Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Prescott
Dad’s sitting at a table with his hotter-than-the-surface-of-the-sun coffee when I emerge from my room. “You making something big tomorrow?” he asks.
“Yes, but not here.” Last night, I bought all the groceries for Haven’s birthday cake.
I was tempted to order one from Elodie, but making a homemade cake fits the day better.
Makes it more special. And ordering a birthday cake when we’re not inviting anyone else would only make people question things.
It’s making me question things.
That’s not all that’s running through my head. The messages I woke up to this morning are dominating my thoughts. I sent off the email to the cat supply company I collaborated with the most, and they already replied.
Prescott, we’re so happy to hear that you’re returning to the pet influencing world.
While we’re interested in partnering with you on your rescue and foster animal awareness endeavor, your query came at a fortuitous time.
We’re also interested in working with you on a more permanent basis in our PR department.
If you’d like to discuss the opportunity further, please let us know when we can meet.
We’ll fly you out so you can tour our new Toe Beans facility.
New facility. Fly me out. Permanent.
Everything I wanted dropped into my lap like it was predestined. Because Haven gave me the confidence, I emailed some information with example posts and videos and it happened to be when they were looking for someone like me to be on their staff.
Just like that.
I drag in a lungful of air. I have to figure out what to tell them. My response will determine my future—my very near future—and where I might end up.
Papa cocks a brow and takes a slurping sip. “Whoever it is must have a birthday.”
Here and now. I’ll give myself the weekend. “Yes. I’m going to make dinner and a cake tomorrow. I got everything today because I’m working at Foster House all morning.”
“You getting clients?”
“No, just some gig work.”
He gives me a steady look and takes another drink of his acid-washed coffee. The cloud of steam doesn’t hide his piercing gaze. “Haven Hennessy has a birthday tomorrow.”
Do I pretend to be surprised? There’s one thing Papa has always been with me, and that’s honest. “He does. He also hasn’t really celebrated it.”
“You and him a thing?”
I’m not even a wedding date. Get over it, Prescott . “No.”
“But you’re something?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“You guess? How long you been in town? ”
I met Haven as soon as I entered the city limits almost two months ago.
I used to know by the third date how I stood—do we break it off or keep trying?
I kept trying too much while the guy always gave up.
But Haven and I aren’t dating. We aren’t…
something. The back of my throat hurts. “We’re just living in the moment. ”
He arches a brow again. “’Bout time. You always were worried about tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t worried, Papa. I just wanted someone to spend my tomorrows with.”
“That ain’t Haven.”
I recoil like he’s swatted me across the cheek. “Okay, well, I’ve gotta get to Foster House today, and I’d like to edit a bunch tonight.” Especially if I’m going to be planning meetings with possible sponsors. “You okay for tonight and tomorrow?”
“I did just fine before you whirled into town,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat behind his words. He draws his brows together, and his mustache puffs out. “But when you leave town, I might have to find someone to work a few hours.”
“Oh. What if I stay?—”
“No, Pressie. You go out and live your life. When you’re old and can’t move so good anymore, like me, you find a place to hide and lick your wounds.”
That sounds dismal. “Bootleg is that spot?”
“Sure is. For me. You leave here, and you live like I did. Go where the wind takes you.”
I nod, but I almost shake my head instead. “Some people think it’s being asked to stay that’s really special.”
He only grunts, and it’s like an uppercut to my sternum. Hurt spreads between my ribs, but it’s my fault. Did I expect him to ask me to stay? It’s always been temporary. Here and fucking now.
Yes. I knew the arrangement, and I still got my hopes up.
Just like I’m doing with Haven.
I grab my camera bag and head out. If I was working a wedding, I’d usually be in a dressy black top and black slacks or leggings to fade into the background.
Today, I’m in black athletic shorts that won’t show my crotch if I have to squat in front of anyone, and a loose white top that hopefully won’t show pit stains if I start sweating.
The drive to the distillery helps diminish the lingering hurt that always rises when I talk with Papa. I’m too old for daddy issues. I have one tall, dark, and handsome issue that I’d rather focus on.
By the time I arrive at the distillery, the tension has drained from my shoulders. I have a prospective job. I’d have to move. Which is what I want. But I may also be able to work with them and keep doing my thing. Right here in Huckleberry Springs.
Could I be happy here?
