Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
I’M NOT CUTTING HER GRASS.
Griffin
“Helloooo? Is anyone home?” Nan bellows from the front door.
I round the hallway from the kitchen and find her standing in the foyer. “Sure, just let yourself in.”
“I practically own this town, boy,” she states with her hands on her hips and a scowl etched in her features.
I move to stand directly in front of her. She’s a tiny thing, but she’s got a lot of fire in her. Doesn’t matter though, because I tower over her. “But I own this property.”
“Oh, Mr. Grumpy Griffin,” she says in a mocking tone, with my chin between her fingers. “Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?”
Releasing an audible groan, I brush off Nan’s stupid nickname—which she’s been calling me for years—and walk back into my kitchen to pour myself a glass of ice-cold water.
Not that anyone in particular has pissed me off today. The bar I own here in town is just pure madness this week. We’re short on supplies, and our trucks have been so late with the last couple of deliveries to this town in the middle of nowhere.
Well, that’s a stretch .
It might feel like we’re in the middle of nowhere, but we sure as hell get plenty of people passing through on a detour the moment they take one look at the crystal blue waters of the lake. Most see it while they’re in the middle of a long road trip and decide this is where they want to stop for the night. I’m pretty sure the white Mercedes Benz I saw returning from the ranch earlier was someone passing through.
At least, I hope it was.
Taking one look at her, even if it was for just a few seconds, I knew she didn’t belong here.
I knew she was from the city.
And I can’t stand city people.
I’d rather have a secluded life. I prefer a quiet life with no one in my business. But I can’t complain too much because they keep my bar up and running.
I lack patience for people who want to stay longer and destroy this place I call home with their piece of shit city attitudes and acting like they’re better than everyone. I’m too old for the bullshit.
I finally reach my covered porch with glass in hand and swing the door open. I never know if I should call it the front porch or the back porch because it’s all the same to me. It wraps around three sides of my house, with the front door tucked away on the right, covered by greenery.
The entire house is nestled away, just the way I fucking like it.
I’m the farthest house on the outskirts of town. If I walked a mile through the woods, I would cross the Bluestone Lakes border and into the next town.
“What are you even doing here?” I ask Nan, taking a seat on the rocking chair overlooking the lake on the porch. I realize there is no car in my driveway. “Did you walk here, you crazy woman?”
And that’s not an exaggeration.
Nan is the craziest lady I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. I might have called her Nan, but she’s no one’s Nan. She just makes everyone call her that. And she doesn’t own the town, contrary to what she says.
Do you know who owns the town?
My parents.
I want to gag thinking about it. My dad’s been the mayor of this place since before I was born. No one in town is crazy enough to go up against him in an election, either. Eventually, we just stopped having them. It’s a small part of the reason I’m a grumpy bastard.
Among many other things.
They spent most of my childhood building this town into what it is. My dad now runs everything from the fire department to the police station to the zoning and planning board. While I love this town and will never leave, I resent it to an extent because it took away a piece of my younger years. Growing up the older brother of two sisters also led to constant aggravation. The only people I had were Poppy and Lily, until our cousin, Tucker, moved here for reasons he doesn’t like to discuss.
I mean, I know why, but it’s his story to tell.
Now, he’s more like a younger brother to me.
Let’s not forget the horrific work schedule I put on myself.
Since my patience is as thin as the ice on Bluestone Lake when it’s barely below freezing temperatures, I can’t stand the evening crowd at my bar.
Seven Stools—named after the seven original bar stools I painstakingly sanded and varnished—is my pride and joy. I built the bar from the ground up when I turned twenty-three. And it’s turned out to be a really successful bar now that I’m older and wiser at thirty.
It’s a place that’s all mine and nothing of my parents.
They didn’t want me to open the bar.
All the more reason to open it .
So, I signed myself up for a lifetime of working the lunch shift. Seven days a week. Because I would rather be miserable working seven days a week than work even one night shift with that crowd.
Hard. Pass.
