Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
WELLS
The next day, Wells walked into his parents’ garage.
He’d put this off long enough.
“Hey, Pop,” Wells said with a wincing smile.
The scent of motor oil was heavy in the air. It smelled a lot like the pit of dread in his stomach felt—tangy, sharp, specific to his own misery.
“Hey, kid,” Pop called, busy fiddling with something on the workbench. Pop wore a white work shirt, with his sleeves rolled up. He’d always been elegant. A dapper gentleman, even though he’d lived his life in a diner.
“Need some help?” Wells asked, hoping to ingratiate himself after having fucked everything up so royally.
“I got it. This old mower was giving us trouble at the end of the summer, and the next one’ll be here before you know it,” Pop said, peering over glasses with a second set of magnification over the top.
“Got a minute?” Wells said, drumming his fingers.
“Got all the time in the world for you,” Pop said, still noodling with a screw.
“I wanted to, um.” Wells cleared his throat. “I wanted to say sorry for, well, um, for messing everything up.”
“Ah.” Pop took off his comically large magnifying lenses and clicked off the light.
It all spilled out at once. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry that it all went sideways. I know the diner meant a lot—means a lot to you.” He corrected himself. “It’s your family.”
Wells had plenty of experience groveling after crazy ideas got out of hand.
The senior prank where two trucks full of muffins had been delivered onto their principal’s porch, which then created a wild goat problem in Fairwick Falls for two months.
The time he’d opened a lemonade stand as a kid and created a run on sugar at the grocery store.
And then there was always the big mistake, the one he didn’t like to think about—the woman whom he’d pulled out all the stops for. Who’d broken his heart so thoroughly that he hadn’t even been sure he had one afterwards.
“I wanted to let you know I’m not giving up. I’m going to fix this until it’s all back to normal, right as rain,” Wells said, making eye contact with the small but beloved man in front of him. “I want to continue what you’ve built. Maybe try to make it even better.”
Pop ran a hand down his face in frustration, and Wells wondered if he’d picked up the gesture from him somewhere over the years.
“You always told me as a kid you wanted to be back there with me cooking.” Pop smiled fondly, reminiscing.
“You and your mom and Olivia would come in, and you were always done with your homework early. Smart boy.” Pop nodded proudly.
“And I’d distract you so your mom could help Olivia and you wouldn’t drive her nuts.
” He laughed, shaking his head as he shuffled through tools on the workbench.
Wells smiled back, so full of love for this man.
“I have very fond memories of spinning in circles on those stools at the counter in the back.” He’d spent hours talking Pop’s ears off about his school and his friends, asking questions about how things worked at the diner.
Pop had patiently answered his questions as he’d multitasked in the diner, never chastising or ignoring him like other grown-ups.
Something still tugged at Wells. The conversation at the hospital. How devastated Pop had looked.
Wells cleared his throat. “Just wanted to make sure we were good.”
A hearty, loving slap on Wells’s back echoed through him as Pop toddled back to the worktable.
“If this little adventure is the price I pay for being loved by you and your mom and Olivia, well, then I’m a pretty damn lucky man,” Pop said with a slow smile as he gingerly sat on the stool with a groan. “I know you’ll fix it.”
Pop’s warm, lopsided smile clutched at something in Wells’s throat. “How?” Wells said, shaking his head in wonder. “How are you not disappointed? Or angry at me?”
“Oh.” Pop laughed, scratching his head. “I was all those things when I saw the diner go to waste. Mostly at myself.” He nodded up toward the house.
“But I realized it was all worth it. You can’t put your heart out there and then get mad when it’s bruised a little,” he said, staring daggers into Wells.
“A family like this is all I’ve ever wanted.
And the fact that I get to see your mom every day, tell her how beautiful she is, sneak a kiss or two, and call you and Olivia my own family like I always wanted to—I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, risk everything I had for this kind of happiness. ”
Wells stared, nodding silently as he played with a screw on the worktable, several puzzle pieces clicking into place.
“My soccer team in third grade,” Wells said, a lump catching in his throat. “You, um.” He cleared his throat. “You didn’t decide to try coaching soccer that year for fun, did you?”
His dad had promised to be more involved the year after his parents had gotten divorced. He’d signed up to coach Wells’s team. But then, July had come, and his father still hadn’t moved back to Fairwick Falls.
