Chapter 2
chapter two
Reid
The shrill sound of my alarm drags me out of a fitful sleep, and I swat at my nightstand, my hand finally finding my phone and shutting it off.
Fuck. I was up way too late last night to have such an early day. My head throbs, and I turn to my side, finding Sydney snuggled up on the pillow next to mine.
“Excuse me,” I grumble, giving her a shove. “You know better.”
My six-year-old Australian Shepherd looks back at me and lets out a whine, but she can tell by my facial expression that I’m not budging, so she slowly…oh so slowly…slides off the edge of the mattress and slinks over to where her cot sits in the corner, dropping into it with a huff.
I can’t help but chuckle at her attitude, but it cuts off quickly as my head pulses angrily again. My entire body protests as I shove up and out of my bed, stumbling my way through the house into the bathroom then the shower.
I shouldn’t have gone out for beers last night. The past few days at the shop have been more than enough to send me home completely beat, and the plan was a beer, some baseball, and collapsing into bed before I got back to it this morning. Instead, I convinced myself going out with Nick might be a good idea. Take the edge off the stressful week.
Oh, how wrong I was.
Once I’ve showered and dressed, I grab a cup of coffee and step out onto the back deck. Sydney rushes past me, bounding over to her favorite pee spot, and I take a few minutes to stretch my weary body before I drop down into my chair, looking out at the lake.
This is the way I like to start my mornings, exhaustion aside. A little caffeine, a good stretch, and a quiet, relaxing moment with nature. The temps are getting warmer much faster this summer than years past, but right now? The tiny bit of dampness in the air as I sit in the shade of a giant pine, the sun still low in the sky and barely beginning to crest the eastern ridge…it’s perfect.
Quiet.
Serene.
Beautiful.
It took about twenty minutes to walk to the water from where I grew up, tucked into the southwest part of town, and I always dreamed of living on the lake. So when my life kind of fell apart three years ago, I decided to take my aunt’s offer to live in one of her rental cabins.
Lakefront life suits me just fine.
Sydney finishes her inspections and joins me, curling up on the deck at my feet and falling back to sleep, both of us just enjoying the way the water quietly laps at the shore.
This spot is perfect. All the way at the northern end of Cedar Point, tucked away from all the other homes in a cove, surrounded by trees. Like I said: quiet, serene, beautiful.
Of course, it’s as I’m musing about how quiet it is that I hear music turn on next door. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and holding my coffee mug carefully in both hands, glancing over at the green cabin. At least it’s music I don’t have a problem with—an alternative rock band that was popular in the ’90s and ’00s. It could be much worse.
When the couple who used to live in the green cabin moved out last year, my aunt did a bunch of short-term rentals back to back. I’ve had to deal with the full range of annoying temporary neighbors, though the partiers who gave zero fucks about town curfew and the families who fought their entire trip were definitely my least favorite. I didn’t realize Lois had decided to go back to longer rentals, hence my surprise at finding my new neighbor picking my lock last night.
Busy Mitchell.
If she wasn’t a surprise and a half…
I’m not much for listening to town gossip, so I don’t know much about her except she’s the youngest of the Mitchell kids. I remember she used to wear these funky mismatched florals and dye her hair constantly, but that’s really the extent of it. Things from my early 20s are a little hazy because my grandfather was rapidly declining, and we were spending a lot of time over at my grandparents’ house in Belleview.
Now, though…I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget Busy Mitchell again. She’s probably the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen, and she nearly knocked me over when she turned around last night, wielding her tiny hair pin like a sword.
I smile internally at the memory. That wild blonde hair. Those beautiful blue eyes. I felt a thrill run through me that I haven’t allowed myself to feel since…well, in a while. And that was just what I was able to see by moonlight. Once I switched on the porch lamp?
Damn.
She’s certainly not the gangly pre-teen I’ve managed to conjure up in my memory. Not by a long shot.
A beep on my phone drags me away from those thoughts.
Unknown: One hour out
Sighing, I take another sip of my coffee and push out of my chair, knowing I need to start the drive into town soon if I’m going to get to the shop before my delivery is set to arrive.
After making quick work of washing my mug and tugging on my work boots, I give Sydney a few good pets then hop into the old Chevy Cheyenne I bought when I graduated from high school, pulling down the gravel lane then out to the main road.
