7. COLE
seven
cole
I tear into my buttered roll, and the effort to chew is greater than it should be.
A fling? Did I seriously suggest Ivy and I have a fling ?
I’ve never propositioned a woman with such a thing, and she was right—it’s totally inappropriate. But why don’t I feel guilty about it? To be shamefully honest, my only frustrations are with the fact that she didn’t say yes.
I’m a gentleman—my mother raised me as such—but Ivy’s not going to be here long enough to properly date her, so I went down the next best path. Besides, there’s no harm in a little fun, especially since she and I have the kind of chemistry only found in nature. It’s that intense. It would be a travesty not to indulge ourselves for the time being.
But it’s been hours since I last spoke to her. I gave her my number, and she hasn’t used it. Did I scare her away?
“Are you listening to me, son?”
I blink over at my father, who sits at the head of the table. “Sir?”
“The Buchanan House.” He grunts as he stabs his fork into my mother’s roast, and a chill races down my spine. This won’t be good . “Why am I not surprised you rolled over and played dead? You might as well have drawn up the paperwork yourself to register that prime piece of property. Oh, for God’s sake—did you do the paperwork? Tell me you didn’t.”
Next to me, Josh freezes with a bite halfway to his mouth.
“You would stab me in the back like that?” Our father drops his fork with a clink, and I wouldn’t be shocked if it chipped my mother’s china.
My little brother shifts like he does when he sits on a pile of rocks by the river. He’s uncomfortable, which can only mean one thing. “Cole had nothing?—”
“I didn’t draw up the paperwork, but I did read it over.” I smooth the napkin over my lap and brace myself for the backlash. It’s better if our father directs his rage toward me than unleash it onto my little brother.
I’m already a disappointment to the great Garrett Rivers, anyway.
He points his finger at me as he talks. I know the stern gesture well. It’s intimidated me—and a few local cops—on many occasions in the past. “You should’ve backed me up when the other guys and I offered those Buchanan kids a lump sum to tear down the house. It wasn’t personal, son.”
I fight a mocking chuckle bubbling in my throat. Instead, I choke it down with a sip of iced tea.
The other guys he’s referring to are his golfing buddies. The town’s pediatrician, prosecutor, and a city counselor—a highly esteemed group. When they slam down the proverbial gavel, their wishes are the town’s command.
That’s what they believe should be the order of things, anyway.
For once, they didn’t get their way with the Buchanan House, and they refuse to let it go.
“The smartest thing for you to have done would’ve been to advise those kids to take the money. They never visit this place anyhow, but instead of doing the logical thing, you plotted against us. That kind of weakness is why you’re here and not still in Charleston.”
“Garrett,” Mom hisses in warning.
“Dad, you can’t be serious.” I push my plate away, my appetite long gone. “You’d rather give them money to tear the place down instead of investing in its preservation? You should be happy to preserve this town’s history, which that property is a big part of.”
“Spare me the emotional crap,” Dad practically spits. “What Sapphire Creek needs is new businesses. Expansion. We need to attract tourists and bring our town more money. Restoring rundown buildings for silly dances is nonsense. We should’ve torn it down and cleared the land to build a plaza. It’s right off the square—a prime location for shoppers.” He waggles his rigid finger around again. “Being stuck in the past is this town’s problem. We should be planning for the future.”
“ Garrett .” Mom glares in his direction, her own plate abandoned. “That’s enough business talk for the dinner table.”
My father angrily swirls the whiskey in his short glass and spills a drop onto his plate in the process.
“Now.” Mom faces me. “I heard there’s a pretty girl in town.”
“Excuse me?” I ask as my blood simmers from Dad’s petty jabs toward me.
“She really is pretty,” Josh finally chimes in, his lips twitching. “Big brother here already has his eye on her.”
“Is that so?” my mother gushes.
“We can’t talk business, but we can gossip like a bunch of women at Mrs. Goodwin’s? For crying out loud.” Dad rolls his eyes.
