Chapter 10
Bryson
I squatted in the third row, thighs burning, as I unpacked fishing lures into bins.
Our shelves were growing fuller—though we were missing some essential inventory due to those delays Greg told me about.
There had been no progress updates, and it was looking like I’d have a hell of a busy weekend while Branson went on his honeymoon.
But hell, it wasn’t like I had a personal life anyway, right? Silas had officially put the nail in that coffin.
“Time to pack it in,” Branson said, rounding a corner. “One of the matchmaking ladies stopped by, but I covered for you.”
“Thanks.” I sighed. “I’m sure Silas will make sure they know it’s hopeless.”
He leaned against a shelf, staring at me. “Still feeling like a sad sack, huh?”
“No, I’m not.” My tone was sulky, and Branson knew me too well. “Much.”
He tapped my leg with his boot. “Come over to The Stag Pub with me and Caitlyn.”
“I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
“So, find a fourth wheel at the pub,” he said. “Come on, man. Silas is just one guy. There’s plenty of—”
“Don’t say other fish in the sea, okay? I don’t need empty platitudes. I’m wallowing, and I know it, but just let it run its course.”
He sighed. “Fine, but you still have to come to dinner. I don’t trust you to eat otherwise. And none of this third wheel bullshit. You’re my other half, and Caitlyn knows it.”
“I thought she was your other half?”
“No, she’s my better half.”
“Three halves don’t add up, bro.”
“Don’t apply logic. Just get your ass off the floor and let’s go.”
I chuckled. “Okay, fine.”
Branson was right that I had to eat, and I didn’t have jackshit in the refrigerator. I needed to make a grocery run, but I’d probably just hit the liquor store and junk food aisle. Better to go out for a proper meal, even if it was just bar food.
I stood and followed him to the door. The Stag was just down the block, so we walked over. The interior was dim, and it was still early, only a handful of tables claimed.
We stepped up to the bar. The curly-haired bartender smiled when she saw us. We’d been regulars here ever since we got to town. The pub was so close to the shop it was tough to resist popping over for lunch.
“Hey, boys. Just drinks tonight?”
“Menus too,” Branson said. “Caitlyn will be joining us.”
“Lucky girl,” she said with a playful wink. Her gaze skipped over to me. “How about you, Bryson? You making the boys and girls cry over you yet?”
“Nah, I’m the one crying, unfortunately.”
“Oh, no.” She chuckled as she started pulling our beers. We’d been here enough times she didn’t even ask for our order. “I’ve been there. Almost blew it with my wife, Nat, in the early days.”
“How’d you fix it?” I asked, mostly just to make conversation. I doubted Calista could solve my problems for me.
“Persistence,” she said. “Honesty. Sincerity. I don’t know. I guess eventually she saw that I was going to give her what she deserved—and she was right to hold out for that. She deserves the best.”
She plonked our two beers on the bar. “What will Caitlyn have tonight?”
“She’ll take one of those cranberry-lime mules y’all do. She loves those.”
Calista started mixing the drinks while I picked up one of the laminated menus and perused the options. There was a list of specials. Tonight it was smothered pork chops in gravy and mashed potatoes.
“I’ll take the special,” I said.
Branson looked over my shoulder. “Hell yeah, Caitlyn loves that. Let’s make it three orders.”
“Easy enough.” Calista finished the mule and set it on the bar. “So, who are you crying over, Bryson? They must work quick. You’ve barely been in town a few weeks.”
“My brother fell for him in one night,” Branson said. “Of course, Caitlyn loves him too, so he must be amazing.”
“Well, who is this amazing guy?” she asked, smile tugging at her lips.
“Silas Thorne.”
“Oh, crap,” she said. “You really are screwed.”
I winced. “Why?”
She leaned over the bar. “Look, Silas is great. Don’t get me wrong. But he never dates. He likes to have fun, but that’s all it ever seems to be for him. He loves his job. He’s a great friend, by all accounts. But he’s been in Granville about five years, and he’s never once had a boyfriend.”
Branson looked intrigued. “Is there a reason?”
Calista shrugged. “Beats me. I’m just a bartender who probably just repeated more gossip than she should have.” I must have looked pathetic because she reached out and patted my arm. “Maybe it’ll be different with you. You never know, right?”
I sighed and turned toward Branson. “I’m screwed.”
“Come on, Bry. Let’s grab a table.”
I nodded morosely and followed him across the bar, the greetings from the few folks we’d met blending into background noise. Branson covered the small talk while I got lost in my head.
We’d just taken our seats when Caitlyn arrived. She unwound a scarf and hung it on the back of her chair.
“Is this how it’s going to be every time it’s your turn to cook, Branson Larkin?” she teased.
She bent over to kiss him, a curtain of hair hiding their faces from view.
“Hey, I had to drag my grumpy brother’s ass out of the store. He would have turned me down if I invited him over to our place.”
Caitlyn glanced at me, eyebrow raised.
I shrugged. “Probably.”
