CHAPTER THIRTEEN JAY
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
J AY
H ow ya doing, Jay?” Mr. Thomas asks from the other side of the counter.
The door chimes as it swings closed. The T HOMAS H ARDWARE S TORE sign vibrates against the glass, creating its own alert.
The hardware store can’t have changed much since it was built in the early 1900s. A layer of dust sits on just about everything, which would lead one to believe they aren’t busy. They are. Aside from Betty Lou’s, this is the busiest place in Alden.
“I’m good, Mr. Thomas. How are you?” I ask.
“Fine, fine. This rain could stop, though.” He whistles through his teeth. “Three days of it in a row is about enough for me and my arthritis.”
“Every sports injury I’ve ever had has been aching this week.”
He lifts a brow. “You played sports? Where at?”
“Back home in Indiana. A little town in the middle of a cornfield.”
He looks me up and down. “You look like a baseball player.”
“Thanks.” I think.
I chuckle, glancing around the store. I’m the only customer at the moment.
“How’s work goin’ these days?” he asks, busying himself with a stack of papers. “I know you’ve been in here a lot, so I reckon that means it’s good.”
“Yeah, it’s good. I’ve got one on hold until Monday and another ... rained out.”
Mr. Thomas glances out the window at the overcast day. “Okay. Sure. I hear ya.”
I frown. It’s not rained out. I’m just a fool, and I’m sure he knows that now.
Whatever. I have bigger fish to fry.
Gabrielle has been out of sight since I left Monday after the whole breaker box incident. I caught a glimpse of her a couple of times, getting in and out of her car, but unlike every other day she’s lived on the street, she’s not been outside. And I hate it.
The rain hasn’t helped the situation at all. It started Monday evening, and there has been at least a mist since. I love a few days off work, but this time, I’m going stir-crazy.
“Do you have my bill handy?” I ask, pulling out my wallet.
“I bet we do. Gimme a minute to sort through this stack.”
“You know, if you’d get online, this would be a lot easier.”
He snorts. “Not happening. We’ve made it fifty years without going online. I reckon we can go a few more.” He licks his finger and then pulls out a sheet. “Here you go. This one is yours.”
I take a look at it. If it were anywhere else, I’d go line by line. But if there’s one thing I’m sure of, Mr. Thomas is exactly right—to the penny.
“Looks good to me,” I say, signing the bottom. Then I hand him my credit card. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, Jay.”
He shoves my card into the machine, and I sit on one of the stools at the counter. If there’s another thing I’m sure of, it’s that Mr. Thomas will take forever to actually take my money. It’s the only bad thing about finding him at the desk and not his helper, Frank.
“Where’s Frank?” I ask.
“Ah, his wife’s gout is back. I told him to take the day off. I can handle it in here.”
I nod, watching him punch buttons, and then grow frustrated. You’ll get it. Keep trying.
My lips twitch as I remember the last time I said that—to Carter not more than twelve hours ago, when he came over to use my pumper.
“I can’t dribble, Jay. I’m not a good dribbler. Maybe I need more air,” he says, defeated.
“You’ll get it. Keep trying.”
It took everything I had not to ask him about his mother. I led him in that direction, hoping he’d offer up a nugget of information about what she was doing, but he didn’t. Instead, he told me all about his day at school, why Hayes is his new best friend, and how he really wants a dog but his mom said absolutely not.
I get up, too antsy to sit still. Mr. Thomas starts all over, so I wander around the store.
I should have talked myself out of this headspace by now. Three days without seeing Gabrielle should be long enough to remember that I’m better off alone. It should be enough time to convince myself that it was lust talking and not actual attraction.
She’s a single mom. How could I possibly be attracted to that again?
The chimes ring out, followed by the smacking of the sign. I look over my shoulder at the door and see Scottie. She finds me immediately and waves. After a quick chat with Mr. Thomas, she makes her way back to me.
“Looking for a new hose?” she asks.
“What?”
She points at the shelf behind me. “Hoses. Are you looking for a new hose?”
“Oh. No. I’m just killing time while he figures out how to take my payment. I keep a tab open here and pay him every Thursday.”
“I see. Where’s Frank?” she asks.
“Brenda has gout.”
“Ah.” She nods. “Got it.” She shuffles around, pretending to be interested in birdseed. “So what have you been up to lately? Anything fun happening on your end of the street?”
“No. What’s happening on yours?”
She rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what’s happening on mine. Your side is the interesting one.”
