Chapter 4
chapter four
Reid
“No cigars tonight,” Nick says as he walks through my front door, carrying a case of beer from Cedar Cider in one hand and the poker chip container in the other. “Claire says if I come home smelling like an ashtray again, I have to sleep in the guest room.”
I smirk at him, taking the beers and setting them on the counter. “There are worse things than wanting to sleep next to your wife.”
“I knew you wouldn’t call me a little bitch.”
Nick pats me on the back then cracks open one of the cans as I begin unloading them into the fridge.
“Not me. But tell that story to Teddy or Carlos and that’s exactly what they’ll call you.”
He chuckles and takes a long sip. “I guess we just won’t bring up the cigars, then.”
I laugh. “Sounds perfect.”
Once I’ve finished with the beer, we lug a folding table and a few chairs to the back deck and begin setting up. I’ve been part of this monthly poker night since Nick started it up five or six years ago, and I’m pretty sure I’ve only ever missed it two times. Once when a buddy from high school got married, and once when my dad died. That’s it, and I wouldn’t dare to miss on a month when it was my turn to host.
As a confirmed introvert, a night like this should make me break out in a cold sweat. The truth is if I thought about it too hard, I probably would break out in a cold sweat. But Nick is my best friend, and the rest of the guys who come— his friends, because I tend to keep to myself—are pretty easy to hang out with. Being around them doesn’t usually feel like work, so for whatever reason, this is one of the very few group things I enjoy doing. Especially because when I host and it’s a night like tonight, we get to play poker out on the deck with the lake in the background.
Brilliant.
Over the next twenty minutes, the group of guys who show up month after month for poker night begin arriving. Carlos and Brad, two guys who work for Nick’s construction company, arrive together carrying a stack of pizzas they picked up in town. Jeremiah has his phone to his ear and an irritable expression on his face. He’s only lived here for a few years and I can’t say I’m a big fan, so I’m thankful when he immediately steps out onto the deck and closes the door behind him to finish his conversation. My cousin Marie’s husband, Craig, shows up with two more boxes of beer—good man—and as we’re all standing around, eating pizza and drinking beer, Nick’s younger brother Teddy walks in looking stoned as hell.
Sunday poker nights are always kind of messy, but I wouldn’t have them any other way.
“Read ’em and weep, boys,” Teddy says an hour later, laying his cards down on the table to a chorus of groans. “Royal flush.”
“You know, one of these days, we’re going to figure out how you manage to get one of those almost every month.”
Brad says a variation of this at every poker night. Nobody has ever figured it out.
“Look, the poker gods have bestowed luck upon me in a way that defies reason. I’m not a cheat, especially not at poker.”
Nick snorts as he reaches out and collects everyone’s cards then begins shuffling. “That makes it sound like you cheat at other things.”
Teddy shrugs, giving us a devious look. “You can take what I said however you like.”
I roll my eyes and accept the hand Nick deals out, leaning back in my chair and chewing on my toothpick as I eye the new cards. It’s a dud, and I decide to stick with my ace of spades and chuck out the other four. Nick gives me new ones, and when I look at them, I chuckle. No better than the last ones I had. The odds are not in my favor tonight.
“Holy damn.”
I glance up at Jeremiah’s words, muttered under his breath, wondering what kind of hand he has. Which is when I realize he’s not looking at his cards. I follow his gaze, looking over to my left, and my stomach dips when I spot Busy stepping out onto her deck with Junie, wearing a bathing suit that cuts high on her hips and shows off that gorgeous peach of an ass.
I swallow thickly. Holy damn is right.
I’ve allowed myself a few moments to admire her figure over the past week or so since she moved in, but she was always fully clothed. Jean shorts, tank tops, and bare feet are her normal attire, but this is…like a daydream.
Busy drops her towel on the ground and tugs her thick blonde hair up into a messy bun at the top of her head, then bends over to help Junie with something, though I couldn’t say what if I was offered a million dollars.
My throat goes dry and I groan internally. When I glance around the table, I’m not surprised to find every man watching her.
“Jesus. That’s your new neighbor?” Jeremiah asks, sitting up straighter in his chair, not even trying to hide the blatant way he’s staring at her.
