Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RYDER
I stood in my kitchen staring at the ingredients for the “simple” recipe Penny had challenged me to try a few days ago.
Behind me, Hank sat at the table with a big piece puppy puzzle for toddlers. I’d tried to put him to bed a bit ago, but he’d merely pointed at the bag of chocolate chips on the counter.
He was going nowhere until he had a cookie.
“You know this might be a disaster,” I said.
He shrugged. He was willing to take that chance.
Great. I was going to have an audience of one.
Caleb walked in my back door. “Game night,” he said, brandishing two pizza boxes.
Correction: an audience of two.
“What’s wrong with your TV?” I asked.
“It’s not as big as yours.” He froze for a beat when he eyed Hank.
As a rule, Caleb did his best to ignore the old man.
I knew that was mostly self-preservation.
But I also knew that out of all of us, Caleb held the most anger from our childhood.
He hid it well, had buried it deep, but it was there.
And I think it secretly shamed him somehow, but he wouldn’t talk about it. Ever.
“I’ll be in the living room watching the game,” he said. “The pizza’s to keep you from bitching.”
“I never bitch,” I muttered, even though he was already gone.
Hank started to get up from his chair to follow Caleb, but I handed him a piece of pizza and he forgot about the game. You’re welcome, Caleb .
Fuck, I was tired. Exhausted, really. I’d been adulting as required on all fronts—at least on the outside.
On the inside, I’d done little other than picture Penny on that washing machine, her long legs over my shoulders, hands fisted in my hair, holding my head in place like she was afraid I’d stop before I made her come.
My brain had that recording on repeat, driving myself crazy with the need to do it again.
And again.
“Ah?”
Who needed a cold bucket of water over the head when you lived with your stroke-addled father? Once again he was pointing at the chocolate chips.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it.”
I’d read over the recipe like it was a set of blueprints. How hard could it be? “It’s just another job, right?”
Hank made a sound that might’ve been a low chuckle, but when I whipped around to look at him, he was very carefully maneuvering the slice of pizza to his mouth. He’d already missed at least once, given the sauce on his cheek.
I brought him a napkin and gestured to his face. When he missed the spot, I took the napkin and cleaned him up myself. There’d been a time I could never have imagined this—my once formidable father needing me to wipe his face.
Could be worse.
I measured everything out with the military precision Hank version 1.
0 had drilled into me at a young age and was mixing it all together when Hazel let herself in the back door, a six-pack of beer under an arm.
A cute, petite redhead with intelligent blue eyes, she wore her usual work jeans, snug tee, battered boots, and her favorite I’ll-slay-my-enemies smile. Her armor against the world.
I pulled her in for a hello hug, and then she caught sight of Hank.
“Uh…” She gave the old man a brief head nod. “Hey.”
He pointed to the beer.
“No,” I said. “No drinking for you.”
Hank flashed the smallest pout but went back to his puzzle.
Hazel turned to me. In school, she’d taken a lot of grief for being a tomboy, a term I’d never have applied to her.
Yes, she favored worn jeans and tees, and yes, she could kick anyone’s ass in just about any sport, but that didn’t define her.
She had a deep well of compassion and empathy, and she cared more than any friend I’d ever had.
Whatever had happened to cool off her and Tucker’s friendship, my brother was an idiot for not fixing it.
“Whatcha doing?” she asked, peering into the bowl.
“Making cookies.” This from Caleb, who’d poked his head back in the kitchen, smiling wide at the sight of Hazel. Pulling her into a one-armed hug, he snatched a beer. “He’s trying to impress this hot chick at work.”
She laughed. “Makes sense.”
“I am not making cookies to fucking impress someone.” Much.
“Well, that’s good,” Hazel said sweetly, “since you burn water.”
I ignored that. Mostly because it was true.
Tucker came in the back door, froze for a single beat at the sight of Hazel, then switched to an I’m cool stance that fooled no one. He flashed a small smile her way, which Hazel pretended not to see.
Huh.
“ Anyway ,” Caleb said into the beat of awkward silence, giving me a what the fuck is up with them? look. “Penny dared him with a recipe and a sweet smile, and he walked right into her trap. I mean, shit, I dare him to do stuff all the time and he never bites.”
Tucker snorted. “That’s because he’s not desperately in love with you.”
I nearly dropped the bowl, barely catching it against my chest, spilling flour down the front of myself. “Good to know you’re still The Department of Misinformation.”
“Holy shit.” Caleb’s eyes were wide as he gaped at me. “You’re in love with Penny .”
