Chapter 8
Luke
It’s been six days since Hazel got back from Croatia. She came home from the airport and dove into work like she was on fire and her office contained the closest available ocean. I haven’t seen much of her, since I’m focused on a new Spencer Development construction project.
We crossed paths at Weirdoughs on Tuesday but just traded smiles and some pleasantries. She was lunching with Lucy, so I get why she had to pretend we’re just casual pals. It still felt jarring after her intimate overseas call.
When my phone rings on Saturday, I won’t lie—I’m hoping it’s Hazel. I pick up without checking to see who’s calling.
“Got a job for you.”
Fucking Ark Man.
I shift the phone to my left ear and turn down the volume on the ballgame I’m watching. “Oh yeah?”
“Need another souped-up car.” He sounds gruff and distracted. In other words, normal. “Minivan or hatchback. Subaru’s good. Beige, preferably. Gray would work. Nondescript.”
He just described half the cars in Oregon. Also, my biggest temptation.
“Can’t,” I say solemnly as Hazel floats through my mind.
Make that my second biggest temptation.
Everyone knows I love working on cars, so he’s clearly surprised by my answer. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
Heaving a sigh, I come clean. “Look, I’m expecting a kid. Two kids, actually.”
“Twins or you knocked up two women?”
“Twins,” I mumble, hoping he won’t press for more.
“They run in families, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“What’s the problem then? You told me you need extra funds.”
“I promised their mother I’d give up my ties to anything on the wrong side of the law.”
He chuckles. “You think this is illegal?”
Does he think I’m dumb? “You routinely ask me for help turning grocery getters into speed machines.” The vices that led me to prison gave me a talent for this sort of work. “Call me nuts, but I don’t think you’re doing that so Grandma can get to Bible study quicker.”
He’s quiet a moment. “Would you believe me if I said it’s all completely legal?”
“No.” That’s an easy one.
“What if I told you it’s sanctioned by the U.S. government?”
“Plenty of shit that goes down in politics isn’t legal.”
“Wasn’t talking about politics.” He mutters something I can’t quite make out. “Never mind. How about another prison job?”
“Sorry, nope.” Hazel’s face flits through my mind again. “I promised I’d sever connections to all convicts and criminals.”
“Jesus Christ.” He curses again, more colorfully this time. “You really won’t take the car job? Swear to God, you can track down these rigs anytime and see they’re not on record with ties to any crimes.”
“Interesting way to phrase that.” Not on record with ties to any crimes doesn’t actually mean they’re not being used that way.
It just means his guys aren’t getting caught.
“Yeah, well.” He clears his throat. “Gotta be circumspect in this business.”
“What is this business, anyway?”
Another long pause. “Specialized inmate rehabilitation and redistribution.”
“I see.” And I still don’t know what the fuck that means. “If I asked someone at the prison about this specialized program, they’d know what I was talking about, right? It’s all sanctioned and everything.”
“Don’t be a dick, Luke.”
That answers my question. Whatever we’re doing isn’t on the books in an official capacity.
“Look,” he grumbles. “The less you know—”
“—the better,” I finish, since we’ve been down this path before. “Fuck off.”
He chuckles again. “You’ll have to give up fast cars if you’re gonna be a dad.”
“Way ahead of you, man.” He might not believe me, but I don’t turbocharge engines for myself. “Bought a Subaru wagon at auction last month. I’m working on turning it into the ultimate family car.”
“Huh. Maybe we could repurpose it for this project.”
“Nope.”
He chuckles. “Worth a try. Who’d you knock up, anyway?”
Dammit. I promised not to tell anyone who knows Hazel.
“Wait.” He spits a few curse words under his breath. “Is she related to me?”
Double damn.
I’m saved when my phone dings to signal an incoming text. Pulling the phone from my ear, I read Hazel’s name and her message.
Sorry to bother you, but I need help with something. Are you free?
Clearing my throat, I put the phone back to my ear. “I’m getting a text from her now. Gotta go.”
“Son of a bitch,” he mutters. “No one else can soup up an engine like you can. Not even the pros at Spencer-King Auto.”
The flattery gets me a little. “How much does the car job pay?”
He pauses again, then throws out a number that boggles my mind.
“Christ,” I mutter. “You swear to God this isn’t illegal?”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
Fair point. “You swear it won’t bite me in the ass?”
“That I can do.”
“Fine.” I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I? “Send me the specs and I’ll consider it. Deadlines, details, everything.”
“On it.” There’s some tapping and clicking. “Let me know by Monday. And Luke?”
Dread rolls through my gut. “Yeah?”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you dodging my question.”