“Didn’t know a damn thing about the sport,” Pop said, laughing, his eyes twinkling. “I thought if I was going to sponsor a team anyway, might as well make sure they scored some home runs.”
“Goals,” Wells corrected, smiling.
“Yeah, that.” Pop chuckled at himself. “Your mom was all torn up about it, and she and I talked one day at the diner. She was so busy she couldn’t step in for your dad, and all the other kids would have been so disappointed.
Their parents were busy too. So, I thought, what the heck?
Selfishly, it gave me more of a chance to see her.
I loved seeing you out there being the natural bossy leader you’ve always been,” he said with a laugh.
“The one thing you always had going for you, kid, is that your heart’s always been in the right place.
” He reached up and tapped the center of Wells’s chest hard.
Ow.
He peered over his magnified cheaters. “But maybe, just maybe, you don’t always know best.”
Wells nodded, taking his life lesson with a gift of not arguing back.
“Now,” Pop said, shooing him. “You can pay me back for my magnanimous attitude by making dinner.”
Wells smiled. “Magnanimous?”
“Your mom’s got us one of those word of the day apps. Supposed to keep us sharp.” Pop chuckled.
“What’s today’s word?” Wells asked, his hand on the doorknob.
“Sanguinity,” Pop called as he peered over his nose at the lawnmower part.
“Cheerful optimism and confidence,” Wells answered back, his heart so full.
“Particularly,” Pop said, peering over the top of his glasses at Wells, “in difficult situations. You know how I like my steak cooked,” he called, going back to his lawnmower.
God, Wells thought, opening the door back into the February chill. I hope I’m half as good a father as Pop is.
A week later, a moody mist surrounded Wells’s new house as movers carried boxes and furniture in from their large van. He half expected a werewolf—or hell, that Darcy guy—to storm through the mist.
What he hadn’t expected, however, was the incredibly livid future mother of his child storming over to him, swirling up mist with each stomp of her long legs.
He’d planned to bring her flowers, explain the whole thing rationally as her now-landlord.
“Why are they moving your things into the house?” she shouted at him across the gravel as her footsteps grew closer.
“Hi, neighbor,” he said with a smile, trying to cover up the nerves he felt.
“This cannot be happening.”
“Isn’t this perfect?” He shrugged, gesturing at the house behind him. “I’m your landlord now.”
“No,” she said, a horror-stricken look on her face.
He was completely baffled. “Why? This will be amazing.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me about this?” She looked at him, bewildered.
“Why would I need to talk to you about where I live?”
She smacked his arm. “Because the man trying to put a baby in me on Wednesday is going to be my landlord.”
“Which means your rent won’t be raised. You and our child will not be kicked out. Nowhere in our contract did it say I needed to get approval from you on what house I bought, and this is all easier on you now. I thought you’d be happy.”
She crossed her arms and bit her lip, steam practically rolling off her head. Maybe literally rolling off her head, if the dim light was correct.
“It’s weird, okay? We’re sleep—” She cut herself off as two movers carried a couch between them.
“We’re fucking?” he offered loudly, smiling, as another set of movers carried a table between them.
She closed her eyes in anger and then yanked him by his sweater over to one side. “I just wish you would have talked to me about this.”
“Mmm, shocker. You’re not in control and you don’t like it, do you?” he said with a knowing smirk.
“I thought you were going to stay at the apartment behind the diner.”
“No room for a nursery. Come on, let me show you what I have planned.”
They wandered through the house, maneuvering around boxes set to the side and movers using power tools to reassemble his furniture.
“I thought this house would be perfect. It’s only one level—no stairs for a kid to fall down. And look, this room will be the nursery. Lots of morning light.” He gestured out the window that overlooked the backyard.
She slowly walked in, taking it in.
“A big yard to run and play in. And then the best part is, whenever it’s your turn, the kid walks across the yard.” He shrugged, pleased with himself. “I’m a genius.”
She stared at him, brows furrowed in an adorable glower but saying nothing.
“Admit it.” He knew that look already; he’d won. “This is genius,” he said, taunting her.
She blew out a breath. “I mean, it’s convenient, I guess.”
“You love your cottage, right?”
“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “Why? Are you thinking of flattening it to make a special garage for your precious sports car?”
“Allison, I am a nice person,” he said, mirroring her crossed arms and widening his stance.