Chapter 33
GRIFFIN
I can see through the plate-glass window of O’Malley’s—Quince Valley’s local sports bar—that the place is busy, but not packed.
There are a couple of people hanging around outside the front doors, one of whom is a guy I went to high school with, who’s trying to light a smoke in the cool breeze.
It’s the end of September, but there’s a definite chill in the air now.
Last night at Chester’s, when we finally started cutting pieces for the deck, he greeted us with the wool cap he wears the other half of the year, which is always symbolic of the changing of the seasons around here.
“I’ll be able to sit outside just in time for winter,” he quipped.
At least he’d leaned in to us doing the work.
Though he refused to tell us more about his doctor’s latest house call.
“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have just met them back at our place,” I grumble as we step inside. The music’s thumping too loud, and everyone looks so damned chipper.
Sasha squeezes my hand. “We need a change of scenery.”
“Jude’s place would have worked fine. It’s big. Quiet.”
“I do love things that are big and quiet.” She smirks over her shoulder as she drags me inside.
She looks so cute I can’t help but swing her back to me right there on our way to the bar, grasping her jaw and kissing her thoroughly.
She blinks when I break the kiss, her cheeks going pink. “On second thought…home sounds okay.”
“We’re here now,” I grumble. Still, my inner caveman does an inner high five that I rattled her.
We’re the first ones here, and after ordering drinks, we take a table near the back, where it’ll at least be a little quieter.
That is, aside from a rowdy group of guys over by the pool table. A couple of them are openly appraising Sasha in her snug jeans and clingy green sweater as she sits down in her chair.
I hook my fingers around the chair’s legs, pulling her right up between my knees. “Better.”
Sasha laughs but snuggles in next to me.
She hasn’t noticed the oglers. She rarely does, which is saying something, since they’re a near constant.
Sasha loves clothes and makeup and shoes, but for her, it’s never about getting attention, or at least, she doesn’t care about that.
The way she talks about clothes and designers is the same way Chelsea talks about art and artists.
Like they’re beautiful objects. Plus she’s taught me a lot.
“Did you know the skirt is the second-oldest piece of clothing in the world?” she asked me once when twirling in a frilly gold one.
I’d been so mesmerized I hadn’t realized she’d asked me a question until she stopped spinning.
“What’s the first?”
She’d grinned. “The loincloth. Want me to get you one?”
The server comes by a few minutes later, smiling broadly as she sets a beer in front of me and a bubbly pink drink in front of Sasha.
“Will that be all for you two lovebirds?” she asks.
Sasha smiles back. “Yes, thank you so much, Alyssa.”
She’s read the server’s name tag, but I have no doubt they’ll be buddies by the end of the night. Sasha’s been on a friend-making tear around town—everywhere we go, people are starting to know her by name. It makes me feel guilty for keeping her all to myself.
Back at the bar, the server looks over at us as she whispers to her coworker. Her hands are clasped against her chest like she’s having a heart attack.
“There a lost kitten beside us or something?”
Sasha glances the servers’ way and smiles.
“No. Just you.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the walking definition of big, strong boyfriend, and you’re practically holding me on your lap.”
“Husband.”
“Right,” she says, her eyes going soft.
Fuck, I really want to kiss her right now. But those women are still staring at us.
“I don’t know how to keep away from you,” I say.
“Then don’t,” she whispers. She leans in, brushing her pillow-soft lips against mine. I don’t care who’s looking now. She tastes so fucking good.
“I want to go home,” I say against her mouth, tucking my finger into the top of her jeans and tugging her even closer.
“Too late,” she laughs. “That your friend?”
I glance over. Ford’s just walked into the bar, his eyes scanning the space. Not just for us, I know, but for possible threats. It’s what I’d do if it wasn’t my hometown and I wasn’t wrapped up in Sasha Macklin.
“How could you tell?”
“Tall, handsome, dresses exactly like my husband. Looks like he could knock a guy out just by looking at him. You two could be brothers.”
I clear my throat, my insides unsure whether to linger on the “my husband” part of what she said or go back and get irritated by the “handsome.”
I lift up a hand even though he’s already seen us. Then I slide Sasha’s chair back in place. I think better of it a second later and bring her back halfway to where she was before.
“You done?” she whispers. “Oh my gosh. You must be Ford!” she says exuberantly before I can respond, practically leaping up out of her chair to greet him.
