6. Lance
Chapter 6
I was screwed.
Exhausted.
And screwed.
How I ever thought I could work day in and day out with Hudson and not be in a heap of trouble, I’d never know. But there I was, seeing him daily. Basking in the glow of his smile. Swooning when it was me who made him laugh. Soaking up everything that made him Hudson.
Hudson.
The man I was no longer infatuated and falling for…I’d done gone right ahead and dove head first into being all the way gone for him.
I’d been home nearly two months.
The Sweet & Creamy was up and running again, bringing in more business and revenue than it had at the same time last year according to our financial records.
Hudson and I met or spoke nearly every day and our business relationship worked like a well-oiled machine.
I’d slotted right back into the Riggs family since coming home, almost as if I’d never left. Casey Joe and I met up for lunch every week, and Henry never failed to offer a listening ear or a friendly smile.
Hudson reported the peach trees had bloomed even better than he’d hoped in the spring and the fruit would be coming on soon. The orchard was bringing in slightly more money at a slow time of the year than it had for the last few years if the books were to be believed.
The general store was hoppin’, and I knew a lot of it had to do with us combining forces. Even Henry reported a spike in business recently.
All of that was amazing.
Perfect.
Exactly what we’d wanted.
I didn’t mind the hard work, especially when we saw such great returns.
But I was about to lose my fucking mind over Hudson.
My attraction to him had never been just physical, but it had swiftly warped into something a lot deeper and more meaningful than thinking he was hot.
I knew without a doubt that Hudson was attracted to me in return.
Yet, we somehow managed to work together pretty much daily and not be affected by the strong pull between us.
Maybe because he’d had years of keeping people at a distance.
Maybe because the fear of losing someone like he did when Missy walked away was strong enough to override the attraction.
Whatever his secret, I didn’t have the same abilities and I was going absolutely bat-shit with how badly I wanted him.
Wanted to kiss him, touch him, yeah. But more than that, I wanted to take him on a date. Do nice things for him. Hold him in my arms while he slept. Make a picnic lunch and take him on a long drive while we chatted about nonsense as the clouds floated by.
Instead, I got to see him almost daily and had to pretend my heart wasn’t about to pound out of my chest.
It was the worst.
But also the best.
Everything was better when Hudson and I were together.
Sure, I’d had to accept the eternal blue balls.
And my breathing always felt a little off when he was around.
But I could live with those things if it meant having him near me.
The problem was, I just couldn’t stop wanting more.
Hudson had told me to stop by his place for lunch one day. He wanted to show me some things he’d done with the Juicy Peach and general store.
I’d always loved the Riggs’ farmhouse and seeing Hudson making it his own did something funny inside my chest. He was a small-town farm boy through and through, and he absolutely glowed in his element. Taking over the orchard and store may have been a huge load in the beginning, but Hudson was damn smart—and hella tenacious—and he’d gone and got the whole thing working better in just over six months than Billy had done in a lifetime of running the place.
“Nice cock,” I deadpanned as Hudson and I cleared the remnants of our lunch from his kitchen table.
Hudson’s eyes shot wide as he glanced at me over his shoulder.
“The rooster? On the clock?” I pretended innocence as I pointed at the wall clock.
His cheeks pinked slightly. “Oh, yeah, I found a few rooster items at a flea market. Thought it fit the farmhouse vibe.”
We made our way toward the Juicy Peach, talking easily on the warm summer day. The Riggs family took up a large chunk of Haven Grove with Casey Joe in one of the farmhouses, Henry living in the apartment above the roadhouse, and Hudson in the orchard farmhouse.
The orchard itself spread over a few acres of land to the west and north of Hudson’s place. The public pretty much never saw the farther corners of the orchard—the you pick sections rotated through the portions closer to the Juicy Peach general store. A portable checkout stand moved as needed to supply you-pickers with different sizes of bags and baskets, and to check them out when they’d filled their bags. The you pick business had always been cash-only, but Hudson had opted to upgrade internet and add a hotspot to the check-out stand so folks wanting to pay with a card would be able once picking season arrived.
“It’s not much,” Hudson was saying as we walked toward the backdoor of the Juicy Peach general store. “I just wanted to spruce things up a bit. Had a couple of the kids do a thorough sweep and wash things down before we restocked earlier in the week.” He opened the door and waited for me to walk past. “Just thought you could let me know if it’s too much—don’t wanna look cheesy—or if it fits the small-town peach orchard and general store vibe.”
I’d spent the day moping when Hudson had taken a trip to an auction and flea market a couple towns over. He’d asked me to go, but I’d had to say no. Mainly, because I didn’t have anyone to work the shop that day. Only somewhat because I wasn’t sure I could spend an entire day with him without exploding.
But he’d come back all smiles with his new purchases and I’d kicked myself for not figuring out a way to take the road trip with him.