Bad enough to be a third wheel in a public place, but I really didn’t want to cramp their style at home. They were about to be married. They didn’t need Branson’s brother intruding before they even got through their honeymoon phase.
“Still bummed about Silas?” she asked sympathetically.
I heaved a sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I wished we’d never broached the subject with Calista. I’d gone from disappointed to hopeless in one sentence. Silas had told me he didn’t date. He’d been cagey as fuck. But somehow I’d fooled myself into thinking I could change his mind.
But once the twin mess got cleared up, he’d shut the door between us and turned the key. I was locked out—like every other guy, apparently.
Caitlyn changed the subject. “Mom thinks we should change the appetizers to something more frou-frou.”
“Isn’t that all set?” Branson asked, an edge to his tone.
“Yeah. I told her that. I also told her we’re not frou-frou people. She’s concerned about impressing some of the ladies in town. She wants an invite to the bridge group. Apparently, all the popular ladies play together.”
“Well, let her impress them another way.”
“I’m trying,” Catilyn said. “You know, it’s been hard for her since my dad left. This wedding is giving her a distraction. I know it makes it a little frustrating for us, but she’s hurting.”
He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry if I’ve been impatient.”
“I mean, I’m impatient too,” Caitlyn said. “I get it.”
A server arrived with our plates, each holding a huge serving. The aroma instantly made my mouth water.
“The plates are hot, so be careful,” the young guy, a high school teenager by the looks of him, said. “Enjoy.”
“I hope you don’t mind I ordered for you,” Branson said. “I knew you loved their smothered pork chops.”
“Well, I was going to start eating salads to make sure I don’t outgrow my wedding dress, but I guess I can make an exception just this once.”
We all dug in, and Caitlyn and Branson continued chatting about wedding plans. Their life had pretty much become consumed by these details, so I didn’t mind.
“I’ve got a call in to Kevin Rhodes,” Caitlyn said. “Apparently, he’s the best with makeup, and Mom keeps raving about him. Did you know we had a famous drag queen living in Granville?”
“No,” Branson said with a surprised chuckle. “Is your mom going to look like a drag queen at our wedding?”
Caitlyn smacked his arm. “No! She showed me some photos of his cosmetic work. It’s lovely. I’m thinking I should have him do my makeup, but then would you even recognize me?”
Caitlyn was a beautiful woman, but one of those natural beauties who didn’t bother with a lot of makeup or hairstyling. She was happiest with a ponytail or loose bun—maybe some curls on a special occasion—and a hint of pink in her cheeks from the sun.
“Darlin’, Branson can hardly handle you now,” I teased. “You get any more beautiful, and he’ll expire at the altar.”
“Aw, you’re so sweet, Bryson,” she said.
“Ha-ha,” Branson said. “One day you’ll be in my place. Watch it, because I’m saving up insults.”
I cracked a grim smile. “I think you’ll have a good long while to wait.”
“Maybe not,” Caitlyn said. Her gaze grew pointed. “You’ve been sulking pretty hard over Silas. I don’t think I’ve seen you hung up on anyone else like this since I’ve known you.”
“What do you mean? I lived with Chris for six months.”
Branson shook his head. “Not the same, bro. You and Chris got together at a party and moved in together a few weeks later. You didn’t have to really work for it.”
I scoffed. “What are you saying, that I only care about Silas because he rejected me?”
“No, of course not,” Caitlyn said. “But maybe your other relationships came easily. Not every relationship does.”
“There is no relationship,” I grumbled. “Silas told me he doesn’t date members of the wedding party.”
“Well, it’s a good thing the wedding is in a few weeks, then,” Caitlyn said. “If that’s really why he’s saying no, you won’t be off-limits forever.”
I straightened. “I guess that’s true. But if it’s an excuse…”
“Well, don’t you owe it to yourself—and Silas—to figure that out? You need to use this time to really get to know him. To show him why he wants to be with you.”
“Really?” My tone was dubious. “He seemed pretty closed off.”
“Sure. Because he thinks you want more than he can give. So don’t ask for more. Just show him what he’s missing.”
I nodded slowly. “And how do I show him that if I never see him?”
“Well, I think you start by coming along on our tour of Grand View Hotel tomorrow.” She cast a look at my brother. “Sorry, sweetie, but we know how overwhelmed you’ll be on the day. You need your best man to know his way around, right?”
My brother started to protest, caught her wink, and then glanced at me. “What do you think, Bryson? Can you stop wallowing long enough to go sweet-talk your man?”
Silas wasn’t my man. Judging by his words—and Calista’s—he wasn’t looking to be anyone’s man.
But I’d kick myself if I didn’t even try.
I may have only gone on one date with him, but there’d been an instant connection I’d felt with very few people in my life.
And two of those people were sitting at this table.
I couldn’t give up on him without knowing I’d really tried.
“Larkin men aren’t quitters,” I told my brother. “Put me in, Coach. I’ll play my heart out.”
And chances were, I’d leave it at Silas’s feet.