Chapter 2 #2
“Right. Yeah. I’m not sure why I’m making such a big deal about your silly little panic attacks and concussion.” Webb huffed out a breath like he was trying to remember where he’d put his patience. “Have you slept a full night yet?”
I set my jaw. No, I had not. Yet. But that was only because things were still so up in the air.
Obviously, I understood my brother’s concern.
Dr. Travers said my panic attacks were probably triggered by my “stressful environment”—the bustling city, the constant work and too little sleep—which meant sleep was a priority, but every medication and supplement I’d tried left me groggy.
Sometimes I felt like I was locked in a delightful little catch-22, where sleeplessness amped up my anxiety, and my anxiety made it difficult to sleep.
But I also wasn’t going to say that, because then Webb would ask how often I had telehealth visits with Dr. Travers, and whether I’d been honest with the doctor about my sleep issues, and he probably wouldn’t understand if I explained that I was handling things just fine.
“Never mind,” Webb said. “I’m not trying to pick a fight.
I’m just saying, I know it’s hard leaving your work and your routine behind, selling your condo and all that.
I guess there’s a kind of…” He hesitated, then forced himself to go on.
“…a kind of grief to it, isn’t there? Even if you know it’s for the best?
Like when Amanda and I split.” He cleared his throat and studied the shiplap.
“All of which is to say, I get it’s not easy, but I’m damn glad to have you back for good. We missed you.”
I fought the urge to squirm. I was confident I’d never said I was back for good.
Yes, I’d maybe suggested it, but only because that had seemed like the easiest way to get around Webb’s pride so I could take over the books and give Sunday Orchard an infusion of cash from my savings while I was taking the mental health sabbatical my bosses at Bormon Klein Jacovic had politely but firmly suggested for me.
But I hadn’t actually promised them anything.
And also, sweet, tiny baby Jesus, preserve me from Webb Sunday when his affable farmer facade cracked and his genuine, deep emotions started peeking through because I was a sucker for it.
“Missed you, too,” I admitted.
“And I’m not saying that because you’ve been a lifesaver with the financial stuff—though, you know, just to reiterate, you paying for Porter’s school and putting aside the money for Em’s was more than anyone expected.
I don’t know why the hell you felt like, on top of all that, you should sell off investments so you could ‘buy in’ to Sunday Orchard when you moved home.
The land and the legacy belong to all of us, no matter whose name is on the deed.
And the only reason we were in debt at all was because of me and my divorce—”
“Webb,” I warned. “Drop it.”
“I know you don’t wanna talk about it. Neither do I. But we did need the money, and I do appreciate it,” he admitted. “And I appreciate you taking over the books, since fuck knows when Drew would’ve been able to get out there to sort through that tower of receipts with his ankle all fucked up.”
“It’s not a big deal. Although, honest to Christ, I’ve never seen such a chaotic pile of paper. There’s stuff from 1995 mixed with stuff from this April. Anyway.” I squirmed. “Can we be done now?”
But Webb wasn’t finished. “Even more than I want your help with the books, I want you to be happy, Knox. All the way happy. I’ve been reading up on panic attacks—”
“No.” I shook my head. “Nope. Seriously, Webb—"
“—and there are a lot of relaxation and breathing techniques, and I know you know them, but taking care of your overall physical and mental health is an incredibly important component. And a part of that, I think, is just… getting out a little. Making friends. Having fun. Having a purpose. And maybe… love.”
“Oh. Dear. God.” I lifted an eyebrow. “You look at me and think, ‘There’s a man starving for romance,’ do you?
No, thanks. You remember what happened to Dad after Mom died, right?
And how Dad and Porter and Hawk and Em just fell to pieces when Cara walked out?
And how Amanda tried to take you for a ride?
Romantic love is like a whirlpool, Webb.
It doesn’t just hurt the people involved, it sucks everyone around them into the vortex of bullshit, too. ”
Webb flushed a bit. “Not love, then, but… companionship. A relationship. Sexual intimacy. Whatever you wanna call it.”
“Fucking?” I suggested, as saccharine-sweet as Goodman ever had been.
I’d been trying to make Webb uncomfortable, but thinking of Goodman and fucking at the same time backfired wildly on me. Suddenly that was all I could think about, and I had to grab my water and chug a little.
Goodman was an employee.
He was a child.
He was a pain in the ass.
He was…
“Permanence,” Webb corrected firmly. “A home.”
