Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Beckett
On Monday morning, I look up from my laptop when Caiden Donnelly crosses the terrace in dusty work boots with an enormous thermos in his hand.
I haven’t seen him in years, but I’d know him anywhere. He still has the same swagger and cocky grin that I remember from our youth.
I set my laptop aside and stand to greet him. We exchange a bro hug, and he gives me an extra hard slap on the back. I return the favor by thumping his back with my closed fist.
“Still a competitive asshole, I see,” he says.
“Some things never change.”
He flips his ballcap backward and looks me up and down. “You look like one of those rich city assholes.”
“You look exactly like the punk I grew up with.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says. “But damn it’s good to see you. When did you get so fucking tall?”
Caiden was always a lot taller than me, but I’ve got a good three inches on him now.
“You obviously peaked at thirteen.”
“Nah, I peaked in high school.”
I nod knowingly. “You’re one of those guys.”
“Still talking about the glory days,” he jokes as his gaze sweeps over the vineyard. “Man, I’ve missed this place.” He sounds wistful. “Feels like old times being back here, hanging out with you again.”
I eye his thermos. “I don’t remember you drinking that much coffee when we were kids.”
“Fits a whole pot,” he brags. “My neighbor’s kid gave it to me for Father’s Day.”
“Just how close are you and the neighbor?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, man. Nothing going on there. He’s twelve and his mom thinks he needs a male role model. Whenever I try to impart some wisdom, he looks at me and goes, ‘Bruh, it’s not that deep,’” he says, mimicking a twelve-year-old. “You know what the kids do now?”
“No idea,” I say.
“Maybe it’s just boys, I don’t know. But he walks around like he’s Frankenstein’s monster because, get this…” Caiden holds up his hand and takes a dramatic pause like he’s about to tell me something groundbreaking. “He doesn’t want to crease his sneakers. Can you believe that shit?”
He looks so outraged that I can’t help but laugh. “Guess they need to be box fresh these days.”
“Yeah. Apparently, creases in your new kicks are not cool.”
“You learn something new every day.”
“I feel like it was the opposite with us. If your sneakers were squeaky clean, you weren’t really living,” he says. “Twelve was a good age though.”
I nod. “We had some good times.”
In my memory, the sun was always shining, summers were always warm and dry, and the days were long with freedom and adventure beckoning from every acre of this land.
Thirteen was when everything fell apart, and by the time I turned fourteen, my life was unrecognizable.
Gone were the carefree days with my friends when I was king of the world and never got harassed or bullied.
In its place was a stint at a boarding school where a group of older boys used me as their punching bag followed by the lost years in San Jose when my grandmother wore her grief like a shroud.
“Damn,” Caiden says, and I don’t even have to follow his gaze to know what he’s gawking at. “Is that little Daisy? She’s all grown up now.”
It’s “little Daisy” alright, working farther up one of the rows with the vineyard crew.
I still can’t erase the image of Daisy in that hot tub last night—the swell of her breasts spilling out of a hot pink lacy bra and those baby-blue boy shorts that shouldn’t have been the least bit sexy, but spoiler alert: they were.
It didn’t help that she was talking about ripped panties or that I kept imagining my hands ripping them off her body.
I have no idea how much of her story was true but if there was even an ounce of truth in it, I’d love to know what kind of guys she dates that sex would hurt, and not in the sexy way .
Even after I steered the conversation away from ripped panties and sex, and went on the attack, I was still hard.
Which only goes to show how low I’ve sunk and how much she messes with my head—both of them.
Today her hair is pulled up in a haphazard ponytail with rebellious locks framing her face. The hem of her faded black Led Zeppelin T-shirt skims the frayed edges of her tiny cut-offs, and my gaze roams down her slender, toned legs to the chunky Doc Martens work boots on her feet and back up.
Even in profile, her face is damn near perfect with a small, straight nose, high cheekbones and those damn lips. Bee-stung and rose-tinted.
As if she feels the weight of our collective gaze, she turns to face us and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, eyes squinted against the morning sun.
After a moment’s hesitation, she gives us a smile and a little wave, which Caiden returns with a big-ass cheery wave.
Daisy takes a step in our direction, as if she’s going to join us, but has a change of heart. With a little shake of her head, she gets back to work, thinning the vines and tossing the discarded grape clusters into the center of the row.
I remember showing Daisy how to thin vines when she was a little kid, when her hands were still too small to do it one-handed.
She would tire of the chore quickly but follow me up and down the rows keeping up an endless stream of chatter to entertain me.
Now she’s wielding the secateurs like an old pro, methodically working her way up the row.
Meanwhile, Caiden and I are two grown-ass men just standing on the terrace doing jack shit while we ogle Daisy.
Like two cavemen who have never set eyes on a woman before.
“Well, hot damn,” Caiden says under his breath when she disappears up another row. “And you’re living under the same roof, huh?” His green eyes glint with amusement. “I remember when she was just a cute little kid following us around. She wanted to do everything we did. Remember when we got quad bikes and she kept begging for a ride? She’d chase us up and down the dirt trails until we finally gave in. We could never say no to her.”
He gives me the side-eye. “Looks like things haven’t changed much.”
Not sure where he came up with that based on a brief glimpse of Daisy, but as far as I’m concerned, everything has changed.
“I have no problem saying no to Daisy now.”
“Can’t wait to see how long that lasts.” He laughs like he’s in on a private joke as he digs his phone out of his pocket and checks his messages.
“My guys have just turned up,” he says all business now. “Looks like the weather is going to be warm and dry this week, so we’ll get started on the roof. I’ll have a better view of Daisy from up there too,” he says with a smirk.
“Perv,” I mutter.
“It’s sure to be the best view in the house,” he gloats as he waltzes away. “I’m thinking this job is going to take a lot longer than I expected.”
“I hope you fall off the fucking roof,” I call after him, and hear him chuckling as he rounds the side of the house.
Feels just like old times when we used to give each other shit and laugh for no good reason.