Chapter 4 #2
Sighing, I watch as Chevy and James walk away, an easy familiarity between them.
My brother has that effect on people. He’s like a warm chocolate chip cookie.
Who can resist? Meanwhile I’m … not that.
Never have been. And I’m not sure why, after years of making peace with myself, I’m feeling itchy in my own skin today.
A skinny orange cat with only one eye emerges from behind the stack of pallets and stretches. It sits a safe distance away, piercing me with its singular gaze. I remember seeing him yesterday morning too. He’s so ugly he’s almost cute.
“I know, I know. I should be working. Not spying on my boss.”
The cat doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t make a sound. And yet I feel supremely judged.
I should get back inside so James can’t accuse me of being lazy or not doing my job.
But first, I need to save this window. It is not trash.
I could see the panes painted with chalkboard paint, the window hanging in a kitchen.
Or maybe next to the bar out in the warehouse with what’s on tap for the day.
Ignoring the cat, who’s still watching me, I pull James’s work gloves from my waistband and slide them on. They’re too big, of course, and no longer warm. But I still feel a little, girlish flutter knowing his big hands occupied this same space a few minutes ago.
Donkey Kong hands, I remind myself with a smile. But it does nothing to diminish the intimacy of wearing his gloves, feeling the worn inside brush against my skin.
“Winchester!” a deep voice bellows from inside. The cat is gone in an orange flash.
I hide the window behind a stack of crates for now and head inside. “Coming, boss . Don’t get your panties in a twist,” I mutter, stepping inside, where it takes my eyes a moment to adjust.
“I don’t wear panties.”
Well, crap.
James stands in the shadows, arms crossed in a way that shows off his impressive chest and arms.
“Did you invite anyone else today?” he demands.
“Be more specific.” I don’t want to tell him that a few women I know from the Ladies Literary and Libation Society are dropping by in a bit with lunch. And to pick up any morsels of gossip they can.
“Wolf Waters just showed up,” James says. “I don’t know if I want him here. His brother has been nothing but trouble.”
“Billy is a piece of work. But Wolf is cool. Just a little … eccentric.”
The Waters family is the oldest, richest, and meanest clan in Sheet Cake.
They still like to think they run the town, and with about a bazillion dollars to buy people off and Billy sitting on city council, they do have sway.
They had even more before the mayor, whose campaign was pretty much paid for by the Waters, up and abdicated his tiny throne.
I know none of them are happy about the Grahams’ plans to renovate Sheet Cake, and they’ve already been doing what they can to block permits and stir up opposition.
James only grunts at this. “And those guys who watch all the high school football practices are here.”
I try to hide my laughter. “You mean the Bobs.”
“Yes, them. They can’t so much as lift a board, so they’re just standing around, telling people what to do.”
“They’re supporting.”
“I’d call it heckling.”
I shrug. “Potato, po-tah-to.”
“So, this is all your doing?”
“If you mean, was I a good employee who found free labor for a big work project, then yes. I may have asked a few select people to come help.”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. Or, one of them, anyway.”
I tilt my chin up, meeting James’s gaze, which is boring into me with the precision cut of a diamond-bit drill. I am undeterred. When I put my fists on my hips, James’s gaze drops to my hands. He must notice his gloves, because his expression shifts. Slight, but some flicker of life. Then it dies.
He turns on his heel and strides back across the warehouse floor, calling over his shoulder. “Like I said last night, check with me before taking it upon yourself to make decisions.”
“Sir, yes, sir. No think but groupthink. Got it, boss.”
I hear snickering and see Chase and Collin standing by—more like hiding behind—a few stacks of wooden pallets, clearly trying to muffle their laughter.
“You two are more entertaining than television,” Collin says, wiping his eyes. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve heard anyone talk to Jamie that way.”
“Jamie?” I ask.
Chase glances around furtively. “The only one who can call him Jamie and not get punched is Harper. I wouldn’t advise it.”
Collin waves dismissively, then gives me a once-over. His grin is quick. “Somehow, I don’t think he’ll be punching Winnie.”
“More working! Less chatter!” James booms from somewhere nearby.
The three of us break into laughter, but we also scurry to do what James asks, dragging pallets and junk out to the big dumpster he rented.
* * *
Around noon, Eula Martin and Lynn Louise show up with homemade sandwiches, sweet tea, and pie procured from Big Mo. I’m not particularly hungry, but I stop long enough to say hello and offer thanks, since I’m not sure James will.
But I’m shocked when I walk over just as he’s saying thank you and offering both older women a hug.
Eula Martin holds onto James a little longer than is appropriate, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing as she says, “My, my, my. I’m not sure why you’re covering up all this with a shirt, but don’t do so on our account, young man. ”
James mutters some kind of response, then takes one of the homemade lunches. His eyes meet mine, and I try to wipe the amusement off my face. Not soon enough, clearly, as he glares.
I can’t win with him. Which means I should probably stop trying.