6. Chapter 6
Chapter six
Jonathan
T he sun was just beginning to dip below the Wenatchee Mountains to the west of Leavenworth as Jonathan walked up the crooked steps to The Rooftop Tavern. The warm orange glow of the sunset followed him inside as he scanned the place, spotting his friends sitting in their usual spot just off the bar rail.
“Hey, Jonathan.” Miguel beckoned with one hand while the other draped casually around the back of his wife’s chair. “We saved you a seat. There’s another pitcher of Alpenhaze coming.”
“Thanks, guys. I could use a beer, busy day. Looks like it’ll be the trend for the summer too.” Jonathan made his way around the table and plopped into his seat. He grabbed the nearly empty pitcher and poured the remaining dregs into a clean pint glass. Turning to his right, he tugged playfully on his sister’s braid. “How was the river today?”
Frankie smiled and swatted at her brother’s hand. “It was great. I led a group of elementary teachers visiting from Olympia down some challenging runs. They did surprisingly well and followed directions to a T.”
He swallowed another mouthful of room-temperature beer, nodding. “It makes for a better day when you have a good group.”
“Plus, with the heavy rain lately, the rapids have been raging . It was so exciting! There were a few spots where I thought for sure we were gonna flip, but then we . . .” Frankie trailed off, clocking expressions of warning from around the table .
It had been four years since Jonathan’s wife, Cynthia, died in the rafting accident, and yet his friends still avoided any topic that could be traced back to her. That first year, the concern had been appreciated—he was an absolute wreck—but it was starting to get old. He reassured them constantly and managed to get the business back in the black. Hell, he even made sure they saw him on casual dates. How else was he supposed to convince them that he’d moved on?
Maybe don’t panic anytime Janet suggests I lead a rafting trip?
“Oh, uh, sorry. Shit.” Frankie stammered as a flush crept up her neck and onto her cheeks. She nervously twisted the end of her braid—honey blonde, a few shades lighter than his hair—and stared down at her beer. “You know I have foot-in-mouth disease. I’m really sorry—”
Jonathan set down his glass and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.
“Stop. You’re fine. We make over half of our revenue from white water. I’m ok talking about the conditions and how the runs go. I realize all of you are just trying to look out for me, but I really am ok. Better than ok, I’m great. You guys gotta give it a rest, ok?”
“Say ‘ok’ one more time, and we’ll believe you,” Zac murmured from the other side of Frankie.
“ Zac ,” Miguel cautioned under his breath.
“We just worry.” Frankie’s brows drew together, unease etched on her face.
Jonathan appreciated her trying to help him deal with the fallout of Cynthia’s death, but it wasn’t her responsibility. It was his to deal with on his own. Millers handle their own messes, keeping their chin up and shoulders back in the process. He didn’t need his kid sister to fix him.
I don’t need to be fixed, period .
The group sat awkwardly silent for a minute.
“So? Did you guys get the baby shower invitations yet?” a very pregnant Kristen asked the group, thankfully changing the subject. Miguel reached out and took her hand, smiling down at his wife’s enormous belly then back up to her face. The love was so apparent in his googly-eyed expression. The man had it bad.
Jonathan ignored the envy that crept up his chest.
“I did,” Frankie piped up. Zac and Jonathan nodded. “Have you guys settled on a name yet?”
“The front runner is Charles, after my dad, but we still have time to see what sticks,” Miguel said. The group responded with various approving comments.
“Charles, I like it.” Jonathan continued, “I’d call him Chuck, of course. Gotta have a nickname.”
“We like Charlie as a nickname.” Kristen smiled at Miguel, who lazily drew circles over her bump.
“Yeah . . . Charlie is good . . .” Jonathan grinned cheesily. “But he’d be Chuck to me, and I could teach him the Name Game.”
“Jonathaaaan . . .” His sister shook her head, giving a half-hearted warning.
“You know . . . Chuck Chuck Bo Buck . . .” Jonathan sang.
“Don’t . . .” Frankie implored, hand reaching up to rub her forehead.
“Banana, Fanna, Fo, Fu—”
“We get it!” Miguel blurted, cutting off his friend.
“Come on, Jon . . .” Frankie groaned.