I don’t normally work on Saturdays, but I’m getting a special delivery from a wood supplier who’s doing me a big favor by hauling it all the way up here instead of forcing me to make the drive down to Oakland. So, as tired and weary as I feel, I know I don’t have the option to relegate the responsibility to one of my employees. It’s not easy being the boss.
The quiet, twenty-minute drive to and from town is one of my favorite parts of the day. I like the solitude of it. The music on the radio, the window down, the cool breeze blowing through my hair. Or warm breeze, depending on the time of year.
Whenever I can, Sydney hops up into the seat next to me and rides around town at my side, her head out the window, enjoying the views and the smells, probably just as much as I do if not more. Sometimes I bring her with me to work, depending on what I have going on. I hate leaving her at home. She’s such a good dog and she loves curling up on the bed I have set up for her in the corner at the warehouse where I build pieces. When she was younger, she was a bit more squirrely, always snooping around and nosing her way into things. Now that she’s older, she enjoys lazing around more than she used to. She’s the perfect shop companion.
The music on the radio rolls into another ’90s rock song as I pull into a spot on the street outside the coffee shop on Main. One cup in the morning is never enough, and I hop out of my truck and jog across the street, eager to get an extra boost of caffeine from Ugly Mug before I get to work.
“There’s my favorite nephew!”
My head turns at the familiar sound of my aunt’s voice, and I grin when I spot her sitting at a table on the patio with a few other women.
“Hey, Aunt Lois,” I say, crossing toward her and leaning down to give her a hug. Then I turn, taking in the others. “Ladies.”
My eyes scan as I silently greet each of the women my aunt gets together with on a regular basis, including Patty Mitchell, Busy’s mother. Then my gaze falls to the identical books sitting in front of each of them.
“You working on a Saturday?”
I nod, returning my attention to Lois. “I am. Got a delivery coming in. What are you ladies up to?”
“Oh, just squeezing in a book club meeting.”
Glancing at my watch, I chuckle quietly. “It feels early for book club. I’m not sure I could get into a conversation about anything this early, let alone…” I glance down at the novel sitting in front of my aunt. “What are you reading?”
“It’s a historical romance,” she says, a wide grin on her face. “It was made into a TV show, so we’re all going to read the first book then have a watch party.”
I shake my head, a smile still on my face. “Sounds like fun.”
“Oh, it is,” she proclaims proudly, and then she and the other ladies at the table titter with laughter I’m not quite sure I understand.
“Well, I’ll let you all get back to it,” I tell them, knowing I need to grab my coffee and head in. “Nice to see you.”
“Before you go,” my aunt says, stopping me before I can turn and head inside. “I should have told you this earlier, but things have been so hectic recently. I finally found a long-term renter for the green cabin. Do you know Patty’s daughter, Busy? She just moved in yesterday.”
I shake my head. “No worries about not telling me. I saw Busy when she showed up last night, actually.”
A vision of her pointing her hair pin at me, her eyebrows tight and her lips turned down flits through my mind again , and I have a hard time hiding my smile.
“Oh, really?” My aunt beams. “That’s wonderful. It would be great if you could kind of go out of your way to be friendly. Being a single mom can be so lonely sometimes, and I think she’s had a bit of a rough time recently.”
She says the last part as a whisper, and I blink, her words registering in my mind.
Single mom?
“Well, I won’t keep you,” she says, patting my hand. “Have a good day, and don’t work too hard!”
I nod. “See you around,” I tell everyone, giving them a wave before I push through the front door and head inside.
What my aunt said echoes on repeat. Busy is a single mom?
I didn’t see any kids with her last night, though that doesn’t mean anything. I highly doubt this is the type of thing my aunt would get wrong, especially with Busy’s mother sitting right there listening to the conversation. I scan back over our very brief interaction last night, trying to dig for any kind of indicator that she had a kid with her. But, try as I might, there’s nothing.
As I hop back into my truck a few minutes later, my black coffee in hand, I can’t help but wonder what her kid looks like.
Though why that even occurs to me, I have no idea.