When I enter, Haven’s chatting with Clem at the cashier’s desk. His gaze goes straight to me, and his eyes heat. He’s dressed a little nicer than normal, wearing jeans and a black polo shirt that has a yellow Foster House logo.
“There she is,” he says with a grin.
There is a scenario where I’m happy in a small town.
I’m here to work. I pat my camera bag. “I’m ready to work. Clem, do you get another headshot?”
She holds her hands up like she’s blocking the paparazzi. “I’m not being immortalized. I’m in enough pictures from the tourists, and that’s good enough for me. ”
Haven pushes away from the desk. “I’ll let the others know, and you can boss us all around.”
The next few hours go by in a whirlwind of laughter and the clicking of my camera. I’m going to have hundreds of images to go through, but none of it is going to be hard work. The rich copper and silver of the tanks and stills only highlight how ruggedly handsome all the owners are.
Haven looks at his watch. He’s been doing that a lot today. Does he have a pressing appointment other than my photo shoot?
I’m thinking too hard, but Haven’s at the center of most of my thoughts today. I aim and click at the guys chatting at the base of the stairs. The sun’s high enough to keep from glaring through the windows, and the relaxed way they’re standing will be perfect for their socials.
A tall man with starkly combed dark hair, a blue dress shirt, and black slacks wanders in. “Am I late?”
Cruz smirks. “Just in time to get in on the photo shoot and act like you’ve been working hard the whole time.”
When he grins, the resemblance to Cruz and Lane is clear.
He crosses toward me and sticks his hand out. “Myles Foster. Thanks for helping Foster House update our look.”
I give his hand a quick squeeze. “Thanks for taking a chance on me.”
Myles’s smile is more professionally aloof than his brothers’. “It was a no-brainer after Haven showed us those pictures you took of him. My wife said if we don’t hire you, she’ll do it herself.”
My insides warm. Haven talked about me? Was it just in the capacity of Foster House?
When I glance at Haven, he’s peeking at his watch. My ego shrivels. What did I think he’d be doing? Gazing adoringly at me while I got showered with praise?
“I’m just here to get in the group shot,” Myles says, wandering toward the rest of the guys. “Lane insisted.”
Lane nods and starts for the stills where we’ll do another group shot. “It’s because I love having to answer where you are to everyone. People don’t believe you’re ever here. This is proof.”
All the guys follow Lane. Haven falls back with me. I’m looking too hard into how he’s acting. Thinking about tomorrow—and what I want to come after—is making me uptight.
Haven touches the small of my back and drains half the stress in my body. “Where do you want us, Red?”
We haven’t been around a lot of people together. Do they know he calls me Red? My face gets hot. If they do, they don’t know why.
I arrange all the owners, and it doesn’t take much to get billboard-worthy images. “Okay. That’s it.”
I loosen the harness and let my camera arm go slack. It’s been years since I worked this long. My shoulders are sore, and my cheeks ache from laughing. And with the way Haven’s heading toward me, I feel like part of the crew.
“Was it like the old days?” he asks.
“More fun, actually. You guys don’t fight like married couples.”
“No, we do. We wrestle sometimes too.”
“Then I’ll have to tell you about the headlock a wife put her husband in.”
He laughs, and we draw attention, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “I can’t wait to hear about it. You heading to Bootleg? ”
I shake my head. “I told Papa that I needed to bond with my computer tonight and edit.”
He nods, but I can’t read his expression. “See you tomorrow, then?”
“If you’re still up for it.”
“I am. Let yourself in. The house will be open.”
The smile tugging at me is almost triumphant. This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten free access to his place, and I don’t take it lightly. My mind might be seeing more than he’s presenting, but what if? What if it means he’s willing to let me into more than his home?
Haven
I hold the pepperoni pizza in one arm while I walk up to the door of the place my mom rents. The square brick building is an old house that was converted into apartments. Probably by the landlord who supposedly keeps raising Mom’s rent.
I knock and wait.
Thirty seconds later, I knock again.
The warmth of the box seeps into my arm.
My stomach cramps, but it’s not from hunger.
More from the stress I’ve carried all day.
I couldn’t enjoy the session with Prescott as much as I wanted.
She was in her element. The only thing missing was some kittens or a puppy or two.
She couldn’t talk to us in the same cooing voice she does with our little wildflowers.
Ours .