Chapter Twenty James
CHAPTER TWENTY
James
I lied to my parents again last night.
They called to see how things were going with the farm and restaurant, and instead of telling the truth—really stressful, financially tight, I have to lower my blood pressure, and I can’t stop thinking about the chef—I said, “Really great.”
I fed them every happy detail I could think of, because the last thing I want is for them to take on the weight of concern and come home to help.
Because they would. I know it. And no matter how much I try to shake it, the memory of my dad falling to his knees in the greenhouse plays on a horrifying loop in my mind.
If I have to lie my ass off to keep them happy and relaxed in Florida, so be it.
Which is why I’m currently running.
Following Madison’s instructions to look after myself, I’m using cardio to relieve stress. Or at least . . . I think that’s what it’s supposed to be doing? Instead, I’m just ruminating.
I’ve been putting space between us over the last week because ever since I kissed Madison in the cottage I haven’t trusted myself. She was vulnerable, curious, sorting out whatever attraction she’s been feeling, and I pushed a line I shouldn’t have.
When I offered her this job, I made a promise to act in her best interest. That kiss—however incredible—was not that. She’s confused, and in her word horny.
I want her to feel what I’ve felt for years. But she deserves the time to figure that out without added pressure.
She’s my chef, my best friend’s little sister, and most important, she’s my friend. And I won’t hurt her.
I’m also fighting for my life to drag in a breath on this run. Turns out, having a muscular build and practical strength does not translate to good cardiovascular health.
I’m on my final half-mile stretch, dead center of the town square, when I see Will jogging in the opposite direction. He does a double take when he spots me, then crosses the street and falls into pace beside me.
“I didn’t know you were a morning runner too,” he says, not the slightest bit out of breath.
I glance at him, sweat pooling against my shirt, face red, chest heaving. “I’m not.”
He laughs. “I’m gathering that now. Want a running buddy?”
I eye his shirtless, barely sweaty frame. “Are you getting started?”
“No. I just finished four miles. But I don’t mind tacking on a few more. Why?”
I bark a laugh, gladly using the conversation as an excuse to stop and catch my breath. “You don’t look even a damn bit winded.”
Makes sense though. Before going back to school for early education, he was a bodyguard. Before that, the military.
“And it’s really not fair that you look like that,” he says, gesturing toward me, “while having the cardio capacity of a ninety-year-old grandpa rocking on his porch. I’m going to fix it.”
“I don’t think I want you to?” I say it like a question but mean it as a statement.
He claps me on the shoulder. It feels like a threat. “Too bad. It’s happening.”
Damn. Is this how Noah’s felt about my friendship all these years? He’s always grunting and growling, and now I understand why. Nosy people are annoying.
But also . . . hell if I don’t like it.
Even though Noah’s like a brother to me in every way, he hasn’t really been able to be a friend lately. I’m not mad about it, don’t even need to change it. I know from our long friendship that these seasons come and go. Real friends don’t have to hold tight or force anything to be solid.
We’re just in one of those seasons.
Which is why it might be nice to have a daily kind of friend again. (One I’m not deliriously attracted to.)
We really shouldn’t have paused, though, because now we’re trapped in the town vortex with shops opening for the day.
Will realizes it too. “Shit. Let’s get moving,” he says as the sign at Gemma’s bakery flips to OPEN.
Too late.
Phil, of Phil’s Hardware, steps into our path—his favorite hobby. “You boys are out early today! Starting a running club?”
“Oh, not rea—”
“Todd! These boys are starting a running club!” he shouts over the shoulder of his salmon-colored polo into the store.
Todd, Phil’s husband, is squatting at an endcap, arranging boxes.
He doesn’t say a word (as usual), probably because Phil rarely gives him the chance.
These guys are the most typical middle-aged white guys you can imagine.
They’re slightly balding. Share a wardrobe.
And wore New Balance sneakers before they were cool.
“He needs to join it!” Phil pats the side of his khaki cargo shorts. “The man never exercises, I swear.”
No one points out that we’ve never seen Phil exercise either. But I don’t get involved in married people’s shit. They seem happy, so who am I to judge?