By the time I’m heading home around four, I’m sweaty and dirty and feel a little bit worn into the ground. My intention was only to assist with the delivery, but then I saw this one slab of wood that spoke to me unlike anything I’ve seen in quite some time. One thing led to another, and now I’m working on a new table I’m pretty sure is going to sell almost immediately once I’m done with it.
I love creating furniture. Carpentry is all I’ve ever wanted to do with my life, and I’m beyond lucky to get to do the exact thing I love every day. My father was a carpenter, as was my grandfather. It’s in my blood, working with wood to create pieces that fill people’s homes.
But I’m beginning to feel the stress on my body differently than I did when I was in my 20s and working in my dad’s shop. Before it became mine, back when things were just…simpler. Now, at 32, the aches linger, the recovery time needed after long days on my feet or hoisting lumber or dealing with the vibrations from any one of my large tools is a lot longer than it used to be, and I know it will only continue to get more difficult from here on out.
I’ve always been a bit of a homebody, so I’ve never been one to put myself through the wringer like some of my friends, partying until the wee hours then making it into work early the next day. Now, I’m feeling too old for that kind of shit anyway.
Still…it would be nice to get home and not feel like I want to collapse every once in a while. The reality is, on top of work, it’s getting harder and harder to find the energy to do the other things I love doing: hiking, camping, exploring the nature that is my very large back yard filled with mountains and lakes and creeks and waterfalls. Over the past few years, I’ve started to realize I’m lucky if I get in a hike or two a month, and I can’t even remember the last time I went on a camping trip. Though that’s less about my weary body and more about the fact that my old man isn’t around to go with me.
My heart pinches as I come to a stop in front of my house, a fresh wave of grief coming over me.
These emotions seem to come out of nowhere even though it’s been over two years. Just the other day I was driving back into town from a trip down the mountain and my brain told me to call my dad to see if he wanted to grab lunch. The way that hit me in the chest…
I shake my head and shove my door open, my dirty boots kicking up some dust as I step out onto the gravel. Before I can even lock my truck, a blur races toward me and then Sydney is jumping up, her paws on my jeans, her tail wagging.
All I can think is, How the hell did she get outside?
“What are you doing outside, girl?” I ask, petting her head and rubbing at that spot above her tail that she loves. “Huh? How did you get out?”
I glance around, trying to wrap my head around why she’s out here…and I spot Busy emerging from behind the tree line with a little girl resting on her hip, her blonde hair just as wild as her mother’s.
“Hey,” she says, giving me a smile that makes me think she’s as tired as I am. “This is your dog, right? I found her sitting on my back deck a few hours ago, so I just let her hang with us while we were unpacking. I hope that’s okay?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, she’s mine. I’m so sorry about that.” I glance toward my house then back at Busy. “You sure you didn’t break in and let her out yourself?”
She laughs, and it is…wow. It’s second only to the gorgeous smile that stretches wide on her face, her eyes closing as she giggles.
“Maybe that’s the real story,” she teases. “But I guess you’ll just have to take a look around to see if I took anything while I was in there.”
As I chuckle, my eyes fall to the young girl in her arms. She’s watching me shyly, her head dipping to the side but her eyes still focused on where I stand.
“Well, you two have both met my baby. This is Sydney, by the way. But I haven’t met your baby. Hi there, sweet pea,” I say, dipping slightly and giving her daughter a smile. “I’m Reid. What’s your name?”
Busy shifts slightly, trying to angle her daughter toward me. “This is Junie. Junie, can you say hi to Mr. Reid? He lives next door.” When Junie tucks her face against her mom’s chest, hiding away, Busy snorts. “Of course you choose now to get stranger danger.” She looks at me again. “She’s normally very friendly, almost to the point that I get worried she’ll just hop into someone’s candy van someday.”
Busy jiggles Junie in her arms, and even though she’s mostly looking toward the trees, I can see the smile growing on her face.
“Are we sure we don’t want to say hello to Mr. Reid?”
“Mr. Reid,” I echo, shaking my head. I grip the back of my neck and wince. “You’re making me feel much older than I am.”
“Sorry.” Her nose wrinkles, but the small smile on her lips gives me the feeling she thinks that’s funnier than I do.
“So…getting settled in okay?”
