Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Finn
Who hugs at the beginning of a job interview?
Weirdos. That’s who.
Or people not actually there for a job interview.
I don’t know what “job” Raya’s trying to fill, and I know my experience with interviews outside the food and drink service industry is limited—but a handshake feels way more appropriate.
Unless things have changed.
It did make me wonder where I can sign up for an interview with her, though. She looked amazing.
I didn’t go to that place for chai. I went because Raya’s assistant, Jill, told me she’d be working there this morning.
I went because I had this stupid idea I was going to get a chai and sit down across from her and what—telepathically change her mind about me? Convince her I’m a good guy with spiced tea and whole milk?
Figure out how to ask her out in a way that finally makes her understand I’m serious?
It went so much better in my head.
I’m starting to think if I’m going to have a shot with her, I’m going to need a personality overhaul, because the one I’ve got just annoys her.
Maybe Hawke can teach me to be more brooding, or Dallas can give me pointers on how to chisel my jawline.
Unfortunately, I have a feeling that what Raya wants is not the same as what her sisters want.
My phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call, the screen lit up with a photo of my parents. I click on the button and accept the call, then wait for my mom to stop walking with the phone at her side.
It’s what she does now—hits the button to start the call and then walks to another room in the house.
The dizzying, swinging video fumbles to a stop and she comes into view, face about an inch from the camera. Her forehead is pinched, and I can see straight up her nose. She’s clearly trying to sort something out on her phone.
“Hey, Momma,” I say.
“Oh! Finneus James!” She tilts her head and looks at me, oblivious to how she looked two seconds ago. “You look tired.”
“Momma, leave him alone.” My younger sister, Rowena, shoves her face in front of the camera. “Hey, big brother. You playing tonight?”
“Hope to,” I say. “You gonna watch?”
“We’re all gonna watch,” Momma says before Rowe can answer.
But my sister shakes her head and moves off-screen. I’m still sitting in my Jeep Cherokee outside Meg’s Café, and I start it and flip on the heat. The weather took a turn this week, and Chicago is no joke when it starts to get cold.
“Just called to check in on ya,” Momma says. People from here would say she’s got an accent, but I didn’t notice it until I’d been away from Montana for a few years. “Did ya see Jane’s email about the community center?” She asks.
I nod. “I did. Sounds like things are going well.”
She moves closer to the screen. “Yep, those free ranch hands got a great thing in that community center.”
I laugh. “They’re called ‘kids,’ Momma.”
“Well, you’re doing an amazing thing for our little community, Skip.”
My mind trips on the silly nickname, but I wave her off. “Nah, I’m just trying to give back a little.”
She shakes her head. “So modest.” She points at the camera. “One of your best qualities.” Her expression shifts. “Are you gonna make it home for Thanksgiving? There are a few things about the community center we should talk about . . .”
I shake my head. “We’ve got a game the day before and the day after, so I don’t think I can.”
She tuts. “They really should give you time off to spend with your family. It’s a crying shame—” She passes the phone to my dad, but I hear her mutter something about “family values” in the background.
“Hey there, Skipper,” Dad says. “You keeping your nose clean?”
“No time for anything but hockey,” I say, even though that’s not exactly true.
“So that’s a yes?”
“That’s a yes.” I chuckle.
“Get any of ’em to try Rocky Mountain oysters yet?” He chuckles.
I laugh. “Not yet, but I guarantee they ain’t gonna know what they are until after they eat ’em.”
I feel my mouth loosen, sliding back into familiar speak.
“Ha! You betcha!” He laughs big. Makes me miss home.
“How’s things there? You good?” I ask.
“Oh, you know how your momma gets—” he shakes his head— “wants you to make a big noise out there and wants you home at the same time.”
From elsewhere in the house I hear her shout, “They should give him time off to see his family on Thanksgiving!”
We both laugh. Momma is a force. The kind of woman who’d do anything for anyone but who is also a little bit off her rocker.
