Chapter 10
THATCHER
I’m late.
Like really, really late. Why am I even here?
My thoughts nearly overwhelm me as I cling to the bottle of wine I’m holding against my chest.
I’m sure they’ve already assumed by now that I’m not going to show up. I already have a great excuse—Thatcher Langley, the permanently sad widower. Grumpy-as-hell, cold-as-ice, doesn’t-want-any-friends Thatcher Langley.
That’s me.
But tonight, I really tried.
I put on my best soft-green sweater and jeans. I styled my hair. Hell, I even put on cologne. I’m really trying here.
But I’m freaking out as I stand outside on the front porch, listening to the laughter inside. I don’t know how to be this person anymore. Not since I lost my husband.
I mean, it’s not like I was the life of the party before my husband died or anything, but he had this way of bringing me out of my comfort zone. When I was with him, I felt like a better version of myself.
Now I feel like an empty shell. And I never really thought that would be me. I never thought I would live and breathe for another human. That was all before I met Ben. Everything changed when I met him, and everything changed again when I lost him five short years later.
“You going to go in or stay out here, staring at the door?” I jump at the voice coming from the far side of the porch.
Only now do I see one of the members of Oakley’s Crew in the dark, his feet dragging against the porch as he swings in the large wooden porch swing, which I’m sure Oakley made himself.
It’s almost pitch-dark out here, but I can finally make out some of his features using the outdoor light that’s flicked on above my head.
He’s younger than me by about ten years or so.
Tall and lanky with dirty blond hair, and I can’t make out his eye color, but they flash with a certain amount of chaos I could spot anywhere.
Archer? Andrew? Asher. That’s it.
I’ve met him a couple of times when my guys and I were on the same job site as Oakley’s Crew.
I run a construction company I started with Ben almost eight years ago, and we cross paths more often than you’d think.
Not to mention we always recommend their crew when our customers ask for a landscaping referral.
Construction and landscaping go hand in hand.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Sobering up, I guess. The cold helps.” He stands up, walking toward me, and for some reason, my heart kicks up in a way I haven’t felt in years.
I flinch, stepping back just as he reaches his hand out for me.
He watches me for a moment before dropping his hand and acting like what I just did was no big deal.
That’s nice of him, but I know it’s strange—my aversion to touch or being touched by another human being.
“I’m Asher.”
“I know. We’ve met before,” I say gruffly, and why am I this way? I can hear Ben’s voice in my head. “Just be nice, babe. He’s a good kid. He’s being friendly.”
But the voice isn’t real. Ben isn’t here. And I don’t care if Asher is a good kid. I don’t want to engage in small talk. I shouldn’t be here. I thrust the bottle of wine toward Asher. “Just tell Oakley I couldn’t stay and give this to him, okay?”
Asher doesn’t take the bottle from me to let me off the hook though. Instead, he stands there, just watching me, one eyebrow lifted as he tries to figure me out. I don’t like it. Not at all. I find myself nervously shifting from one foot to the other.
I don’t get nervous.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“You should go in and tell him yourself.” He reaches for the doorknob, and I instantly grab his wrist to stop him. When I realize I’m touching him, though, I panic, jerking my hand away, my entire being frantic now.
“No. I’m not going in there.”
He doesn’t move to open the door again. Just remains completely still except for his eyes, which are still watching me ever so carefully. “I know they can be a lot . . .”
“No. It’s not that,” I try. “I’m just busy. I have to go to work.”
His brow raises even higher now, calling me out without actually saying anything.
“Some people work all year long, okay? Construction doesn’t fully stop in the winter.
” Though it does slow down a hell of a lot, and of course, I don’t have a job to do on Christmas Eve.
But the panic inside me—thinking about going inside and being surrounded by a bunch of good-hearted, kind people who just want to hang out with me and be my friend . . . Yeah, it’s all too much.
I don’t need this.
I don’t want this.
“Thatcher . . .” His soft voice brings me back to the moment as our eyes meet.
I thought he was a young cocky guy, but right now, there seems to be a soft side to him.
The only times I’ve seen him, he’s usually being loud and boisterous, goofing around on the job, but he’s not being loud right now.
“It’s okay. Come in. Have a drink. Say hi to Oakley. It’ll make his year that you showed.”
I want to argue with that, but Oakley has been trying to get me to come to a party for years now. I always turn him down. No doubt the big guy would be thrilled to see me actually show up for once. “Okay,” I reluctantly agree, but my feet just won’t move.
That is until he opens the door slowly and walks in first. For whatever reason, that has my feet working as I shuffle in behind him, clutching the bottle of wine again. When I make it through the door, it’s Travis who notices me first.
He’s perched on the arm of the couch, facing the beautiful roaring fireplace. But when he sees me, he gives me a soft smile. “Thatcher. Glad you made it.” His approach is similar to the way one would act with a scared animal.
His husband?
Nope.
Oakley runs at everything without hesitation. And when he hears his husband, his head swivels over to me, and I swear he’s at a full sprint before I can move. Asher, though, is right at my side and kind of intercepts him from grabbing me up in a great big bear hug. “Look who I found outside.”