Nobody’s hiding it.
“Busy Mitchell,” Teddy says, drawing out her name like he knows her, and when I glance his way, I’m relieved to see he’s staring at his cards. “She’s always been a bombshell.”
“You two are friends?” I ask, putting out a few chips without really paying attention. I might have a shit hand, but I can’t fold every time.
“We went to high school together.”
It doesn’t surprise me. Teddy’s in his early 20s—about ten years younger than me—which tracks with what I know about Busy and the few memories I have of her, as vague as they are.
I look back over to where she’s now hoisting her daughter up on her hip. Junie sees us then and waves her hand wildly in our direction, making me smile. Busy turns, finally spotting us out on my deck.
“Hey,” she calls out, nodding her head at our group.
A chorus of hellos are sent back her way, then she turns and steps down off her deck and follows the short path to the dock, where we all have the perfect view of her putting Junie down then bending over again.
“Man, she is…” Jeremiah starts, then shakes his head and makes a humming noise like he wants to eat her up.
I don’t like it.
The thought surprises me, but I try to set it aside and refocus on the game. I’d really like it if everyone would return their focus to the cards, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to have that kind of luck.
“So what was she like in high school?” Jeremiah asks Teddy.
I try not to roll my eyes. Does it matter? Does it really matter what she was like in high school? Most of the men at this table are far too old to be staring at her the way they are, myself included.
Of course I can’t help but lean in slightly, more than happy to take in the information if Teddy’s going to be sharing it anyway.
“She was a partier, that’s for sure. We weren’t friends, but we ran in the same crowd.” He takes a swig of his beer and looks back out toward where she’s sitting on the edge of the dock. “She was kind of a loner, though. Kept to herself a lot.”
Now that surprises me.
“I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better, if you know what I mean.”
In most situations, I’d keep my opinion to myself. I’m not friends with Jeremiah. It’s no skin off my nose if the guy wants to run his mouth about a woman I know is way out of his league.
But for whatever reason, tonight, I can’t keep my mouth shut. I don’t like the way he’s eyeing her.
“She’s a single mom, man.”
He nods, his eyes oscillating between his cards and where Busy and Junie are now down at the end of the dock. “Single and ready to mingle, or what?”
His response makes it clear he didn’t hear me the way I intended.
“Single and maybe not in need of someone sniffing around who just wants to get in her pants.”
I don’t know where this protectiveness is coming from. All I know is watching him look at her like a piece of meat he wants to sink his teeth into has me all kinds of riled up.
Jeremiah turns to look at me, one eyebrow raised. “You heard Teddy. She likes to party.” He looks her way again, biting his lip in a way that makes me want to bust it open. “If she wants to party, I’ll give her a party.”
Disgust roils through me, and I take a deep breath then let it out long and slow.
“Folding this one.” I drop my cards on the table, face down. “I’m gonna grab another beer. Anyone?”
Teddy nods, but everyone else declines. I head inside and into the kitchen, retrieving two cans from the fridge.
I don’t know Busy any better than I know the dozens of other neighbors who have come and gone over the past year or so. She’s been in town a week, we’ve talked a few times, she’s kind to my dog. I have a few memories of her when she was a kid, but that’s really it. The kind of protectiveness I felt when Jeremiah said what he did—it came out of nowhere.
I crack my can open and take a long sip, giving myself a beat to move past whatever this bristly irritation is before returning to the deck and retaking my seat. Thankfully, they’re no longer ogling my neighbor and are now talking about the A’s game from a few nights ago.
I’m normally pretty good at poker. It requires a kind of shrewd attention to detail that comes naturally to me. But tonight, all my mojo seems off. I feel distracted and a bit restless, my mind scattered when normally I keep it carefully focused.
I can’t seem to shake off Jeremiah’s comments. They might have been slightly uncouth, but it wasn’t anything wildly inappropriate. And yet I wanted to leap out of my fucking chair and launch myself at his throat. As someone who considers himself to be a fairly calm, easygoing guy, I can’t say I particularly liked that feeling. I have no idea where it came from or why it bloomed so quickly in my chest, but it did. Even as Nick deals us a new hand and everyone has clearly moved on, something prickly is humming through my veins.