“Still trying to save the world?” He isn’t looking into the screen when he says this. And I know what he’s talking about.
“When I can,” I say.
“It’s noble, Skip, the way you’re always watchin’ out for everyone—but you know it won’t bring him back.” Pop looks at me now.
“I know.” I watch the oncoming traffic for a few seconds. “Hey, Pop, can I ask you something?”
“You want me to go outside so the prying ears can’t hear?”
“Oh, I can’t know whatever this question is?” Momma shouts in the background.
“I swear, that woman is two rooms over and she can still hear every word I say,” my dad whisper-shouts into the phone.
At that, I laugh.
He leans closer to the screen and raises his eyebrows in a question.
I nod, and he gets up and walks outside as Momma’s voice calls out, “He’s just gonna tell me when he gets off the phone!” —her voice fading as my dad gets further away.
Dad closes the door and steps outside. “Hang on a sec.” He double taps the screen.
The video flips around, and I can see the wide wraparound porch and, then, the view.
Big sky. Open air.
It’s as if “freedom” were a place.
My eyes fix on the snow-capped mountains in the distance, a view I grew up with, and my heart aches for home.
I let out a low whistle. “Miss that.”
Moses, one of the many dogs on the ranch, lazes in the yard, and I see my brother Quent’s truck parked down by one of the outbuildings.
My dad turns the camera back around and sits in one of the rocking chairs he made for the front porch. “What’s on your mind, son?”
I groan and look out the window, back in the direction of the restaurant.
“Uh-oh,” Pop says. “It’s a woman.”
I shake my head, mostly at myself. “That obvious?”
“I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing that look.” He smirks.
I let out a breath. “How’d you convince Momma to give you a shot?”
He shrugs. “I’m pretty irresistible, Skip.”
I chuckle to myself. “Does Momma know that?”
He laughs lightly, then takes a sip from that same old, cream-colored coffee mug he’s been using since I was a kid.
“When we met, your momma wouldn’t give me the time of day.
” He leans back and shakes his head. “She’s so stubborn she couldn’t see a good thing—the best thing—right in front of her face. ”
He pauses, and I pause with him, then crack, “Oh! You mean you! Got it. Go on.”
He quirks a brow, mock-unamused. This is the relationship we’ve got—a healthy dose of banter mixed with the utmost respect.
I wish every kid had a dad like mine.
“To her, I was just a stupid neighbor kid who used to tip her daddy’s cows when he wasn’t lookin’.”
I muse. “Can’t imagine why that didn’t make her fall in love at first sight.”
He exhales softly, lost in a memory for a moment.
“So, how’d you show her you . . . you know. You grew up?” I ask.
“Not sure I did,” he says. “Not till later anyway. She helped with that. We’re a team that way.”
In the best sense of the word.
“I did get my act together, though.” He takes a drink, then looks at me.
“Had to if I was ever going to get your momma to look twice in my direction.” He leans back in the chair.
“And I didn’t quit. I was determined to win her over.
Kept finding ways t’ be around her. Anything to remind her that I was put on this earth to admire her. ”
“You’re such a sap,” I say, shaking my head.
“There’s nothing like the love of a good woman, son.” He leans in. “And your momma is a good woman.”
I know exactly what he’s insinuating, and he’s been doing it to embarrass us kids since I was a teenager. “Dad. Too much information, seriously.”
He lets out a single, hearty laugh.
“Now listen, Skip.” He turns a bit more serious.
“I kid around sometimes, but your momma is the best thing that’s happened to me.
Put aside how she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and how most days I can’t go but five minutes without thinking about her—she’s stubborn, driven, but has a heart big enough for all of us in this house. ”
I go still. I could say the same about Raya. On the surface, she’s nothing like my mom, but there are striking similarities. They’re both stubborn. They’re both driven. And they both have big hearts. Just not the kind you’ll ever find on their sleeve.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m drawn to her. My momma demonstrated strength, and I saw all the ways she filled in my dad’s gaps. But I also saw the way he loved her. They’re a team. Different strengths to attack every problem. Partners in the truest sense of the word.
