right to hold him back.
Brax stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. “We were divorced nearly ten years ago.”
It was her turn to stare as she turned over what he’d said. But no matter which way she looked at it, she couldn’t make sense of the statement. “What are you talking about? I’ve never seen any divorce papers, Brax.”
Those muscled arms dropped, and he took half a step toward her before he stopped himself. “What the hell?”
Porter spoke up. “Um, maybe we should give y’all some time to… uh… talk.”
The other men filed out, clearly wanting to avoid the impending drama. And then she was alone in this defunct, skeezy bar, with the man she’d been in love with most of her life.
Because she understood that this might well be the last time she ever laid eyes on him, Mia let herself drink him in, cataloging the changes. He’d added a good thirty or forty pounds of muscle to that tall, lean frame. The curve of well-toned muscle strained the fabric of his long-sleeved t-shirt. His hair was shorter than it had been, no doubt a remnant of his years in the Marines. That stubborn, square jaw she’d once been free to trace with her hands was edged in a close-cropped beard. But he still had that wary, watchful gaze he’d always had. Here was the adult version of the near-feral boy who’d befriended her all those years ago in her first foster placement. Full of suspicion and certain of betrayal.
She knew him, knew he believed she’d abandoned him. Even if it had been only a suspicion before, she could see it in the barely leashed rage bubbling beneath the surface. Somehow, confirmation of what she’d always known was another blow. He truly thought the very worst of her. And if he believed that, had he ever really known her at all?
Of course, he hadn’t. She’d never told him who she was. Never been allowed to. She’d deluded herself into believing it was to keep him safe. She’d shared all the parts that mattered with him. Her hopes. Her dreams. Her heart. At the end of the day, it hadn’t been enough.
What the hell was she supposed to say now? There was no explanation that would make him forgive her. If he’d been willing to listen, he’d have opened one of her letters at some point, instead of sending them all back. He had no interest in answers, no intention of forgiving her. Even if he had, the only man who knew the truth, who could have backed her actions up, was dead now. Brax had no reason to listen to her.
He was still staring at her, and he’d locked down whatever he was feeling, other than anger. She couldn’t read him, and that was another blow. She’d once known every nuance of his face, the meaning of every shift in posture. But it had been so very long. Of course, he’d changed. Hadn’t she? That was life, wasn’t it? And maybe there truly wasn’t anything left for him but fury.
The idea of that hurt her heart. That he’d hardened himself, closed himself off again because of her, was a tough truth to accept. She hadn’t just broken them. In a sense, she’d broken him. Unintended consequence or not, it was her worst fear realized, and she’d have to learn to live with the guilt of that.
I’m sorry. I’m so damned sorry.
The words hovered at the tip of her tongue. But she couldn’t say them. They were paltry and empty after this long, and nothing in his body language said he’d be willing to hear an apology of any kind. So, she swallowed and said the one true thing she didn’t have to think about. “It’s good to see you.”
He just looked at her, nostrils flaring, hands flexing and straightening, before turning his back on her and walking out.