“Reid. You in?”
Nick’s question drags me out from under the current of emotion I’m feeling, and I find everyone staring at me, waiting for my bet.
“Yeah,” I say, sitting up in my chair and returning my attention to the cards in my hand.
I guess the reason doesn’t matter. The reality is that I feel…protective of Busy, warranted or not. I didn’t like what Jeremiah said, not one bit. But I also didn’t like everyone watching her in her bathing suit. I didn’t want them to sit around talking about her, eyeing her the way they were.
So while, yes, it was protective, it was also…possessive. Something I definitely shouldn’t be feeling.
Not about Busy Mitchell.
Not about anyone.
It’s dark when the guys finally take off, and for the first time, I’m glad to see them all go. I remained distracted for the rest of the game, and when nine o’clock finally rolled around, I brought up the workday tomorrow. Everyone seemed to be as glad to wrap up the evening as I was to see them out the door.
Which is a shame.
I slump down into my chair on the porch, having finally finished putting everything away, and I just stare out at the lake, my feet resting on the small coffee table and my hands folded in my lap. Just like how I feel about mornings, I love watching the lake at night. The gentle glow of lights in the distance and the moon in the sky, the way it all dances in the reflection of the water. It’s beautiful.
After while, I hear the familiar squeak of the screen door opening at the green cabin. Busy emerges, a bottle of wine in one hand and her phone in the other. I’m sitting in the dark, but the light of the moon is enough to illuminate us both, so when she turns, glancing in my direction, she waves.
“I thought all you guys went back inside.”
I nod. “We did, but everyone’s gone now, so…” I shrug. “Just enjoying the night.”
She bobs her head then looks out at the water for a beat or two. “Mind if I join you?” she asks. “I’ll gladly share my wine in exchange for a chair so I don’t have to sit on the ground.”
Part of me thinks I should say no, thinks my little outburst earlier means I’m stepping into murky waters by spending any time with Busy. The flare of interest I felt and my resulting attitude at the other guys is enough for me to know better.
But I ignore that small voice, and instead, I nod and gesture to the chair next to mine. Busy smiles and hops off her deck, crossing over to the edge of mine, her bare feet padding softly on the grass between our cabins. When she plops down next to me, I get a waft of something sweet and fruity—jasmine, maybe.
“It’s on the cheaper side,” she says, twisting off the top of her wine bottle, “but I promise it won’t give you a hangover.” She takes a long sip before she shrugs, licking her lips. “Most likely.”
Then she extends the bottle my way. I look at it for a beat then back at Busy before reaching out and accepting it. Apparently we’re drinking straight from the source tonight, and sharing the bottle—two things I haven’t done in at least a decade. I’ve never been a big drinker, but you have lower standards in your early 20s.
Groaning internally at the reminder that Busy is in her early 20s, I take my own sip, careful to hide my wince at the bitter taste, then pass it back to her.
“Were you guys playing poker?” she asks, her feet joining mine on the coffee table, her head tilting back to look up at the stars.
“Yeah. It’s a monthly thing Nick started. You know Nick Waltham, right?”
“I do. He’s friends with my brother. He did all the construction work on Cedar Cider, too.”
I nod. Boyd was a year ahead of me in school. I didn’t know him that well, but I was friends with a few of his friends, and we were both athletes, so we were friend ly even if we weren’t friends.
“A regular poker night with friends sounds like fun.”
I shrug a shoulder. “It can be.”
Busy’s head lolls to the side, her eyes connecting with mine. “Ooof. Was it not tonight?”
Licking my lips, I chuckle slightly, surprised she was able to read me so easily.
“Let’s just say…if it were up to me, there might be one less seat at the table.”
I know that’s harsh. Clearly, I’m not at my best tonight.
“Ouch,” she says, returning her eyes skyward as she takes another long drink from the bottle.
“How about you?” I ask. “How was your day?”
Busy’s lips tilt up at the sides. “Pretty good. Got a few pieces of furniture set up in Junie’s room and mostly took it easy. I went over to Briar’s for a bit, which was nice.”