He’d added a few touches to the store. The place had always had an authentic feel with its worn wood floors and handmade wooden shelves. The whole interior was wood, rope, and antiques—many of the items from way back when the Riggs family started their orchard and store.
The double doors upfront rang an old-fashioned bell when anyone entered. Off to the left was a long counter and antique cash register. General groceries and supplies lined shelves in rows up and down the middle of the store. Over to the right was the bakery counter with a small row of five swivel stools for the occasional customer to take a seat and enjoy a treat.
Hudson had added a gigantic piece of artwork on the main wall, directly in the middle at the back where every eye would land on it. A four-foot tin peach with a huge rooster—when I say huge, I mean five feet of painted tin, beak, crow, hackle, and all—posing next to the fruit.
A few more antique pieces boasting peaches and roosters were tastefully displayed around the shop. Right behind the cash register sat a large 3D peach with a three-foot-tall rooster, complete with twinkly lights, standing next to it.
“I get the peaches, but what’s with the roosters?” I asked.
Hudson smirked and shrugged. “I’ve got a thing for cocks.”
And with that, my brain short-circuited, and I was done.
Over and out.
Finished.
I sighed as I eased myself down onto my bed. I’d painted a wall in the shop after closing time the night before, and my muscles were absolutely screaming. I’d spent the day swallowing acetaminophen and trying to stay active so my muscles wouldn’t stiffen up, but I’d finally let the two teens at the shop promise they’d close up and dragged myself home for a hot bath in Epsom salts.
Feeling like the oldest of old men, I reached for my phone and searched for massage places near me. When the closest location was over twenty miles away, I searched for massage services near me. That got a few more hits. After scrolling, I found a comment on a site regarding a massage provider who would bring a table to your home or place of business and perform thirty-, sixty-, or ninety-minute massages.
Bingo.
I clicked the link the commenter provided and ended up on a business directory-type page. Clicking the only entry that appeared to have anything to do with massage, I found myself staring at a very simple service and price page.
Name. Easy enough.
Address. I typed in the apartment address and put a note to have the provider come to the back entrance so as not to disrupt business. Plus, I didn’t need everyone and their brother in Haven Grove knowing I was so old I needed a massage after painting a wall.
After choosing my day and time, I moved on to the drop-down menus for length of massage and services.
Thirty, sixty, or ninety minutes?
Ninety. Bring it on.
Type of massage? Swedish or deep-tissue?
Swedish. I needed a soft touch and relaxing, nothing digging into my muscles for the time being.
Services? Spot focus? Full-body? Full service*?
Hell, why not? Go big or go home. As sore as I was, I wanted everything and the kitchen sink. Hopefully full service would have me able to move without crying.
I paid the fifty-percent up-front fee, included my phone number, scrolled quickly through the legal gobbly-gook, checked the consent box, and submitted the appointment request.
Dreaming of a mid-morning massage to ease my pain, I took more acetaminophen and hoped for a restful night.
Morning came and I found the pain slightly better, but my joints and muscles had seized up like the Tin Man. Glancing at the clock, knowing I wasn’t scheduled for the Sweet & Creamy until late afternoon, I rolled from bed to start coffee and drag myself to the shower before my traveling massage arrived.
Morning me was grateful that nighttime me had made the massage for ten o’clock. That gave me time to opt out of the shower and run another bath to soak in. Plus, I’d have about two hours to enjoy my coffee, check the news, tidy up a few business tasks, and just enjoy the morning.
Doing my best not to imagine what it would be like to start each day with Hudson by my side, I dried off, threw on a pair of joggers, and padded to the kitchen to pour my first cup of coffee. Below the apartment, the ice cream shop was silent for the moment. Jan, the middle-aged woman who’d been working at the Sweet & Creamy for years, would arrive in about ninety minutes to start the process of opening.
With my mind still mostly on Hudson, no matter how hard I tried, I allowed myself a moment to think of the conversation we’d had about possibly adding in a couple simple soups and sandwiches to the menu at lunch and dinner time.
My first thought had been I didn’t want to take business from the roadhouse. But Hudson, and later Henry, had made a valid point that most people who would be stopping in for ice cream wouldn’t be ones heading to the roadhouse after. If anything, the roadhouse lunch or dinner people might stop by for ice cream, but they wouldn’t be stopping in for ice cream on their way to eat at the bar. So, having a couple other menu items might make sense—financially speaking. I’d just have to make sure the soups and sandwiches were easy to make and wouldn’t put a kink in our flow.
I started a second cup of coffee while balancing a couple expenses in the books. As usual, my mind drifted back to Hudson. I hadn’t thought about him as much in the twenty-five years I knew him before I left town, but now, every second of every day seemed to have some form of Hudson-sized thoughts bombarding my brain.
