Chapter 2
“You still dating that fella with the bad haircut?” Herb mutters, grabbing a block of cheese from his fridge.
Herb is my neighbor, a gruff old veteran with a soft heart, a firm handshake, and a voice that came from whiskey, war, and too many Pall Mall cigarettes.
Most nights, I’m working at the tattoo shop, but once a month, we get together at his house and cook dinner.
Tonight, we’re making grilled cheese and tomato soup, one of his favorites.
Halting my stirring of the roasted tomatoes and peppers that have been pureed into a smooth liquid, I look over at him and blow out a breath. “His name is Jason.” He knows my boyfriend’s name, he’s just being a dick. “And he doesn’t have a bad haircut. That’s just the style.”
“The style these days is ‘bad’?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t choose fashion trends, Herb.”
Dad always said Herb never met a silence he didn’t want to ruin.
I enjoy our monthly chats, even when he’s being a cantankerous asshole, because deep down, the man is a big teddy bear.
I’ve known him for as long as I can remember.
He was my dad’s best friend for decades.
Herb was the only one who knew what my dad was going through after my mom died when I was a baby, and they bonded over widowerhood.
Whether or not they would ever admit it, they’d needed each other.
“Well, it’s downright ridiculous. Back when we were chasing skirts—”
“Skirts? You’re better than that.”
He clears his throat. “Forgive me. Ladies.” That’s better. “Back then, we at least knew how to be presentable. We understood the art of courting a woman, we didn’t need those damn phone swipers.”
“Well, who needs dating apps when you have the Pony Express, right?”
“Christ, how did ol’ Silent Clyde raise such a loudmouth? Hey, speaking of phones, keep stirring while I try to find mine. I’m always losing that damn thing.”
I chuckle and resume stirring, then raise my voice extra loud so he can hear me in the next room over. “If you can’t keep track of it, I’m going to have to buy you one of those Life Alert necklaces!”
“You can buy me one, but you can’t make me wear it!” he hollers back.
After a couple minutes, he returns to the kitchen, dropping his phone—protected by a brick-sized phone case—on the kitchen table with a thud. “What about that other boy that’s always coming around? Logan?”
I smirk. Always coming around? “That boy is thirty-two. And he’s not at my place that often.”
“Boy. Man. You know what I mean.” He waves a hand in the air. “I like that one. What’s his deal? He single?”
I quirk a brow at him. “Why? You want me to put in a good word for you?” I’d probably put in a name for Herb before I would any other woman. Though I’d rather not unpack that anytime soon.
“I’m just saying, maybe you should go out on a date with him.”
“Are you sundowning? We’re just friends. And besides, he’s my boss.”
“That’s kinda hot.”
I choke on a laugh. “Hot? Did you say ‘hot’?”
“What, I’m only supposed to say shit like ‘swell’ and ‘dandy’ and ‘neat’? I had lady friends before—hot ones too.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.” I glimpse at the framed picture on the wall of him and my dad lounging in a pair of cheap red lawn chairs with a beer can pressed to each of their palms. They look so much younger.
“It’s true. If your dad was around”—he nods toward the picture that held my attention—“he’d tell you what a Casanova I was.”
Grinning, I glance down at the rich red-orange sauce. “If Dad was around, he’d tell you you were full of shit.” What I wouldn't give to get a peek into their wild past. Dad never remarried; in his eyes, it was Mom or no one. But Herb embraced bachelorhood after his wife passed.
“I had some good lines, even Clyde had to admit it.”
I turn the dial, lowering the flame on the burner, and spin to face Herb, putting my hands on my hips. “All right, let’s hear it. What was your best pickup line? ‘Hi, I’m Herb. I survived smallpox’?”
“Hey, I wrote them poetry, like a gentleman.”
He is a romantic despite his gruff appearance. I’ve read some of his work, and it’s true, the man’s lexicon is lethal.
I step aside so he can taste the sauce and decide what he wants to add.
He’s particular when it comes to cooking.
“You are a poet, I’ll give you that.” He beams, adding more salt, then some smoked paprika.
I rest my elbows on the counter and cradle my chin in my hands while I watch him work.
“Ever accidentally use the same poem on different girls?”
His silence is dripping with guilt.
The smile on my face spreads ear to ear. “You rascal.”
“Only got busted once. I didn’t know they knew each other.” He raises his eyebrows. “Now, let’s get back to your bad taste in men. All I’m sayin’ is, Logan seems like a better match for you.”
I groan. He’s only saying that because Jason doesn’t have tattoos.
Logan and I are tattoo artists, it’s different. “Yeah, well, Logan doesn’t date.”
“Oh, like hell,” he croaks, popping the lid on a jar of cayenne.
“I’m serious! And it’s a shame because he could probably have his pick of anyone he wanted.”