“What question?” I know damn well what he means.
“The one about who you knocked up.”
“You’re breaking up, buddy.” I make a staticky sound in the back of my throat. “What’s that? Did you say something?”
“Fuck off.”
Chuckling, I stop with the noises. “You have a sunshiny day, too.”
He growls as I hang up the call. I’m already tapping the key to call Hazel, not willing to leave this to text.
She answers on the first ring, sounding frantic. “Luke, I’m so sorry to bother you.”
“That gives me one extra shot at a baby name.”
“What?”
“Technically, two. You apologized just now and also in your text. I’m thinking Aspen, maybe Juniper. Tree names are nice, don’t you think?”
Her frustrated huff gets me grinning. “Fine. Make jokes. But I really need your help with something for the girls.”
The girls.
She means our daughters.
I love how that sounds, so I roll the words over in my head a few times before responding. “What’s up? You’re okay, right?” I hope she would have led with that if something was wrong.
“Yes, I’m fine, except that I’m having trouble building these blasted cribs.”
“You’re building the cribs?” I instantly picture Hazel with a bandsaw. “I didn’t even know you owned power tools.”
“I don’t. Just one of those little metal L-shaped things that came with the assembly kit.”
“You mean an Allen wrench?” That makes more sense. “Why are you doing this by yourself?”
“Because.” She makes an exasperated sound. “I have a master’s degree from an Ivy League school, and I thought I could manage a simple project like assembling two handcrafted cribs from Brazil.”
I try not to chuckle but fail. “Are the instructions in Portuguese?”
“That’s part of the problem, yes. Also, my furnace is broken, and it’s ten-million degrees in here.”
That sounds unsafe. “Are you sure you should be doing physical labor in heated conditions?”
“No, Luke. I’m not. That’s why I called you. Also, I might’ve exaggerated. It’s more like eighty-degrees, which is still pretty hot, but not ten-million.”
“Noted.” God, she’s adorable. “I’ve just recorded one fib on the tally sheet for Hazel Spencer. That’ll be fifty lashes with a limp piece of kelp.”
There’s that frustrated growl again. “Luke—”
“Shouldn’t getting your furnace fixed be the first priority?”
“There’s a guy coming to repair it, but he’s late, and I really want this done before the painters show up Thursday to do the nursery.”
The nursery.
That hits a bit differently than the girls.
My house isn’t bad, but it’s hardly a mansion. I’ve made progress preparing the spare room for babies, but I don’t need an Ivy League degree to know it’s more likely the girls will grow up spending most of their time in Hazel’s house rather than mine.
We should probably discuss those arrangements.
“I’ll be right there,” I say instead. “What are you hungry for, Hazel?”
There’s a swift little intake of breath. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’ve gotta be craving something.”
She doesn’t reply, which seems weird.
“To eat.” Did she think I meant something else? “Are you still on the rambutan, or would you like something else?”
“Where on earth are you getting those?”
Ignoring the question, I go to my fridge where I stashed my last batch of weird-looking fruit. There’s a hole-in-the-wall Asian market near Portland where I buy them each time I travel for car parts. “Rambutan and what else?” I repeat.
“You really don’t need to—”
“Hazel.”
“Tater tots,” she says after pausing. “The Cajun-spiced ones Mason has at the brewpub.”
“On it.” If I order online, I can pick them up on my way to her place. “Anything else?”
She pauses. “If you have more rambutan—”
“Got it.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I really appreciate this, Luke. I’ll Venmo you for the tots, and I can pay for the time you spend assembling the cr—”
“Say one more word about paying me and you can kiss your damn rambutan goodbye.” I’m not her goddamn hired help. “I’m the girls’ father and your platonic co-parenting partner—you got that?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Willow,” I say. “I’m really liking the tree names.”
“Dammit, Luke.”
“I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” I click off and pull up the app for Big One’s. Mason launched it last week, and it comes in handy. After placing the order, I grab my toolbelt and the chilled bag of rambutan. Then I hop in my truck and head for the brewery.
When I duck into Big One’s, the big guy himself stands behind the bar drying glasses.
“Hey, buddy!” Mason sets down the pint glass and puts out a hand for a palm slap. “Thought I saw your order come through.”
“Got a tater tot craving.” No need to say it’s not mine.
“Cool. Those should be up in just a sec. Want a beer while you wait?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
He goes back to drying the glasses. “Did you hear about Hazel?”
“My Hazel?” Why the fuck did I say that? “Hazel Spencer, you mean?”
He gives me a curious look. “Didn’t know you guys were dating.”
“We’re not. Please don’t repeat that.”