“That’s your sister, right? She’s the one married to the guy who owns the grocery store?”
Busy snorts. “What kind of small-town boy are you?” she asks, though her question is teasing. “Don’t you know anyone’s names? Or is everyone classified by their job?”
Smirking, I roll my eyes, feeling sort of embarrassed because yes , that is how I keep track of people. “Not everyone in this town is a Mitchell. I probably couldn’t name more than a hundred people, if that.”
She gasps and slaps a hand against her chest. “Sacrilege.”
I just laugh and shake my head. “Apologies.” I narrow my eyes. “I’ll work harder at learning everyone’s names.”
“You better. I might quiz you on it.”
I watch her for a long minute as she takes another sip of her wine, my eyes roving along the elegant length of her neck and up to the apples of her cheeks before they drop down and focus on the plump pout of her lips, which I can only imagine now bear the tinge of stain from her drink of choice.
When she hands the bottle my way again, I take a much longer sip than I should, this time barely even noticing the taste.
“My dad was always a lot better at knowing people’s names,” I eventually tell her, remembering the easy way he talked with customers, and also the importance he placed on knowing people around town. “I never really picked up that skill.”
She hums and smiles. “How is your dad doing? Still owns the furniture store in town, right?
I lick my lips and stare at the bottle in my hands for a long minute.
“Dad passed away. ’Bout two years ago.” I want to take another long drink, but I refrain, reminding myself that drinking through my grief has only ever brought me even more sorrow.
“Oh, Reid. I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice soft. “I usually stay up to date on stuff that happens in town and I…didn’t know.”
I shake my head and give her a sad smile. “It hasn’t been that long, so…” But I trail off, not sure what else to say.
“Can I ask how he died?”
“Heart attack while he was alone in the shop.” I reach out and set the bottle on the coffee table.
It’s probably one of my greatest regrets. I was supposed to meet him for lunch, but I went on a hike instead, needing the time to myself and wanting to clear my head. Nature usually provides that for me. I’ll never know what might have been different if I’d gone in, if he might still be here today.
“I’m so sorry, Reid.”
I nod like I do any time someone expresses their condolences, but when I look at Busy, I see my own grief reflected back on her face. It’s pained, as if she cared for him as much as I did. Something about that makes me feel grateful.
“How was the lake earlier?” I ask, knowing it’s an abrupt change of topic but not wanting to linger any longer on my regrets from the past.
Busy watches me for another beat before she follows my lead.
“It was really nice,” she finally says, looking back out to the water. “I forgot how wonderful it is to just float around in the water. In LA, I was over an hour from the beach, and even when I did go, there were waves, you know?” She shakes her head. “Lakes beat the ocean so hard.”
I nod. “I completely agree. I like the calm of it. It’s always steady.” Consistent. No surprises. “I’m almost embarrassed to tell you how long it’s been since I’ve gone for a swim.”
“Really? It’s right there.” She waves her hand in the direction of the lake, only about ten yards away from us, then reaches out and snags the wine again. “Weren’t you like, a swimmer? Wasn’t that your thing?”
“I was,” I say, surprised she knows that. “I am . But sometimes you just…get out of the habit of doing something you love. Or you fall out of love with it.”
It’s hard to admit that about swimming. It was something I loved, but it’s been a few years since I’ve felt that way.
“Anyway, it’s probably been…a year. Maybe more.”
Busy’s jaw drops. “What? Reid. First, the names. Now, the lake?” She lets out a long sigh. “You are so lucky I moved in right next door.”
I shake my head, trying to hide the way I want to constantly smile when she’s talking to me. The shit she says just makes my soul feel lighter, even with the subject matter of our earlier conversation still lingering slightly. It’s been a while since I’ve smiled this easily, without the looming fears of the future hovering and sapping me of the joy most people experience in the day-to-day. And I don’t know whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
It’s good because talking with Busy feels like my soul has taken a much-needed breath, and I can’t help the voice in the back of my mind that says I want to get to know her better, want to understand the things that make her smile.
But it’s a dangerous feeling, too.
A reminder of the decisions I’ve made for my future and what’s to come
Of things I will never have.