I never paid much attention before, but the older I get, the more I realize that’s what I want. Not meaningless flings with fitness influencers.
Dad holds the phone up higher and lifts his chin. “Does this woman know how you feel about her?”
I lean forward, forearms on the steering wheel, and shake my head. “No. Not really.”
“Hmmph.”
“I mean, I joke around with her. Take her mind off work when I can. I, you know, try to make her laugh and stuff,” I say.
“All good things—but maybe not the most important thing, yeah?”
I nod. He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.
“I guess my unique personality makes me hard to take seriously.”
My dad busts out laughing. “Well, that’s your first hurdle. She doesn’t even know how you feel.”
“She thinks I’m a joke, Dad,” I say miserably. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just carrying a torch. She’s kind of like . . . the one who got away.” I shrug. “Reminds me a little bit of Momma. The stubborn side, anyway.”
Dad purses his lips. “Well, I say go for it, kiddo.”
“Easy for you to say,” I groan. “You’re not the one who could make a fool of himself.”
“Son, if you’re not willing to fall flat on your face, then you don’t deserve a woman like your momma.” His eyebrows are raised, and then he asks, “Is she worth it?”
Without hesitation I say, “One hundred percent.”
He shrugs like he’s just made his point and the case is closed, then takes another sip. “You coming home for Christmas?”
I nod. “Just for a couple of days. I get some time off, not a lot, but yeah. I’ll be there.”
“Good,” he says. “I think the whole family will be home for the first time in . . . a while.”
The words hang there, feeling wrong somehow. Because the “whole family” will never be home again.
I know Pop hasn’t forgotten—sometimes it’s just easier not to say the hard things out loud.
My eyes drift to the glove box. It’s still in there.
“Let me know how it goes with the girl,” my dad says, pulling me back to the present. “And take good care of yourself.”
“I will.”
“And live it—”
“Like it matters,” I say, finishing the thought.
He grabs the brim of his hat, tips it in a nod, and the screen goes dark, but my dad’s words don’t disappear so quickly.
Raya
“It sounds like you and I want the same things,” Justin says after we get the initial pleasantries out of the way. “I have to say, your approach to taking matters into your own hands is different. And clever.”
I give him a quick smile. “I think it’s important to be honest about what you want.”
“And you want a partner,” he says without any judgment.
“That’s right,” I say. “I don’t need the flowers and the chocolates and the boombox over your head outside my window.”
“The what?” He looks puzzled.
Hmm. Not knowing the Say Anything reference could be a red flag or a green one. I make a mental note to make a real note about that later.
“Just not all of the”—I wave my hand around, looking for the words—“romance. Just another person to shoulder the responsibilities. That may or may not be you. That’s what I’d like to find out.”
“I’m open to this experiment,” he says.
“There’s one other thing.” I take a quick drink of my latte. “You can’t tell anyone that this is how we met. I have a nosy, albeit wonderful, family, and I don’t want them to think I’m—”
“Settling?”
“No, not settling. Cutting corners, more like,” I say. “They don’t quite understand. Both of my sisters are hopelessly in love. My parents too, come to think of it.”
His eyebrows pinch. “You—don’t want to hold out for that?”
I shrug. “I think love comes in many different forms, including a well-matched pair who respect each other and have similar goals.”
He smiles. “I think you might be right.”
I smile back. “So, you’re up for the two-week trial period?”
“I’m up for it,” he says. “Let’s do dinner? Tomorrow?”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll have my assistant email you the details.”
We stand, and Justin helps me with my coat, then motions for me to go in front of him as we walk toward the door. Outside, I stop and look at him, satisfied with this choice and anxious to see where it leads.
“It was great to meet you,” I say.
He takes my hand, then leans in and kisses my cheek. “Great to meet you too.”
I smile and walk away, aware that there wasn’t a single butterfly awakened in my rib cage by Justin’s nearness.
And that’s exactly how I want it.