My only issue is that it takes time away from the ranch. I’ve hired enough help to keep the horses fed and the acres of property from falling into disarray, but I hate not being able to spend as much time as I would like there. Owning Barlow Ranch and running a bar isn’t for the weak, but the ranch was a gift from my parents. It’s the only gift worth keeping because it’s my serenity. I don’t look at it as if it’s work . I look at it as my escape. But the constant juggle between the two, the struggle to find a balance, is a challenge I face every day.
“I hold that title with pride, Griff,” Nan finally replies, taking a seat next to me with a cold beer in her hand. “But I didn’t walk here. I dropped off the new owner of your old home,” she says before taking a swig from the bottle.
I narrow my eyes. “Did you carry her piggyback style down the dirt road?”
“Okay, Mr. Semantics. She drove me . I guided her where to go. Happy now?”
“No. Never.”
“And that’s why I call you Grumpy Griffin. Anyway,” she continues with a grin, “she’s here, and she’s a lovely one.”
Excellent .
I don’t have the patience for this.
“I’m not cutting her grass,” I state.
“Who said you have to do anything for her?” Nan laughs, and I don’t miss the crinkle that forms around her eyes when she does.
“So, what’s she here for?”
Nan rolls her eyes. “I just told you, she moved here. Clean your ears, boy.”
Now it’s my turn to mimic her. “I get that, but why here?”
She shrugs. “Hell if I know. I didn’t ask too many questions. But I asked if she was a felon. She said no.” She shrugs before taking another sip of her beer.
“Anyone can tell you no and still be a felon.”
“I went clearly off of vibes,” she says, bringing her hand up the side of her like she’s meditating.
“And hold on, rewind for a second . You didn’t ask too many questions? Do I need to drive you to the hospital?”
“Fine. I’ll tell you why she’s here.” She points a scolding finger in my direction. “But only because I don’t want to sit in the car with your grumpy ass for over an hour to get to the nearest hospital.”
“I’d get us there in fifty-five minutes,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Do you want to know or not?”
“Proceed.”
“She’s here to start a new life.”
My head falls back on the rocking chair, and I avert my gaze from Nan to the lake in my backyard. Do you know what’s worse than someone taking away the quiet on my road? One who claims she wants a new beginning. One who’s running from her so-called “hard life” to start over here. My last encounter with a female who wanted to start a new life was here in town. And she left me.
Did she do the same to someone back home?
I shake the thoughts from my head because I don’t give a damn.
“This should be loads of fun,” I say sarcastically.
“You’re right, it should be,” Nan confirms, not picking up on my tone. “And like I said, she seems like a lovely girl. So don’t go scaring her away with all that negative energy you have floating around you. I’m going to get sick just sitting here with you.”
My eyebrows furrow.
This woman really is certifiably insane.
I stand from the chair. “I’m heading to the bar for the lunch shift. Need a ride or not? ”
“Well, since you asked so nicely.”
With that, I move inside to grab the Chevy keys and head out the door. Right before I hop into my truck, I catch a glimpse of the tiny home out of the corner of my eye. My tiny home I’ve kept up all these years and was waiting for the right moment to put it on the market. A home that I love more than anything.
And that’s when I see it.
A white Mercedes Benz in the driveway.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Not only is this woman moving onto my street and taking over my space, but she screams City Girl . And I’m normally not one to make assumptions based on the few seconds I glared at her as I was driving by, but there’s no way she isn’t from some big hub somewhere with how she’s dressed.
“Some car, huh?” Nan says next to me on the top step. “That thing is going to be wrecked in a few days from these roads.”
I don’t answer her as she continues to descend the steps one at a time.
What I want to do is scream.
“Yeah,” I finally answer, grinding my molars together. “Some car.”
“It’s not loud if that’s what’s got you all worked up,” Nan says.
“I’m not worked up.”
“You are, boy.”
I roll my eyes and follow her down the stairs toward my truck.
Ready to get the hell away from one of the few places I’ve been able to find solitude.
Just that thought alone fills me with disappointment.
Guess I’ll be spending a lot more time at Barlow Ranch.