Chapter three #2
His words cut deep, and the smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly what button he just pushed.
While Dallas likes to give me shit about my personal life, Grady is the king of pushing me in my professional life.
When he came home three years ago and saw that I was still picking up odd jobs around town, he wanted to know why I didn’t establish my own contracting business and do that full time.
I told him that owning my own company wasn’t what I wanted because that was easier than admitting the truth—I was scared.
In a small town like ours, there’s a limit to how much success you can have.
Sure, Dallas’s restaurant can thrive on tourism, and hell, even Hazel benefits from visiting families for her photography business.
Parker is the vet, so there’s never a shortage of animals that need tending to.
But fixing someone’s deck? Unclogging a pipe or cleaning out gutters?
Building a chicken coop or mending fences?
There’s only so many people in Carrington Cove to help with those things.
Most people here would rather take care of those projects themselves.
Plus, the last thing I want to do is fail and make a mockery of myself. That’s why I always blend into the background. I don’t like the fucking attention. I’ve seen what that’s been like for my siblings, and nope. I’m good.
But lately, I just want more for my life. I guess death has a funny way of making you question how you’re living.
My mood instantly sours. “It sounds like you’re wanting to piss me off already this morning, Grady.”
Chuckling, he says, “No, just checking on you.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, for starters, my sister just took a leap of faith on a new business, your brother is doing well, Parker mentioned trying to buy the practice from Dr. O’Neil, and you’re still…”
“Just the local fix-it guy?”
He tips his head to the side and shrugs. “Yeah. And you could have so much more, man.”
Staring at the sky, I momentarily debate telling him about the house I’m in escrow on right now.
But until those keys are in my hand later today, I don’t want to jinx it.
Confiding in my mom is one thing, but telling others isn’t something I want to deal with just yet.
And the look on his face when he finds out later will be worth the wait.
“Look, I appreciate you worrying about me, but maybe the real issue is that you need to get a life so you’re not so fixated on mine. ”
“I have a life.”
“Really? What do you do after work? Or on the weekends?”
“Work on rebuilding the Nova,” he says, gesturing to the ’73 Nova he’s had under a sheet in this garage since he bought the place.
“Really? Looks like it’s going really well.”
Grady laughs again and holds his hands up. “All right, I can take a hint. Just wanted to see where your head was at this morning.”
“My head is fucking fine.”
“All you do is work, Penn—and for other people. If you’re not careful, you’ll burn yourself out with nothing to show for it.”
Reaching for the handle on the door to my truck, I say, “I like being busy. Gives me less time to think.”
With a tip of his chin, he says, “Can’t say you’re wrong about that. Catch you this weekend?”
“Are you coming to Bentley’s soccer game?”
“Most likely. I was gonna have Chet manage the place that morning so I could take a break. You think you guys will make it to the championship in a few weeks?”
“If we keep playing like we have been, then yeah.”
“Cool. Then I’ll see you there.”
After I settle into the driver’s seat and crank the engine, I take off for the boardwalk, hoping Astrid is ready for me to start tearing her bakery apart.
Nestled right by our town’s namesake cove, the bakery and my sister’s photography studio are in a prime location.
Just across the street, the tranquil waters of the cove are right at your toes.
Dallas’s restaurant is a short walk up the boardwalk, too, so it makes it easy for me to shuffle around between work and helping out where I’m needed.
Well, because…that’s what I do.
The bell above the front door chimes as I walk in, and the sweet smell of sugar and cinnamon fills the air.
I take a moment to look around, taking note of the same walls, tables, and chairs that have been here since I was a kid and Dallas and I used to ride our bikes to the bakery to get donuts on Saturday mornings.
I guess I never really paid attention to the inside because I was more fixated on getting two or three donuts in my mouth, but Astrid is right.
The place desperately needs some life brought back to it.
“Hey! Sorry about that, I had to put a batch of blueberry muffins in the oven,” Astrid says as she emerges from the back of the bakery, a light pink apron tied around her waist and her hair tossed up in a clip.
A few pieces have fallen out, framing her face, but it’s the flour on the tip of her nose that really catches my attention.
“No problem. I just got here,” I reply, looking around at the aged paint and furniture. “Just taking a look at what we’re working with.”