“How do you figure?”
“That’s what a little birdie told me.”
I smile. “Is that why you’re looking for birdseed?”
“What?”
I point at the shelf behind her. “Birdseed. Are you making friends with birds?”
She bursts out laughing, her cheeks turning pink. “Good one.”
“I try.” But I really don’t. I avoid interaction with Scottie and Della—with all the women I routinely encounter. Keeping them at arm’s length prevents them from poking around, from showing up on my doorstep with a casserole like Cricket did the day I moved in.
It saves me from winding up at their house, fixing their electricity, and fucking myself up.
“So the girls and I had dinner at Della’s last weekend, and I heard you and my new friend Gabby got acquainted.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “What do you think about your new neighbor?”
Internally, I groan.
This is the most I’ve ever talked to Scottie in the four years I’ve lived on Bittersweet Court. Why am I talking to her now?
“I’m gonna head back up and get my receipt,” I say warily.
“Oh, come on, Jay. Gabby is beautiful. She’s single. You should totally make a move on that before someone else does.” She shrugs with a nonchalance that goes right through me. “She’s the new girl. As soon as word gets out that there’s an unattached hottie in town, she’ll have a line of men at her door.”
I’ll fight them all.
My teeth grind together as I stop myself from saying anything. This is none of my business.
So why does it feel a whole lot like my business? Why do I want to do wild things when I think about her with someone else?
It’s a question without an answer. A problem with no solution—none that are satisfying, anyway.
I’ve thought about fucking her. I’ve thought about just giving in and hoping I can make a one-night stand out of it. Maybe it would remove the intensity and let me think clearly.
But I haven’t because I know none of that is possible.
There would be no going back with Gabrielle Solomon. If I touched her, that would be it for me. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. It’s a fact. And with that comes a lot of heavy shit—opening a huge vulnerability that I’m determined to keep closed.
Alaska, here I come, I guess.
“That’s okay with you?” Scottie asks. “You won’t mind seeing her with someone else?”
I step back from her. “Why are you doing this? I haven’t said more than twenty words since we met. Why are you being so chatty now?”
“Because she’s my friend. And friends help each other out when they have an opportunity.”
“And you think this is helping her out?”
She smiles. “You’re a good guy, Jay Stetson. I’ve only met Gabby once, but she really impressed me. What’s wrong with hoping two good people get together?”
I lift a brow and head for the front of the store. “Leave Cupid’s work to Cupid, Scottie.”
“You’re no fun, Jay.”
That’s been said before.
Mr. Thomas hands me my card and receipt. I thank him and get out of the store and into my truck before I’m cornered by someone else.
The encounter with Scottie has left me sweating. Thinking about seeing another man walk out of Gabrielle’s house in the morning, like I see at Della’s, raises my blood pressure.
No one deserves Gabby. I’ve thought about that—endlessly. It’s kept me up at night, preoccupied my thoughts at breakfast, and followed me around the afternoons. It’s not even that I’m just attracted to her. It’s more than that. That more than that is what has kept me inside my own house. In my lane. Out of trouble.
There’s nobody good enough for her. Who is trustworthy enough to handle her sweet, trusting personality and feisty, hardheaded nature?
Who can be trusted to get Dylan through his rough years and to keep Carter from having a deflated basketball?
Not me. And not anyone I know.
Probably not anyone in the world.
But that won’t stop them from trying. And it probably won’t stop her from falling for one of them either.
I turn on the truck and pull onto the street. I consider stopping at Betty Lou’s for a piece of pie but think better of it. My mood is trash, and I don’t want to be a dick to anyone.
My phone rings, and I press a button on the steering wheel to answer it. “Hello?”
“What are you doing?” Lark asks.
“Driving home from the hardware store. What about you?”
“Driving from one farm to another. I hate it when it’s all wet like this. There’s mud up to my neck whenever I get out of my truck.”
“Change careers.”
“But I’m so good at what I do.”
“That’s what you keep telling me.”
He laughs. “I’m calling because I promised one of my customers that I’d visit his son’s new bar in Logan this weekend.”
I groan because I know where this is going, and I don’t feel like going to a bar right now.
“Listen, it’s a new place—Murray’s on State. He talked it up for half an hour. Then he bought a bunch of shit from me and kept telling me to go. So I said I would. And you’re going with me.”
“Yeah, about that. I don’t think I can.”
“You are.”
I blink. “What did you say?”
