Chapter 5
EWAN
I really wanted that burger.
Almost as much as I want her.
Which is a big problem. Not a new problem. But a big one, nonetheless.
I climb the stairs at Hayes Industries headquarters two at a time, the craving for Dolly’s horseradish growing stronger with each heavy thud of my boots on the tread. To the point it almost rivals my curiosity about the taste of Maisey’s lips. Almost.
I bet it wouldn’t overpower it though.
Because something tells me there isn’t anything on this earth as sweet or addicting as Maisey Phillips’s kiss.
The last thing I need to be thinking about right now is kissing her.
Or ever. That ship has sailed. Ketchup pact or not.
We were kids when we agreed to that. Kids who didn’t know better.
That was long before all the things we said to each other—things that can’t be unsaid—and all those miles we put between us.
Before I picked Hickory Hills over her.
An unmistakable smell hits my nostrils the second I round the corner for the executive conference room, distracting me from my thoughts. Given its potency, I’m a little surprised I didn’t smell it sooner, that unique and prominent aroma indicating one thing and one thing only.
Fried catfish with Miss Harriett’s homemade garlic tartar sauce is on the menu.
Miss Harriett, the Hayes Industries catering manager, has been in charge of the kitchen for forever. And I do mean forever. As in longer than any of my siblings and I have been alive. She is, without a doubt, one of the best cooks in Hickory Hills.
And once a week, she spoils us at Munch—short for Monday Lunch—the weekly lunch meeting where the heads of each department at Hayes get together to discuss the inner workings of the company.
And by heads of each department, I mean my siblings and me.
After all, the seven of us are the ones who keep this ship on course.
Our areas of expertise are as distinct as we are.
Milo, a secret chemistry nerd, runs Southern Brothers Brewing with his best friend, Brandt, as well as the taphouse bar they opened a couple of years ago here in town, Pour Decisions.
Hux, lumberjack and environmentalist, oversees the papermill and lumber division, while Jace leads personal safety, his passions for self-defense and “safety first” catching a lot of people off guard.
There’s a reason we call him the family wild card.
Anton has always been passionate about one thing—okay, three—the precious three Ps.
Peaches, peanuts, and pecans. Handing over the agriculture arm to him was a no-brainer.
Willa oversees our charitable giving department, regularly reminding all of us that it’s our responsibility to support the community that keeps us going.
Leaving Gus as executive vice president, responsible for more than I can fathom, while still trying to manage the original branch of guns and ammo, since they still haven’t identified someone to backfill his role after he was promoted.
Then there’s me—owner, operator, sole proprietor of The Booby Trap.
Ask my siblings and they’ll call it a bait and tackle shop.
But it’s more than that now. It’s a hunting, camping, and fishing dream store, locally owned and operated, staffed with people who actually hunt, camp, and fish, ready and willing to help you find what you need. Take that, big box brands.
My stomach grumbles audibly as I turn into the conference room, making its opinion known that if we pass over the catfish the way we did the burger, riots will likely ensue.
The noise is louder than I think, catching the attention of Gus, Milo, and Anton, all of whom are already sitting at the long conference table, plates stacked high with food, shoveling it like it’s their last meal.
“Is your stomach telling you to eat or auditioning for a horror movie?” Anton quips. As instigator of the family, he lives to push our buttons, and never misses a chance to poke at us. “That was your stomach, right? You’re not hiding a wild bear or some other beast in there?”
I roll my eyes, focusing on filling my plate.
If those three are already here, I don’t have to hold back on my portions.
Hux is already on his honeymoon so won’t be in attendance, and with fried catfish on the menu, Willa will be skipping the meeting.
How she knows when this is served I’ll never know, since Miss Harriett refuses to divulge the menu beforehand, but she always knows and refuses to attend.
Not because she doesn’t like the meal—she does, as we all do—but she doesn’t want to spend the rest of the day smelling of fish and garlic.
High-maintenance little sister means more for me…
My stomach growls again, betraying me, and all three of my brothers laugh. I flip them the bird over my shoulder, earning more of a laugh, their lack of sympathy not a surprise.
“Should we be worried that your stomach is more vocal than you are?” Gus asks as I sit.