Ford smiles appreciatively and holds out a hand. Sasha ignores it, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He blinks but hugs her back, giving me a raised eyebrow over her head.
I’m about ready to crack my beer glass in half now, but I manage to keep from yelling at him to sit down, preferably at the far end of the table.
“Ford,” I grit out instead.
“Griffin.”
Sasha looks between us as Ford takes a seat on the opposite side of the table, thank God, her lips rolled between her teeth.
He’s still too close to her, but at least there’s a slab of wood between us.
“Do you guys always keep it to one syllable, or do you branch out into two sometimes?” she asks.
I frown, but Ford laughs. He’s got one of those big, deep laughs, and just like his smile, it tends to make women fluttery.
I clap my arm down over the back of Sasha’s chair, wondering how I’m going to make it through the night.
“I just follow the big guy’s lead, mostly,” Ford says.
When they’re done laughing at me, Sasha glances at her watch.
“Glo’s going to be another ten minutes or so. She had to close up the shop.” She turns to me. “What about Jude?”
“I’m not sure that guy knows how to tell time.”
“He seemed to do okay on the tennis court,” Ford says.
I frown. “Didn’t know you were a fan.” I should be annoyed, and I try to make like I am, but the truth is, I was my little brother’s biggest fan when he was playing pro ball.
I’ve never been into sports as a rule, but I know more about the game of tennis than the average referee, thanks to Jude’s career.
Even if the affectations he developed as he grew more and more famous did make him mildly insufferable for a time.
The two of them chat amiably about tennis, then about fashion, of all things.
These two are getting along like a fucking house on fire while I tap my hand on the chair, wanting nothing more than to throw Sasha over my shoulder and take her home.
Luckily, watching her talking animatedly is my second favorite pastime, so even though I’d normally rather eat glass than hang out at a bar for this long, being entertained by my good-looking friend no less, I manage.
Finally Jude walks in. I know because half the bar cheers while he waves like a royal, soaking it all in.
I roll my eyes. “Only an hour fucking late.”
“Is it always like this with him?” Ford asks, slightly agog at the ovation they’re giving him.
“You get used to it.”
Sasha fades slightly, and I suddenly realize this is probably what it’s like with her brother, too. For someone who doesn’t notice attention, I know the spotlight’s burned her before, given it’s usually shining in tandem with nasty words about her family.
But Sasha brightens when Jude jogs up to our table. She laughs when he makes her stand up so he can envelop her in a big, brotherly hug. He enthusiastically greets Ford, and when the server comes back to take their orders, he gives her a wink and a grin.
Sasha pulls her phone out of her pocket after the server leaves. “Oh, she’s here!” she exclaims, hopefully about Gloria. If anyone else decides to join this party, I’m going to have to wait for Sasha outside on the bike.
“We’re…at…the…back,” she sounds out as she texts.
I love it when she does that.
O’Malley’s has grown crowded over the past hour, so it’s a minute before Sasha’s friend appears, weaving her way through the cluster of people standing by the bar.
I like Gloria. She’s no nonsense and insisted she was fine if I snuck off to my workshop after dinner the other night rather than hang around and socialize.
“Hey!” she says as she approaches, smiling but clearly a little overwhelmed by being the last one here.
“Yay!” Sasha cries. She squeezes her hard. “I’m so glad you came.” She goes around the table, introducing Gloria.
It’s only when Ford says his name weird that I look at him again. He’s gotten to his feet so fast his own chair is still tottering behind him, almost falling over.
“Scrape your jaw off the floor and pull out a chair, asshole,” I say while Jude asks Gloria a question.
Sasha shoves a gentle elbow into my ribs, laughing under her breath.
“Thank you,” Gloria says as she comes over and sits in the proffered chair. The only one free happens to be right next to his, and as he sits, his eyes never leave her.
“No problem,” he says.
I swear the man looks as dopey as he did that time I saw him wake up from being punched in the face.
After she sits down and Jude asks her a question, I kick Ford under the table.
He’s still staring at her, but with the boot to the shin, he snaps his gaze to me. “The fuck?”
“No problem,” I only slightly mock.
“What?”
“You going to be okay?”
Ford kicks me back.
“Okay, so now that everyone’s here,” Sasha begins, laying her hand on my thigh under the table, “who wants to talk ghosts?”