“I can’t wait until you work your magic, Penn. But do you mind coming back to the kitchen while we talk so I can multitask?”
“Of course.”
Watching her ass sway in her jeans as she walks away from me, I’m grateful that her back is to me so she can’t see how transfixed I am by her curves.
Astrid has always been a beautiful girl, but after she became a mom, and more importantly, in the years since she’s been a single mom, there’s something about her that sets her apart.
Maybe it’s that she’s so busy, she barely bothers with makeup, which she doesn’t fucking need anyway.
Maybe it’s that she makes a simple t-shirt and pair of jeans look like they were made for her perfect fucking body.
Or maybe it’s the fact she has no idea just how sexy she is by just being her.
God, I’m hopeless and pathetic.
When she finally stops moving, I reach out and wipe the flour from her nose, showing it to her on the tip of my finger.
She rolls her eyes and groans. “Flour practically seeps from my pores these days.”
I lean in and take a whiff of her, which catches her off guard. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing if that’s true.”
She grins at me curiously but then I see her shudder as I get closer. “Well?”
I inhale deeply once more and then lock my eyes onto hers when I say, “Nope. You smell like fucking sugar.”
Her throat bobs and she smiles nervously. “Well, there are worse things, right?”
“Definitely.” Standing tall again, I cast my eyes over the kitchen and remember why I’m here instead of imagining tasting her sweetness as well.
“Okay, so I figured I’d start in the back, work on those shelves for the pantry for you since that will leave the front untouched for a day or so. Then those tables…”
“They’re hideous, right?”
“Nothing some sanding and a new coat of paint can’t fix.”
“Perfect.” She reaches for a big metal bowl and starts scooping in cups of flour.
“The display case is going to be the most expensive change.”
She sighs, leveling out sugar and adding that to the bowl. “I know.”
“I did some research on them last night and the ones that had the best reviews were about $2500 apiece.”
She freezes and looks up at me. “You researched them last night? After you left my house?” I nod, but she looks at me like I’m a fucking alien. “God, Penn. When do you sleep?”
The truth is that I don’t, not for long anyway. If I can manage a solid five hours, then I consider that a good night. But by two or three in the morning, I’m usually wide awake and my mind is racing with everything that needs to be done.
Or how I’m stuck in the same place in my life that I’ve been in for years.
Well, as of this afternoon, that won’t be true anymore, for better or for worse.
“I manage. So, do you want me to order those, or would you like to research some on your own?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t have time for that. I trust you.”
“All right. I’ll place the order today.” I take out my notepad I keep in my pocket, jot down my to-do list for the day, and then shove it back in my jeans just as the chime above the front door rings out again, and Astrid groans.
“I keep getting interrupted. I need to get these cupcakes going or I’m going to be behind filling an order.”
“Where’s Tanya?” I ask. Tanya is a recent high school graduate who worked for the previous owners.
She’s eager to be a pastry chef, so when Astrid took over she agreed to stay on, promising she wouldn’t leave her high and dry.
In fact, she was more than excited to be working for her and Astrid promised to teach her everything she knows.
“She had a doctor’s appointment this morning, so I gave her the morning off.”
“And what about Vanessa and Anthony?”
“They won’t be here until nine.”
“Then I’ll handle the customer.”
“No, Penn. You don’t have to…”
But it’s too late. I head for the front of the store, pushing through the swinging door that separates the kitchen area from the storefront and come face to face with Richard Cockwell.
Yes, his name is really Dick Cockwell.
We had a field day giving him shit in high school, but he took it in stride. You almost have to with a name like that.
But now he's a teacher at our alma matter, so I can only imagine the creativity his students have with butchering his name.
“Hey, Dick. How’s it going?”
He rolls his eyes. “Nice to see that some of us haven’t matured since high school.
” But then his smile turns placating as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his khaki trousers.
“Does Astrid have you icing cupcakes back there, Penn?” His grin grows.
“You really are a jack of all trades, aren’t you? ”
I flash him a tight-lipped smile, sensing some sarcasm in his tone. But now’s not the time to get in a verbal spar, especially since he’s a paying customer of Astrid’s.