“Ooof. Yeah.” Busy lets out a long sigh, switching Junie to her other hip. “It’s just been a really long day of trying to put things away with this one running around and getting into everything that’s sharp and small and not meant for her.” She gives me that tired smile from before. “But yeah, getting settled.”
“Do you need help with anything? Putting together furniture, or…”
My voice trails off, the thought out of my mouth before I can think better of it. Wasn’t I just complaining to myself about how tired I am? What I need is to go inside and shower and stretch and sort through my bills for the month—so why am I offering to play construction worker for my new neighbor?
She gives me a soft look of appreciation, and I groan internally. That’s why. That look would be enough to bring any man to his knees.
“Thanks, but I can do it on my own.” She looks at her daughter and rests their foreheads together, her voice dropping to a whisper. “We got this, don’t we, Junie Bee?”
My lips tilt up at the adorable interaction, though I can’t ignore the sliver of disappointment I feel at her declining.
“Alright, well…Sydney and I will be just next door if you need anything. And apologies again about her escape artistry today. I appreciate you taking care of her.”
“No problem. See you around, neighbor.” She gives me a quick wave then turns and heads back in the direction she came from.
My eyes drop to the sway of her hips as she goes, to the jean shorts that fit snugly on her peach of an ass and her cute little cowboy boots and…
I turn and head into my own house, Sydney at my heels, ready to be fed. I’m not sure how old Busy is, but I do know she is far too young for me to be eyeing like that. Though really, I shouldn’t be giving eyes to any woman, regardless. I might not be married anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly free to do whatever the hell I want.
Intent on distraction, I focus my attention on first setting out food for my girl, then hunting down the reason she was able to escape. Though, try as I might, I can’t find anything.
Sydney’s a great dog, so I’ve never needed to crate her. Instead, she gets to enjoy the place to herself on the days I leave her at home while I’m at work. Not once have I returned to a bag of food ripped open or stuffing from a pillow on the floor. She doesn’t chew on anything I don’t explicitly give to her. Normally when I get back, she’s lying comatose on the couch or sprawled on her back in the strip of sun that comes through the back door. The idea that she escaped somehow just feels…mind-boggling. Especially since I can’t figure out how she got out of the house.
After a while, I give up the search and head to the shower, rinsing away the sweat and dust from the day before tugging on a pair of shorts, grabbing a beer, and plopping onto the couch in front of the TV.
But before I can even reach for the remote, my phone rings. I groan when I see who it is, though I still hit accept and put it on speaker.
“Hey, mom.”
“How’s my baby?” Her voice comes through the line and fills the room, and I wince slightly at the sound of it. Maybe that makes me a jerk, but right now, with how exhausted I feel, I can’t muster the energy to care.
“Tired,” I tell her honestly. “How are you doing?”
I glance around, realizing I didn’t grab a bottle opener. Shoving up from my seat, I return to the kitchen as my mom replies.
“Amazing. Vance took me to the Caribbean last week, remember?”
I do remember. She called me from the car on the way to the airport to brag and then hung up on me when I didn’t get as excited as she wanted me to.
“It was incredible,” she continues, not waiting for me to respond. “We went to this all-inclusive resort and danced and drank and sunned by the water. Ugh, it was perfect. Exactly what I needed.”
Finally, I find the bottle opener and snag it, turning to head back to the living room, but my eyes catch on movement outside the window over my kitchen sink.
Busy and Junie are walking out onto the shared dock that sits between our two cabins. My mother’s voice fades into the background as I watch them, the setting sun sparkling brightly on the water behind their silhouettes as they take a seat on the wooden jetty and share bites from what looks like a sandwich.
They paint a cute picture.
“Reid! Are you even listening?”
My mother’s voice cuts through and I turn away, heading back to the living room to the beer that’s waiting for me.
“Sorry. Say that again?”
The reality is I don’t want to hear anything about Vance or my mom or this stupid vacation. Why she is nearly relentless about sharing this stuff with me when I’ve tried to make it clear I don’t want to hear it is beyond me.
But I’m all she has now, no matter what has happened in the past. She might have let me down in ways I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive, but she’s still my mom. So I listen as she recounts their trip, trying to be the dutiful son, trying to give her the attention I know she wants, even if I’d rather be doing literally anything else.