I shake my head, letting them know I don’t want to talk about it, hoping they take the hint. There’s a fifty-fifty shot they’ll respect it. Depends on what else they’ve got going on.
“So, Sawyer caught the bouquet…” Gus says.
Thank fuck…
“Sawyer didn’t catch anything,” Anton corrects him. “Dolly handed it to her.”
“Still…” Milo comments.
“Still nothing,” Anton chuffs. “Look, I’m not saying it’s not happening. And I’m not saying she’s not ‘next.’ But, Dolly couldn’t just throw the damn thing and let one of those little girls catch it? She had to walk it right up to Sawyer and make a thing of it?”
“Pressure’s on, dude…” Milo jokes.
Their conversation fades into the background, their voices melding together into something that resembles Charlie Brown’s teacher.
I should pay attention. Should know what happened at the rest of the wedding after my dance with Maisey.
Truthfully, the rest of the evening is a blur, coming into focus only surrounding moments where I saw Maisey, my heart stopping and then kickstarting back to life each time.
Half listening to my brothers now, I don’t even remember the bouquet toss, or Dolly handing it to Sawyer instead of tossing it.
I don’t have a clue where I was at that point.
Wait, no—I do. I was standing next to my father, watching as Maisey lined up with the other single women, thinking to myself that if I had told her how I felt years ago, she wouldn’t have to be lining up to fight over a bundle of flowers.
Ewan, we’ll be thirty-four this year…we swore it in ketchup…
Her sweet voice fills my head, splitting my heart in two. Emily wasn’t wrong; she’s here for me. Just not for any of the reasons I want her to be. Or even because she wants to be.
No, I’m a secondary option. The backup plan. Where you go when life didn’t turn out like you thought.
When you’re suddenly in your thirties, not married, and your biological clock is ticking, you turn to the man that you could always count on. Because you swore it in ketchup.
Fuuuuuuuuck…!
Searing pain rips through my chest, like someone took a blacksmith’s fire iron and stabbed me with it. I drop my fork, the food in my mouth turning sour, and I force myself to swallow. The start of tears burn the corner of my eyes and I snap them shut, refusing to lose it here.
If I can get through this meeting, then I can get back to the store and lose myself in inventory for the rest of the day.
I can cry all I want when I’m alone counting arrows and bullets.
Have my own personal pity party among the fishing lures.
Come to terms with being her backup plan in my own way, on my own time.
But that is after I get through Munch.
“Ewan.”
It’s Gus’s voice that cuts through the fog. Still, it takes a minute for it to register and another to collect myself enough to open my eyes and face them. Four sets of concerned eyes stare back at me, Jace having joined the group, each one of them as silent and still as a tomb.
The urge to spill my guts conflicts with the even stronger desire to hide. To turn inward and never share another thing about myself ever again.
“What’s the bigger mess right now, your head or your heart?” Gus asks.
It’s the same kind of question he’d ask at any given point during one of these meetings of any one of us, helping us try to strategize or figure out how to attack a problem we’re facing in our department.
Only this time, instead of having his game face on, his tone being all business, there’s a softness to him that I haven’t seen in years.
Since I was a little kid with a broken arm, and he was nothing more than my big brother looking out for me.
Not the boss, or an executive on the rise.
Just the oldest of seven, looking out for the rest of us.
“I…I…” Shaking my head, I try to clear the noise, but it doesn’t work. “I don’t know.”
I push my plate forward, the sight of my lunch making my stomach lurch. Shit, no one tell Miss Harriett that was my reaction—she’d be so offended and I don’t know that I could ever live with myself if I knew that I offended her.
“So, are the rumors true?” Jace asks. “She’s back? Like staying in town back?”
I nod, throwing in a shrug for good measure.
Because, I’m not entirely sure I’m the authority on this.
Maybe in this room I am. But overall, probably not.
Although, depending on what source is feeding the Hickory Hills rumor mill, they might have substantially more information.
The bits and pieces passed along to me were a bit lacking.
Even if they did come straight from the horse’s mouth.
“Why now?” Milo asks. “Can’t just be the wedding.”
I shake my head, sucking in the deepest breath I can manage, stretching my diaphragm to the max. If I’m going to drop this bomb, I’m going to need all the oxygen I can get.
“She wants to collect on our marriage pact.”
Silence.