Once he finishes fine-tuning the soup with spices, I take over stirring again, and he shuffles back to the cutting board, selecting a serrated knife and the fresh loaf of sourdough he baked earlier.
“Including you?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “When Logan and I first met, I was sixteen and he was twenty-two. I had an instant crush on him. Because of course I did, have you seen him?”
“Girl.”
I chuckle at his imitation of one of my girlfriends.
“We worked together in the evenings. I helped out in the shop after school, cleaning and taking care of whatever tasks Dad assigned me to. He was the apprentice, so we were in the same boat.” I smile at the memory.
“Let me tell you, Herb, for two years, I basically lived in that shop.”
“Oh, I heard all about that. Clyde said you followed him around like a little puppy dog. Said your crush was about as—”
“Subtle as a shotgun,” we say in unison.
I grin. “Anyway, before I left for college, I got up the nerve to ask Logan if he would ever see me as anything other than a friend.”
“What did he say?”
“He laughed at me, saying I was far too young for him and that while he was flattered, he simply wasn’t attracted to me in that way.
I was like his kid sister. I played it off as a joke, but my teenage heart was crushed.
Oof, that one stung.” Knowing Logan the way I do now, I should have seen it coming.
He saws through the crust of the sourdough loaf. “What about the next time you asked him?”
Huh? I cock my head to the side. “What do you mean? I didn’t ask him again.”
Herb releases a frustrated sigh. “Then how do you know he’s not interested?”
“Because he already said no,” I repeat.
“Well, of course he said no! You were still a kid!”
Laughing, I reply, “Trust me, he’s not interested. We literally joke about my silly teenage declaration. I’m not opening that door again. It’s not worth it. Besides, I never see him with other women.”
While I was in New York, the distance withered my feelings toward him, but if I’m being honest with myself, they never fully vanished. However, I’ve worked hard over the years to curb any . . . temptation I’ve felt toward him.
“You’re being foolish.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s say for argument’s sake I did want something more than friendship with Logan.
What happens if he says I’m still not interested in you, huh?
He owns Black Rabbit, Herb! It’s not like I’ll ever walk away from Dad’s shop.
There would be an uncomfortable awkwardness lingering over us forever.
I can blame the first time on puppy love; if I get rejected twice, then shit gets weird.
It would not only ruin our work relationship, it would destroy our friendship. ”
“And what if he said Gee, Kelly, I think you’re a real swell gal and would love to go out with you?”
“It would still be weird. Business and pleasure don’t mix.
It could end disastrously. What happens when we break up?
Again, I’m stuck working in Dad’s shop, with my ex as my boss?
Forget it. Someday I want to own Black Rabbit.
It’s not worth jeopardizing that. Sure, there will probably always be a small part of me that wonders what could have been, but we’ll only ever be friends, and I’m fine with that .
. . Besides, I have Jason!” I shake my head.
What the fuck have I even been doing considering all these hypotheticals when I have a boyfriend?
“So you’re just going to remain friends and wonder what could have been? For the rest of your life?”
His hopeless romantic is showing.
“Yes. That’s all he’s ever been and all he ever will be.” Despite the many nights I once spent imagining more. “Sometimes a person can change your life in the most amazing ways without ever being a part of it the way you want them to. For me, that person is Logan—and I’m okay with that. Really.”
After Dad died, Herb looked out for me, but it was Logan who stepped in and became my rock. That was when I realized I could count on him for anything. He’s protective of me, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost that. Without him, I’m not sure I’d have gotten through those dark days alone.
Thankfully, this new relationship with Jason might be the thing to finally put an end to that stubborn-as-hell childhood crush.
“Do you want bacon on yours?” I ask, spreading butter over the sourdough bread and adding a hefty pat of butter to the hot skillet.
He inhales and blows out a breath, like he’s frustrated by my answer. “Nah, I’m good, supposed to be watching my cholesterol . . . Add more butter.”
“What about your chole—”
“It’s a dairy product, it’s good for my bones. Do you want me to end up with osteoporosis?”
I chuckle and add another pat.
By the time we sit down to eat, my mouth is watering. The loud crunch of the buttery, toasted bread fills the room when we bite into our sandwiches.
“Goddamn,” he mutters. “Mm-hmm.”
I dip the corner of my sandwich into the soup and take another delicious bite, letting the melted cheese and tangy tomato soup meld together on my tongue. This is heavenly.
“I think you should ask him out.”
I drop my chin. He’s going to ruin my sandwich if he doesn’t quit with the nonsense. “You talk too much.”
“You sound like your father.”
I’ll never get sick of hearing that from his best friend. I hope I always keep part of my dad with me. “I miss him, Herb.”
“Me too, kiddo.”