“Holy shit! It’s Thatcher Langley!” Oakley yells, stopping just a foot short of me, his face lit up with excitement. I don’t know how we’re friends, honestly. And yes, I do consider Oakley a friend.
He’s impossible not to like, despite me trying like hell to keep my distance. He’s been there over the years. “Hi, Oakley.” I hold out the bottle to him. “I brought wine.”
He takes it from me, that great big grin stretching over his entire face. “Thanks, man. You didn’t have to do that though. I’m just happy you showed.”
I feel a little guilty because I know how much he means that, and I know I’ve stood him up for years now. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Travis walks over to his husband’s side, wrapping an arm around his waist. “We already had dinner, but I can warm up some leftovers. And we do still have some snacks out here and there.”
“Oh no, I’m fine. Thank you.” My whole body is stiff, and I can feel all eyes on me. I don’t really know how to get out of the situation though, but Asher must pick up on it because he clears his throat, pulling the attention to him.
“How about a drink then?”
I nod my head, and Oakley continues beaming at me. “Make yourself at home.”
Yeah, right. But I’m thankful when everyone seems to go on about whatever they were doing before I walked into the house and Asher is shuffling me toward the kitchen.
“See? Not so bad,” he says. I smile at him, feeling a little less tense, now that the attention is mostly off me and it’s just Asher and me at the kitchen island. He grabs a glass. “What kind of drink do you want?”
I shrug. “I’m not a big drinker. What are you having?”
He looks a little sheepish and honestly, a little green when his head shakes from side to side. “I’m on water now, but club soda sounds good, actually.”
I chuckle, remembering him telling me he was outside to sober up, and I can’t help but wonder what I missed earlier. “That’s sounds great.”
His grin is almost addictive. It’s kind of crooked but in an adorable way, and his eyes sparkle a little when he does it. “I’ll be right back. I think it’s in the living room on that table.”
I nod my head and smile when it appears he hesitates for a second before he heads into the living room, like maybe I’m going to escape. It’s an open floor plan. He can see me the entire time, but it still makes me smile.
I take a seat on one of the stools at the counter but nearly fall off when I hear a deep voice coming from behind me. “Trying to decide how long you have to stick around without being rude?”
I recover from the initial shock and then give a grin of my own when Jackson sits himself down next to me. His green eyes are playful, and I realize pretty quickly he’s teasing me. “That obvious?”
“Little bit.” His smile is a little more subtle than Asher’s, but damn, it still manages to have the same effect on me. A hot, tingling sort of rush goes through me when our eyes lock. “Oakley sure is excited though.”
I glance over at Oakley, who’s sitting with his arm around his husband on the couch as they play charades with a few other couples. “Shit, is everyone here coupled up?”
I don’t realize I said that out loud until I hear Asher chuckle as he walks back over, smacking Jackson on the back.
“Mostly. I’m single, and so is Luke, over there.
” He nods toward the youngest member of the crew who I’ve only met once, but he’s sitting next to a pretty girl with kind eyes, so I guess I assumed he was with someone.
“The Disney-looking princess is actually with Jackson.”
I notice immediately when Jackson’s entire demeanor changes, his jaw ticking with frustration, maybe. I’m not sure what that’s about. I thought these two were friends. They always seemed friendly enough when they were working on a job together. “Still on that shit?” Jackson asks him.
Asher seems unbothered. At least I assume that’s what he’s going for as he pours club soda over ice in two glasses, sliding one over to me.
“What? She’s a beautiful princess.” He brings his glass up to his mouth but doesn’t drink.
Instead, he tips the glass at Jackson first. “Congratulations. I mean, not my type, but you said you’re happy. ”
Okay, what the hell is going on with these two? “Fuck you, Asher.” Jackson climbs down from his stool and briefly touches my shoulder, but it sends a shock through my entire body similar to the way I felt when I grabbed Asher’s wrist. “Good to see you again, Thatcher.”
“You too,” I manage to croak out before he heads over to the chair where his girlfriend is sitting, picking her up playfully and sitting her back on his lap as he swoops in.
She giggles happily, clearly liking the attention, and who wouldn’t.
Jackson is a gorgeous man. Large and classically handsome, with at least ten pounds of pure muscle on me, and I’m no small man.
I turn to look at Asher, who’s just as fit but far more lean, grinding his teeth and looking like he’d like to punch his fist through this marble counter.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
His blue eyes meet mine, and I see the pain there—something I recognize—but then it’s like he stamps it down. “We should play charades.”
“I’m not really a game guy.”
“You’re not a party guy either. But look at you, here at a party.” It’s not pushy, not in an annoying way anyway, but he just seems to have this uncanny ability to convince me it’s okay.
It’s similar to Ben. And for whatever reason, that actually doesn’t rip my heart out like I’d expect it would.
“Okay,” I agree and let him lead me over to the living room to join in on the game.
And though I can’t seem to keep my eyes off Asher or Jackson—and that’s confusing as fuck—I actually manage to have a really good time.