Except I know if Madison were here, she’d be subtly poking me in the side, alerting me we are definitely going to judge them together later.
And now I’m smiling like an idiot. Enough that Phil notices.
“See, Todd! Look how happy James is. Running gives you endorphips. I read about those once. They’re important.”
“So right, Phil,” says Will, solemn as a priest. “And we’ve got to keep the endorphips flowing or they shut down.”
I’m barely holding it together. Endorphips!
“Yes, right! Y’all get going. Enjoy the sunshine!”
We try to jog away, but Phil catches me with a subject I can’t ignore. “Wait, James! How’s it going with Maddie?”
My stomach knots. I already know I won’t like what’s next.
“Tell you what, I’m surprised I haven’t heard of the farm burning down yet with her living on the property. Now, I love her, you know, but I can’t believe you’d trust your restaurant to—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, Phil.” I step in closer. Will flanks me. He must sense the shift, because it feels more like he’s bracing for Phil’s protection, not mine.
“I’m not of the mindset that talking negatively about a professional woman is appropriate.
” I watch Phil’s face pale. “Let alone someone I claim to care about. So I’m going to say this once, and feel free to tell everyone in town: From this moment on, the jokes and roasting—however well meant—stop.
Madison Walker is to be treated with respect and encouragement as the head chef of the Greenhouse. Understood?”
I’ve never talked to Phil like this. Never had to.
“Understood,” he says, wide-eyed and embarrassed. He resembles a kicked puppy. His tube socks droop with sadness.
Now I feel bad for coming on a little strong.
“Do you need a hug?” I ask him, because it will ruin my day to know I’ve ruined his.
Wordlessly, Phil nods. I give him “bring it in” arms and he steps close, letting me give him a huge hug. I have a rule to never pull away first, so I wait until he’s ready.
After a minute, he pats my back. “Tell Madison I can’t wait to eat her delicious food. She’s going to do great.”
“Thanks, Phil.”
Mood rebalanced, he releases me. “Good seeing you, boys! Have fun on your run!”
“Always a pleasure, Phil!” Will waves.
The second we’re out of earshot, Will turns to me. “Wow. I didn’t realize . . .”
“That the town has been complete shits to Madison?”
“No.” He breathes a laugh. “That you love her.”
I falter a step and then stop. “Don’t say anything to anyone, please?”
He gives me a pitying look. “Sure. But I have bad news for you. I’m always the last one to find out about something. Which means they all already know.”
Shit.
When I get home, drenched in sweat, I head straight for the kitchen and a giant glass of water. Then I check my phone.
My heart jumps when I see the text waiting for me.
MADISON: Just letting you know, I’ll be out of town July 2 & 3. Leaving early tomorrow morning.
JAMES: Where are you going?
MADISON: New York.
I don’t waste time texting. I call her, and she answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“You’re going by yourself?”
She laughs once. “You do remember I lived alone in that city for two years, right?”
Yeah. I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now. “Why are you going back?”
“Because I talked to one of my old classmates and . . . it’s kind of a long story. But all you need to know is I’ll be back Thursday night.”
I don’t know why—it’s probably a bad idea considering the space I’ve been trying to put between us—but I’m already pulling up my calendar. The next few days are light thanks to all the storms in the forecast, and no one has called out. I’ve actually got a solid crew lined up.
Maybe this is the perfect excuse to take some time off.
Get some space from this farm. Some rest.
“Want some company on your trip?”
She’s quiet for a few beats. “You want to go with me . . . to New York?”
I want to go with you everywhere.
“Could be fun,” I say, nervous I’m overstepping. That maybe she’s as freaked-out about our unacknowledged kiss as I’ve been.
But I mentally promise myself that if I go on this trip with her, I’ll put my guard back up. No pushing the limits. I’ll go to New York as her friend and friend alone.
When she speaks again, I’m relieved to hear a smile in her voice. “It’s going to be a lot more fun now. I’ll text you my flight info. If there’re no seats left, I’ll change flights with you.”
And just like that, I’m going away with Madison.