I nearly choked on my water. I did not want to have a conversation about making a permanent home in Little Pippin Hollow. I didn’t want to lie.
“Look, I do not need you to find me a date, Webb Sunday. So you take all those well-intentioned matchmaking instincts of yours, fold them up really tiny, and then crush them under your big fucking boot heel like one of those beetles you pick off the apple trees. If I wanted a date, I could get one. I wasn’t living like a monk in Boston.
I had many a hookup. Plenty of friends with benefits when I needed to scratch an itch, too. And I like it that way.”
“But—”
I held up a hand. “And if I ever felt a need to make something permanent…” I blinked, trying to envision such a scenario.
“Well, first I’d take my temperature. Then, I’d google ‘Have I been brainwashed question mark.’ Then, if after reading six WebMD articles about how eating too much kale can mimic the effects of brainwashing, I was still convinced that the urge didn’t stem from a disease but from a genuine desire, I’d pick from one of the people I’ve already fucked—a man or woman who’s sexually compatible and understands what I can and cannot offer.
But under no circumstances—and this is crucial, Webb, so please hear me—under no circumstances would I ask my brother to be the Lumberjack Yenta of Little Pippin Hollow and make me a match. Do you understand?”
Webb sighed. “You’re annoying.”
“That doesn’t sound like agreement.”
“Doesn’t it? Hmm. Anyway, I was also thinking that taking care of the orchard’s finances isn’t gonna be a full-time job for you,” Webb went on—correctly, because he wasn’t an idiot. “It’s probably disorienting to go from being a high-powered… financial person—”
“Investment auditor?” I supplied, amused.
“Exactly… To being your family’s bookkeeper.”
That was the damn truth.
“But people around here invest in shit, too,” he went on. “And Drew can take the bookkeeping back once he’s healed, especially if we move stuff online—”
“Good luck with that,” I murmured. “I offered to tutor Drew on the software myself, and he won’t hear of it. I guess he enjoys toiling over his ledgers with his feather quill by the light of a single candle.”
Webb snickered. “He’s not that bad. But my point is, once you’ve caught up on the backlog, you’ll have time to do other stuff. Maybe open some kind of financial consulting place here?”
I shook my head. Everything in me flinched at the idea. It would be like serving myself a steaming plate of failure. It would be shrinking my life down to meaninglessness. My job was who I was. “Let’s just see how things go, okay?”
In other words, let’s see how fast Drew got better, and how fast I got better, and how quickly I could escape back to the city.
He coughed. “In the meantime, maybe you could help us set up retirement accounts for our employees? Gage mentioned the idea offhandedly the other day. I thought—”
“Of course it was his idea,” I said flatly. I finally flipped open the menu, though I couldn’t make myself concentrate on the words.
Webb threw up his hands. “I don’t get why you dislike him. It’s… there’s no logic to it, Knox. He’s a nice guy. A really nice guy.”
“I don’t dislike him… exactly. He’s just annoying.
He’s got a brain like a demented chipmunk, and he chirps at me constantly.
No one should be that cheerful. I lived alone for a long time, you know?
And now he’s… in my space.” Wearing nothing but ramen-printed boxer shorts slung low over his hips as he walked through the living room on his way to the bathroom in the mornings, so I could almost feel the warmth and sleepiness coming off him.
I cleared my throat. “And? Not to be Debbie Downer, but he’s fucking expensive, too.
My buy-in money paid off all the orchard’s debts, and you’ll be turning a decent profit, but if you want to do those irrigation updates and regrade the roads up to the back of the property, you can’t go crazy. ”
“But the updates Gage is doing will improve yields and save money in the long term,” Webb interrupted.
“No, I know, but—”
“I look at Gage and see someone young and ambitious, just like you were. His professors say he’s smart and reliable, he just needs room to run.
I like him, Knox. He fits. He brings an energy to the place—or at least he does when you’re not side-eyeing him and putting him down.
Give the guy a chance, would you? Just… be friendly.
The last thing I want is for him to walk out before he finishes the work because you’re being an asshole. That would be expensive.”
“Yeah.” I rolled my lips together. “You’re right.”
“I’m not saying you have to be besties.” He snorted. “I mean, he’s half your age.”
“Right.”
“He’s almost the same age as Porter.”
“Yep.”
“Your driver’s license is older than this guy.” Webb snickered. “You probably lost your virginity before he even—”
“Yes! Yes, thank you, Webb, I’m aware of how ages work.”