I swiped at the flour on my shirt. “Do you like your nose where it is on your face?”
The son of a bitch just laughed. “Ah, man,” he said when he got a hold of himself. “Been a long time since you resorted to stupid empty threats.”
“Which means it’s true,” Tucker noted, helping himself to a piece of pizza while again trying to meet Hazel’s eyes, something she skillfully avoided.
Hank nodded sagely. Fucking Hank.
“Maybe they’re just friends,” Hazel said.
I decided I loved Hazel more than anyone else in this room.
“Negative,” Tucker said. “We caught him and Penny trying to swallow each other’s tongues the other day. Pretty sure it’s the Legend of Star Falls. He saw the stars, you know.”
“We all saw them,” I said.
“Not me,” Caleb said. “I didn’t see shit.”
“Liar.” I shoved them all out of the kitchen and into the living room, including Hank, so I could think. “In love, my ass.” Did I like Penny a whole lot? Yes. Did I like her more than a whole lot? Also yes. But love? No. It was too soon.
Wasn’t it?
Hell. I was so screwed.
A few minutes later, Caleb stuck his head back in just long enough to whisper, “Heads up, Hazel wants to talk to you about work. I don’t know why, but she’s feeling down, so don’t get into it with her. It won’t go well.”
And sure enough, sixty seconds later, Hazel appeared in the doorway. Not smiling. Quiet. Pensive.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I heard you got that six-mil Henderson job in Sonoma County. Congrats.”
I’d gotten word just this morning that we’d won the bid.
We’d be renovating an 1886 historical homestead, the massive four-story mansion, barn, and surrounding property made infamous for its Prohibition-era bootlegging and basement speakeasy.
I was thrilled, but also worried about the extra workload.
I’d have to hire more employees or it’d spread us too thin.
“News travels fast. And thanks.”
“I want in, Ry.”
I had my gaze on the recipe—wait, what did it mean to “fold in the ingredients”—when her words sank in. I lifted my head. Sighed at her seriousness. “Haze?—”
“Look, just think about it, okay?”
The problem wasn’t me or her incredible skills.
It was her and Bill’s inability to see eye to eye on…
well, anything. Their relationship was much different than, say, my relationship with Hank.
Bill and Hazel loved each other. Deeply.
They were just two very different people.
Them working together on deciding the color of the sky would be a firestorm, much less a job with so much money on the line every single day.
A few weeks ago, Bill had been at the Cork and Barrel having a beer when Hazel had come in to pick up food. They had somehow devolved into such a huge fight that both were politely asked to leave and not come back.
If I gave the finish carpentry contract to Hazel’s company, she and Bill would have to work closely together, with Bill in charge.
There was no way in hell it would go well.
No possible way. Off the clock… maybe , with a Colburn mediator.
But on the clock, with my employees depending on their jobs and on me to make sure things ran smoothly, I just couldn’t do it, no matter how much I would like to.
A long time ago, her mom had begged me to never hire both Bill and Hazel for the sake of their relationship.
“You know I can’t hire you.”
“Can’t? Or won’t,” Hazel asked.
“Both.” I put the recipe down on the counter and faced her. “Talk to me. Where’s this coming from? You said your business is thriving, so much you’ve had to turn down jobs because you’re too busy. So why?—”
“I lied.” She looked away, brows furrowed. “I lost big on a contract last month.”
“The Quincy job?” My heart sank. “The one I told you not to take because Dennis Straton is an asshole and a crook?—”
“He was overpaying, and I got greedy.” Hazel swiped a hand down her face. “The profit was too good. Just before we were to start, I delivered all the materials for the job, agreeing to wait thirty days for payment because he was in a jam.”
I sucked in a breath because I knew those materials had to have been worth 25K at least, and also that Straton had vanished from the face of the earth.
“Let me guess. Everything vanished when Straton did.”
Hazel looked away. “Look,” she said. “All I need is one really big job to recoup, something where I can get paid up front.” She paused, then quietly said, “You know I’d never ask if I wasn’t desperate.”
Fuck.
“You know I can’t,” I said. “I’ll recommend you for any outside job though. And I’ll give you a loan to hold you over until you get something?—”
Those blue eyes snapped. “Keep your pity money, thanks but no thanks.”
“Haze—”
She waved me off. “I’m fine. I shouldn’t have asked.” And without another word, she left out the back door.
I blew out a breath.
“I feel the need to note the accuracy of my prediction,” Caleb said.