“I said you’re going with me. There’s no reason for you to sit all by yourself at home this weekend, thinking about Towel Girl and why you can’t have her.”
Fucker. “That’s not what I’ll be doing.”
“No, you won’t because you’ll be with me. I promised him I’d go, Jay. And you’re my only friend who isn’t married and not a total downer.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Besides, what else do you have to do?”
I flip on my turn signal and go down Bittersweet Court. “Oh, I can think of a million things I have to do.”
“Move them down the list.”
“I—”
“Don’t care, Jay. I don’t give a shit what you’re going to say. You’re coming with me to Murray’s tomorrow. I’ll text you with a time later.”
Sighing, I slow my speed as I near Gabrielle’s.
My heart picks up as I see her car in the driveway. The curtains are open, and Carter is on the porch, dribbling his basketball. He waves and gives me a big, lopsided smile.
I pull into my garage and turn off the engine, switching my phone to speaker. Instead of getting out, I sit in silence.
There’s not even a small part of me that feels like going out tomorrow night with Lark. But if I don’t, I’ll just sit here and ruminate.
Maybe if I go, it’ll break Gabrielle’s spell on me.
“Fine,” I say, climbing out of my truck. “I’ll go.”
“Attaboy. I’ll text you tomorrow. But I’m pulling into this farm, so I gotta go.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
I lock the truck and turn around and— “ Shit! Carter, my man, warn a guy before you sneak up on him like that.”
He giggles. “Whatcha doing, Jay?”
“Just got home.”
“Where from?”
“The hardware store.”
“Why?”
I groan. “Because I had a bill to pay. Want to know anything else before I go inside?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Still cranky, I see.”
“I’m not cranky, Carter. I have adult problems, and sometimes those require being serious.” And not answering a million questions from the kid next door.
“Do what Mom does when she has adult problems.”
Keep talking, kid. “What does your mom do?”
“Well, sometimes she drinks wine. Do you like wine?”
“It’s okay. What else does she do?”
“Sometimes she paints the house. One time, she painted the kitchen three different colors in a week!”
I smile. “That’s a good strategy.”
“And sometimes she cries.” His smile wobbles. “She says it’s not because she’s sad. It’s because she’s working through her problems and crying helps.” He shrugs. “I don’t understand, but I guess it makes sense. What do I know? I’m a kid.”
A fissure cracks the center of my heart.
I squat so we’re eye to eye. “Has she been crying lately?”
“Um ...” His face scrunches up in thought. “Yeah. Last night, I think. But Dylan was a jerk face to her, and then she lost a middle name or something. I don’t know. Apparently, that’s bad. And then she said she just wanted a hug. So I gave her the biggest one I could and planted a sticky kiss on her cheek. I’d been eating sticky candy. She hates that. But better a sticky kiss than none. That’s what I told her.”
He giggles, and the split in my chest deepens.
“It’s nice to have someone like this, you know?”
Gabrielle’s words from the basement swing through my mind.
She deserves to have someone hold her and to have her back. I know she wants it. And a line of men will wait to give it to her.
Will it be any easier, watching someone else give her their attention? Will it be easier to swallow than not giving her mine?
Damn you, Melody, for doing this to me. And damn you, Scottie, for reminding me.
“You better get home, kiddo,” I say, standing up again.
“Okay.”
“Do me a favor, all right?”
He nods, his little curls bouncing.
“If your mom looks sad, make sure you give her a big hug. Will you do that?” I ask.
“Okay.”
He smiles wide before launching himself at me. His arms wrap around my legs, and he squeezes them with all his might, almost knocking me over.
“What’s this?” I ask, chuckling.
He looks up at me. “You seem sad too. So I’m hugging you. Do you feel better?”
“Yes.” I pry him off me. He clings to me like a monkey. “But you better get home now.”
He sits down, breaking contact. Then he scoots back and stands up.
“Have a good night, Jay,” he says.
“You too, Carter.”
He picks up his ball in the driveway and dribbles it to the sidewalk.
I shut out him, the ball, and as many thoughts about his mother as I can manage and go into the house.
“But Dylan was a jerk face to her, and then she lost a middle name or something. I don’t know. Apparently, that’s bad. And then she said she just wanted a hug.”
I need to remind myself—continuously—that Gabrielle is not alone. She has her children. Friends. And eventually she’ll have some guy wrapping his arms around her, giving her hugs, and helping her not do life alone.
And I’ll be . . . here.
As much as that pisses me off, it’s the way it should be.
The way it has to be.