10. Willow #2
Between the three businesses, I had plenty saved up, and figured, why not splurge on a home that I was staying in until they had to carry me out in a body bag?
The furniture that I had was a mix of old and new.
With my brand-new leather sofa and recliners, I have the vintage end tables and antiques that I got at secondhand stores and flea markets.
The built-in shelves are filled with books that I have come across over the years at used bookstores, and I have throw and area rugs that are plush and bright.
The entire house is the same light grey with a white trim.
It took so much time to finish, but I was able to do it myself, largely thanks to the nights that my brain wouldn’t turn off to sleep, giving me time to lose myself in projects.
It’s a large house with the five bedrooms and three bathrooms, but I love the old character; it has a library and a freaking conservatory for fuck’s sake.
Looking at it now, I am so proud of the sanctuary that I made myself.
“Nice house. I never really come out this way,” Jackson says, trying to make small talk. I appreciate the effort because I don’t know where to start, either.
“Thanks, I just finished the renovations,” I say, handing him his water and motioning to take a seat at the large island in the middle of the kitchen.
“So, you were able to look through all the boxes?” I ask as I walk to the cabinets, turning my back to him and to take out the pans that I will need to make dinner.
Maybe if I busy myself with something, this will get easier.
“Yeah, I did. And I wanted to apologize. I was angry and nervous, and I took it out on you because she wasn’t there.
I mean, I had a whole speech worked out that I was going to give her about ditching me, and when you told me she died, I was pissed that I couldn’t tell her any of it.
I always tried to figure out what I would say if I ever saw her again when I was a teenager—” He cuts off his trail of thought.
I look at him over my shoulder, and his head hangs low, his cheeks flushed a shade of pink.
“Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous,” he mumbles, and it clicks in my mind that we actually are related; he is just as nervous and awkward as I am, and that makes him a little more endearing to me.
“It’s okay. Give me a few minutes, and it can be my turn to do a nervous rant. We can just switch off,” I say, and we both give small, nervous laughs. I turn away from the eye contact, because that isn’t helping either of us.
“I’m sorry that I said those things about Mom, though.
I know that I only knew the bullshit that Griz told me over the years, but you are still dealing with losing her.
Everything I read so far shows how close you guys were.
” I can hear the sincerity in his voice.
I peek back over my shoulder and see him staring at my island counter, slowly spinning his glass of water.
My throat starts to feel clogged with emotion, and I cough to clear it.
“It’s okay. She told me ahead of time that you may react like that.
I’m sorry that I was bitchy. But if it makes you feel better, I was punished by the universe on the way out when I saw the sign for the apple cider and I couldn’t go back for it.
Fucking karma.” I walk to the fridge and start pulling out what I need to start cooking.
“What are you making?” he asks after seeing me grab the flour.
“Chicken piccata with homemade pasta. It was Mom’s recipe, and I figured that since I’m leaving for a while, I would make it for Dad and my idiots,” I say with a real smile.
“I saw the video today. So, you’re the Fox?” he asks hesitantly, probably because my shoulders visibly tensed as he said it. I forgot for a second that the club saw it. I don’t regret the decision, and I trust Mark; if he trusts them, then that’s good enough for me.
“Yup. Officially since I was sixteen. It’s only an ‘every now and then’ kinda thing.
My main businesses are set to open next month.
I’m just finishing up the buildings and making sure that the staffing is all set.
I make sure I’m never really in the forefront of them, so if I go on a longer job, they won’t miss me.
They mostly run themselves at this point.
I’m just going to have to be there more next month to get them started and running smoothly.
” I stop when I realize that I just took my turn with the nervous ramble.
“You’re setting up in town? What are the businesses?” he asks, not acknowledging my ramble, and my heart thaws just a little bit more from the appreciation.
“I am opening a garage off main street and a burlesque club in that warehouse that Uncle Mark picked up Sophia at,” I reply, keeping my eyes down as I start to make pasta on the island.
“A burlesque? Shit, we had no idea. I don’t know how the club will deal with that. We own the strip club in the next town over,” he says like he is trying to think it through. But he just triggered my rant, so now he has to deal with it.
“First off, it’s not a strip club. There was never even a nip slip on the stage at my club in Tennessee.
Burlesque is pretty much theater. It’s classy, and we have a different clientele than your strip club.
I did a market analysis before I even thought about opening another location here, especially since the town is growing so much.
Your clientele is geared towards men. Mine is women, and I’m sorry to tell you this, but most of the men will be more likely to come to mine because, like I said, mine is where the women will be.
I also advertise with women in mind.” He raises his hand to stop my rant, and I take a deep breath because I’m a little winded after all that, and the fact that I am kneading the pasta dough a little more passionately than needed.
“I wasn’t going to say anything like that. I was just thinking about how we missed that and your garage. Why the garage?” he asks hesitantly. I guess he’s afraid I will go off again, which is fair.
“I love working in the garage with my uncles. They never really had a choice but to teach me. I would get bored and just walk out there when they were working. I would find something to stand on and ask them a million questions. When I wanted to start one, I decided to hire the guys that retire from my dad’s business that don’t want to stop working.
It’s great, except I go between killing people, dealing with a bunch of sometimes moody women, and a shop full of grumpy old men that have known me all my life,” I explain, shrugging my shoulders.
I guess we’re past the awkward thing since I’m now telling him my life story.
“You seem a little young for that. You are only twenty-four, right?” I guess I haven’t bored him too much since he is asking questions.
“I was in the hospital a lot growing up, there wasn’t a lot else to do except school shit.” I shrug again as I start on the chicken.
“From the training and being the Fox?” he asks, confused.
“Nope, I had cancer…twice. It sucked, but I guess it worked out okay. I mean, I graduated high school at sixteen and college at twenty.” I brush off like it was no big deal, because denial is my safe place.
“Shit, that sucks. Mom mentioned that in the stuff that she left me,” he says, and here comes the awkward silence that usually comes after I tell someone about my past, so I change the subject.
“Did Mom leave my number in the stuff she left for you?” Random, I know, but it’s better than the current situation.
“No, I looked in there, but I didn’t find it. I had to ask Blitz.” I laugh at him, and he frowns like he would rather forget that conversation.
“Sorry, but I could just imagine you asking Uncle Mark for it. He was still here when I came home from our first meeting, and he saw me stress baking. I think he was out for blood,” I explain when I’m finally done laughing. Jackson still has a hard look on his face, and that makes me laugh again.