I knew Hudson had been busy lately. I knew that was likely the only reason I hadn’t had to accept the fact he was going out to hook up with random guys. Between the orchard, the store, the bar, the odd jobs he did around town, and helping me with peaches and cream domination, the guy had pretty much zero downtime. And if he did have a moment to breathe, he seemed hell-bent on filling the time with something productive. I wasn’t sure if he knew how to relax.
Eventually, he’s going to get into a routine and go back to his hookups.
Hating the thought, I poured a third cup of coffee. I wasn’t exactly sure that hyping myself on caffeine before I was supposed to relax during a massage was the best idea, but what was done was done.
What if I just accepted the offered hookup with Hudson?
Would I be able to keep him coming back for more?
Could I survive the inevitable when he finally cut me off?
Would the friendship be strong enough to make it through something like that?
Would my heart survive?
What was my other option? Stay locked in the standstill with Hudson’s stubborn ass and be miserable wanting what I couldn’t have.
As I drained the last of the coffee and rinsed the mug, I stared out the kitchen window. Looking over Haven Grove, knowing I’d spend the rest of my days in the town I called home, I ran through my choices.
One, I could continue with the way things were. Refusing anything with Hudson because he wasn’t willing to go further than casual. Going this route meant blue-ball frustration, pining and longing, the gut-punch of watching Hudson go about his life with other guys, and plastering a smile on my face to hide how badly I wanted the man.
Not the best option, but fairly safe. Painful, frustrating, and slightly less than mediocre, but safe.
Mostly.
Two, I could give in and do the one-time thing with Hudson.
This option had subsections.
Subsection A was that we went through with the hookup, it was good but not as mind-blowing as we’d hoped, and everything returned to normal pretty quickly.
Subsection B was we went through with the hookup, it was mind-blowing, we agreed to keep things going—casually, of course—until we both decided to move on and go back to just being business partners and family friends.
Subsection C was we went through with the hookup, it was mind-blowing as we’d predicted, Hudson realizes all he’s been missing out on, he declares his love for me, and we live happily ever after.
Now, each of these subsections also had a .1 side note. That side note was pretty much the same for A, B, and C, just changing slightly on each for the sake of creativity.
A.1- Casey Joe finds out his best friend fucked his son. Casey Joe castrates his best friend.
B.1- Casey Joe discovers best friend and son together, drowns best friend in a vat of peach vodka.
C.1- Casey Joe hears about his best friend and son being together, runs best friend out of town with a pitch fork and flaming torch.
A side note to the side note was that any .1 could be attached to any subsection at any time.
Running my hands over my face, I groaned.
I wanted C—preferably without the .1—but I knew it was stupid and assumptive to think sex with me would just magically make Hudson change his mind about relationships.
Maybe option B is best. You both get what you want, at least for a short time, and you can win him over during the time you’re keeping things casual.
Huffing out a breath, I bent at the elbows, leaning heavily against the sink, and dropped my head into my hands. My muscles protested the position, but I didn’t care. Part of me wanted to be just as stubborn as Hudson and hold out. He knew I wanted more. Why should I be the one to bend?
On the other hand, who was I really punishing if I let the stalemate continue?
Hell, at this point, maybe the offer of casual sex wasn’t even on the table any longer. Running a hand through my hair, I closed my eyes. I was too damn old for this shit.
Grumbling as I pushed away from the sink, I checked the time. My free morning had done nothing to really clear my head, but at least I could relax for ninety minutes. Maybe the massage would give me time to evaluate the situation yet again and come to a conclusion.
And, if not, at least I had an hour and a half of endorphin-releasing relaxation to look forward to.
A knock sounded and pulled me from my head.
Glancing at the living room with a brief moment of worry that the room wasn’t big enough for a whole massage table, I walked toward the door.
Pulling the door open, only briefly wondering if I should have put on a shirt, I smiled as I prepared to meet my massage provider.
Confusion rocketed through me at the pink-cheeked, smirking Hudson standing before me.
With a quick glance at the large folded table gripped by a handle in his right hand, I brought my eyes back to meet his sparkling blue ones. Like a slow-moving glacier, my brain finally caught up.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
“You ordered a massage?”
“Is there any job you don’t do?”
“What can I say? I’m a jack of all trades,” Hudson said, shouldering his way through the door. Maneuvering the table, he leaned it against the couch. “So, you signed up for ninety minutes of full-service massage. Let’s just get the paperwork out of the way and we’ll get started.”
“Why’d you say it like that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Like what?” Hudson blinked innocently. I was suddenly reminded of the time I caught him sneaking cookies from the jar Billy kept in the back room at the store.
“Full service,” I repeated the words with emphasis on the word full.
“Well, the option you chose includes…um, well, it means we both enjoy the massage and things end on a very…um, happy note.”
“What the fuck are you—” Even as the words spilled from my mouth, understanding smacked me in the face. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I chuckled humorously. “Fuuuuuck.”