Pleased with himself, Jonathan picked up his beer and relaxed back into his chair. Frankie—most people, actually—regularly accused him of being too corny, but he couldn’t help it. He came by it honestly. Their father had been crowned the king of dad jokes, eliciting daily groans from the Miller women and anyone else who happened to be within earshot. Jonathan, on the other hand, ate it up, even when he was in that awkward, parent-resenting teenage phase. He and his dad would huddle together at the dinner table and try to concoct the most ridiculous puns and one-liners, and then roar with laughter when everyone else just rolled their eyes. Jonathan’s heart swelled at the memory.
I miss my dad.
“Explain something to me,” Zac chuckled, shaking his head in disapproval. “How is it that you have so many awful dad jokes, and you aren’t even a dad yet?”
Jonathan shrugged and gave a goofy grin, masking the unintended sting of the question.
He’d hoped to be a dad by this point. Had desperately wanted a family. But his dreams of fatherhood were swept away down the same river that took his wife from him. And while he kept it together for the most part, he was unwilling to put himself in a similar situation again. It was more important to be without anyone who truly relied on him. Sure, his staff counted on him to manage the company properly and have their backs, but that wasn’t life or death. He didn’t date seriously. Didn’t want kids of his own. He even decided against getting a dog. Was he lonely? Sure, but he also slept like a baby at night knowing he wouldn’t let anyone down. He could settle for being Uncle Jonathan to any kids his friends and sister planned to have. Being the fun uncle who swoops in with candy, toys, and fart jokes. That he could handle. Low stakes. Low risk.
Miguel spoke up, perhaps noticing the pain such a simple question had caused his friend and changed the subject. “So, Jon, you said the whole summer is going to be busy, huh?”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said as he accepted the fresh pitcher of beer and appetizer plates from one of the bar servers with a smile and wink. “Thanks, Stella. ”
“You got it, sweetie,” she purred as she reached forward and picked up the empty pitcher. Giving Jonathan’s shoulder a squeeze, she meandered to the next table.
Jonathan filled the glasses skillfully, passed them around, and continued his response to Miguel’s question. “Busy is good. Not just because of the money, which helps, but because I like talking with strangers. Chat for a few hours then see you later. Some pretty interesting people come out to the boonies this time of year.” His smile dropped as he remembered what he had scheduled for the morning.
“Fly in your beer?” Zac joked.
“No. It’s just that I have a trip I am doing tomorrow that I’m not thrilled about.” Jonathan drank half of the beer in his glass, attempting to wash away the dread with the hoppy, golden liquid. “I’m leading a couple on a backpacking trip up Mount Stuart.”
“What’s so bad about that? Mount Stuart’s a great hike.” His sister scoffed. She was right. The two of them had managed that hike numerous times—as kids even, back when their dad was still around.
“They’re newlyweds or just got engaged or something. I don’t remember. Either way, I can practically hear the smacks of kissing along the trail, and how much you wanna bet they’ll run off for a quickie when I’m not looking.”
“So, get someone else to guide it. That’s the perk of being the boss man,” Zac offered with a smug snort.
“Can’t. All the other guides are either on river runs or out of town.” Jonathan shrugged, accepting his fate. “It’s only a two-night trip. I’m a big boy. I can handle it. Plus, it’s an easy two thousand dollars.”
Zac raised his glass. “To easy money!”
The rest of the group raised and clinked their glasses together, laughing. “Easy money!” they all called in unison .
As laughter faded and side conversations began, Jonathan felt a prickle of the hairs rising on the back of his neck. His attention diverted to the tavern’s entrance as a cute brunette walked in. The waning sunlight pouring through the front door bounced off the cascade of glossy waves that trailed halfway down her back. Stella grabbed a menu and led the mystery woman to a table in the corner. Following close behind the server, she moved with a subtle fluidity, punctuated by the swerve of her generous hips. Her warm smile crinkled the corners of her glittering jade eyes as she thanked Stella and sat down.
Jonathan’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. The heavy ka-thunk of his heartbeat rattled his ribcage so hard that surely his friends could hear the vibrations.
She was hypnotizing.
This woman was either new to town or a tourist; he definitely would have remembered seeing the little smoke show sauntering around Leavenworth.
I should stop staring.
His palms itched as she tucked a lock of wavy, chocolate hair behind her ear. How would it feel running his fingers through the silky mass and fisting a handful of it? It must be soft and lush.
Who are you?
As if she heard his query, she paused and looked directly at Jonathan. Heat bloomed in his chest and wound its way up his cheeks.
Caught red-handed.
Or rather, red-faced. His blush likely put Zac’s ridiculous sunburn to shame.
Briefly startled, the woman composed herself and gave him a smile and gentle nod, and then looked down to her menu.