Chapter 30
Jason
“That looks good.”
I tip the wooden table back onto its legs, and I give my brother an agreeing nod as I test that all of the bolts are tight and secure.
Mitch has a large custom order that he’s currently working on, including two enormous wooden tables that are even bigger than the ones for Casey’s bar. So after I finished up on site with Madden and Knox this afternoon, I brought my truck over to Mitch’s place and joined him for a couple of hours in the workshop.
We’ve been pretty much working in silence with the exception of the snow thumping down from the evergreens outside, and the sounds of our tools hitting the workbench when we swap them for another one.
And the deep sighs that Mitch has been exhaling because even though we’re not usually talkers, he knows that something’s up with me and it’s making him antsy as fuck.
I give the table one last jerk and meet my brother’s eyes, watching him silently.
All that’s left now is for the tables to get carefully layered with polish, but I can tell that he’s calling it a day from the way that he wipes his hands on the shop cloth, both of us walking toward the entrance of the garage.
“So,” he says gruffly. “You wanna talk about it now?”
“Honestly?” I reply, as we duck under the door. “Not really.”
And then we both watch as a large black Ford pulls up onto the curb, while Mitch flicks through his keys so that he can lock up the workshop.
Mitch watches it over his shoulder, something like relief washing over his expression as he pockets the o-ring. Then he lifts the garage door back up, because it looks like it’s about to be in use again.
“What time d’you call this?” Mitch calls out teasingly, his deep voice lilting with humour as he tries to hold back a small smile.
His son Tate shuts the driver’s side of his truck, fighting back a grin of his own as he trudges up the driveway. He laughs quietly as his dad claps him on the shoulder, ducking his head as his strong cheekbones begin to burn crimson.
He’s only twenty-two but he’s already almost as big as his dad, having been the team quarterback when he was in high school, and he’s been getting bigger and bigger ever since.
“Yeah, I know,” Tate mumbles, shoving off his dad and turning toward me, clasping my fist in a quick embrace before jerking his thumb at the blacktop behind him. “This morning they hadn’t cleared the roads over at River’s place so…”
Mitch nods in understanding. “She texted me, it’s okay. And you didn’t have to pull up today, you know,” he adds, his gruff voice trying to be gentle.
But deep down I know that he loves it, having such a good bond with his son that even when shitty weather creates an obstacle, Tate still comes by to get his work done with him.
River, Tate’s fiancée, texted Mitch earlier on, letting him know that the roads around her campus were still blocked with snow. So Tate had to wait until they were salted before finally making his way back to Phoenix Falls.
And from the smirk that Tate’s trying to bite back, it doesn’t seem like he was too devastated by the hold-up.
Doesn’t take a genius to guess what him and his girl were getting up to.
“What’s left to do?” Tate asks casually, before pulling off his hoodie and shoving back his dark hair.
“Jace helped me fix the pieces together, so all that’s left is the polish,” Mitch replies. “But seriously, you don’t need to do it. We can get the first coat on tomorrow morning, and we’ll still be ahead of schedule.”
Tate walks around us into the garage, tossing down the black hoodie and subtly inspecting the large wooden tables.
Then he points toward a pot of polish, looking at his dad to silently ask this one?
Mitch nods and Tate immediately gets to work, throwing down a couple sheets and then heaving the first table on top of it, so that he doesn’t end up polishing his dad’s garage floor.
Mitch watches him for a couple of seconds and then says, “Don’t be in here longer than an hour, okay?”
When his son doesn’t respond Mitch lets out another sigh.
“We’re having dinner in around forty-five minutes. Come inside for a bit and join us for that.”
At the prospect of food, Tate glances up and nods, which immediately calms his dad and we head back out toward the front porch.
It’s only the afternoon so it’s bright white outside, the winter weather a big contrast to the fact that it’s almost spring. But that means that we’re now at the best part of the season, where the town is still filled with snow but the sky starts getting light and summery.
It’s one of my favourite times of the year.
We mount the porch steps and Mitch pushes open the front door, his eyes immediately on the couch, to where his fiancée is curled up. Her laptop is open on the coffee table as she reads carefully through a printed version of her manuscript.
She raises her eyes to where we’re standing and a sweet smile plays on her lips, her cheeks instantly blushing brighter as Mitch heads toward her without even kicking off his boots. He leans down over the back of the couch so that he can give her a gentle kiss as he palms her shoulders.
I rake a hand through my hair, unable to resist a glance at Harper’s stomach, because now that she’s around five months along her tiny bump is finally starting to show.
Mitch rounds the couch and carefully settles himself beside her, placing one large hand over her belly as she arches backward into his arms.
She’s wearing a soft long-sleeved dress that covers her down past her knees, but it’s the beautiful baby blue colour that makes me glance at my boots as I settle into the armchair beside them.
Because baby blue makes me think of Sunday, and I’ve been trying not to think about her too much since this morning.
After what that guy said as he stepped up to my front door, I knew that Sunday would need a little space with him to talk about whatever the hell he came for.
If she has another man, it’s not like I’m going to blame her for it. We had a long stretch of time apart, and it would be crazy to assume that she wasn’t invested in other relationships. But I sent Sunday a couple of texts so she knows what time I’ll be home, and I’m hoping that her guy friend will be long-gone by the time I get back.
I link my fingers together and settle my elbows on my knees, my boot thumping steadily against the carpet as I stare unseeingly at the dark wood coffee table.
And about half a minute later I realise that the room is totally silent.
I glance up and my eyes meet Harper’s, her expression bright with surprise as she searches my gaze.
And behind her Mitch smirks over at me, looking amused as hell.
“Jace?” Harper asks gently, her voice sweet and cautious. “Are you… alright?”
Mitch snickers at that, because he knows that I’m stressing about a chick.
I push up off the armchair and nod down at Harper, stretching out my biceps and feeling the pull in my shoulders.
I can’t wait to get a shower when I pull up at my place.
Mitch gives me about three seconds to fill her in before rumbling, “It’s to do with a woman.”
“What woman?” Harper asks, her irises brightening with sudden interest. “The high school sweetheart? Sunday? Oh my God, are you seeing each other?”
“Harper,” I laugh. “Jesus Christ, slow down. You can’t give a guy twenty questions and expect him to know which one you want answering.”
“All of them!” she says immediately. “I need answers to all of them.”
I rub my palm at the back of my neck, not sure exactly how much to divulge, but Harper instantly senses how I’m feeling and she reaches forward to put me at ease.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” she says, smiling softly. “But, for what it’s worth, you’re a great guy. And I’m sure that if you talk it through, everything will be fine.”
I give her hand a gentle squeeze before folding my arms over my chest and glancing away from her.
Because I know that she’s right – I just need to talk to Sunday about this morning. Although I’ve been delaying getting back to the cabin because there’s a chance that I’m not going to like what she has to tell me.
But I’m pretty certain that guy is not her boyfriend… and if I find out that he was just bullshitting with me?
I roll my neck and crack my knuckles, liking that prospect.
Because if that guy isn’t her boyfriend… Sunday and I are about to pick up where we left off this morning.
“Thanks, Harper,” I rumble, slapping my palm against Mitch’s before I turn to head.
Honestly, I can’t wait to get everything out in the open with Sunday.
“Y’all should stop by for dinner one night,” my brother says before I reach the door. “The both of you,” he adds on, and I chuckle at that.
I nod and jerk my chin at him. “Sounds good, man.”
And then I’m back in my truck, easing toward the snow-covered mountain, my eyes focused on the blacktop while my mind stays fixed on Sunday.