“You, hush ,” Mom tells him. Then she smiles at me. “What’s she like?”
Her question is innocent, but since it’s my mother, I read between the lines. What she’s really asking is when we’re getting married and giving her grandchildren. The fact that I’m thirty and still without children is blasphemy for her—and this town.
The number of women trying to set me up with their daughters and nieces is enough to fill a book, but no one’s caught my interest. Not like Ivy. But I can’t tell my mom that, especially not since Ivy’s leaving in two weeks, and instead of asking her out on a date, I asked her for a no-strings fling.
I’d give my poor sweet mother a heart attack.
“Mother,” I say, treading carefully as I set my glass down. “I met her twice, and we barely exchanged pleasantries, let alone life plans.”
“Well, that’s not the whole truth?—”
I kick Josh under the table like I used to when we were in high school, and he’d almost out me for a boneheaded thing I did, including the times I snuck in after curfew, took chicks down to the river, and got drunk on Dad’s whiskey.
“It is the truth.” I glare at Josh, then soften my expression. “Want to know the real interesting piece of news? Josh’s new project in New Orleans.”
“Dude…” His mouth hangs open, but I just shrug. I bailed him out with Dad earlier, but my well of generosity is officially dry for the evening.
My mother’s head swivels in his direction. “You’re leaving again? For how long?”
“It’s only for a couple of months.”
“When do you leave?” Dad asks.
“In just under two weeks, but like I said, it’ll be a short project. I’ll come right back afterward.”
My mom gasps like Josh said he’s never coming back. She does this every time he runs off to do his job, and every time, he tries to hide it until the day before he leaves in order to diffuse the bomb, so to speak, for as long as possible.
My dad continues chewing, and I shrug again at my brother when he looks at me with wide, betrayed eyes.
Without lifting his attention to us, my dad pipes up, “Why wait? You should get over there now and start early.”
“Joshy will do no such thing.” Mom reaches over the table to squeeze my brother’s hand as if to keep him in place.
She hates when he leaves Sapphire Creek to assist other towns with securing historical landmark status for their buildings, much like he did for the Buchanan House.
Josh was the one who spearheaded the efforts to convince the great-grandchildren not to sell the property and go the historical route, but divulging such incriminating information to our father would be worse than if a tornado ripped through our house.
I’m actually surprised Garrett Rivers, lawyer extraordinaire, doesn’t already know it was Josh. It would be easy to find out, so clearly, he’s been too preoccupied with throwing his fit to investigate.
Then again, even if he did learn the truth, there’s nothing he can do about it. It’s a done deal, and no matter how much pleasure he finds in scolding me, he knows he’s lost.
We manage to survive the rest of our family dinner, and by the end of dessert, I’m itching for an escape. I don’t even finish my key lime pie before I thank Mom for dinner and stand—I always finish my pie.
But this house feels too crowded now with all of us, plus Dad’s raging tension.
My mother rises too and asks me to follow her into the kitchen. “Take some leftovers. You need more home-cooked meals in your diet. You can’t stick to bar food every day.”
I kiss the side of her head. “Thank you, Mama.”
“And if you ever need me to whip up something for any… special occasion with a… special lady, you let me know.” She angles her head to the side and flashes her expectant expression my way. If it weren’t so adorable, I’d talk her down, but I let her have this.
“You’re very sweet,” I manage through my doubt.
“Bless you.” Mom hands over the Tupperware filled with leftover pot roast, and I exit out the front as quickly as possible, waving to Dad and Joshy on the way.
In my truck, I let out the longest sigh of relief in the history of breathing. My father always knows how to ruin a delicious roast with his Olympic-level hostility.
I’ve just turned the key in the ignition when my phone vibrates. An unknown number flashes across my screen, and instant intrigue courses through my veins.
UNKNOWN
What’s your home address?
Another message follows suit, letting me know it’s Ivy.
Her messages tug a smirk out of me as I type out the information she needs.
And when I pull up to my house, I’m beyond fucking stoked to find her waiting on my front porch.