Chapter 16
chapter sixteen
Reid
“So what are you doing with this stuff?” Nick asks, grabbing one end of the couch and lifting it as I lift the other.
“Just doing a few deliveries.”
I walk forward as he walks backward, moving the piece out to the trailer I have sitting outside the shop. Once we’ve gotten it in, I shift it slightly, adjusting the padding before scooting the couch snug against the railing.
“Since when do you do deliveries,” he asks, chuckling. “I thought you hired people to do that.”
I wrap the strap around the couch then begin to cinch it so everything is held snugly in place.
“Normally, I do.”
Finished with the couch, I hop down from the trailer and head back into the shop, motioning to the coffee table that’s sitting on one of the lower racks.
“So what’s different about these?” he asks. “You sleeping with the customer or something? Providing a little…extra service.”
He laughs, but when I pin him with a look that says I don’t find it funny, his jaw drops slightly.
“Wait, are you? Because I was just joking, but…”
“I’m not sleeping with the customer,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “I’m not sleeping with anyone .”
The last part I mumble more to myself, but I know Nick still hears it.
We pick up the coffee table and get it loaded into the trailer, but once I’ve finished getting it tightened up and jumped down, he asks again.
“So, what’s the deal?”
I don’t want to tell him the pieces are for Busy, because he’s already highly suspicious of our friendship. Nick has made comments on more than one occasion about how much time Busy and I spend together, and I don’t want to add fuel to the fire. But I know if I don’t tell him, it’ll become a thing, and that might even be worse. Besides, he’s going to find out eventually.
“They’re for Busy,” I say, shutting the tailgate and dropping the pin in place to keep it secure. Then I glare at Nick, who is looking at me with his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Don’t make it a bigger deal than it is.”
He’s quiet as I head back inside the shop and gather up a few tools to return to the toolbox in my truck then drop the wide rolling door and lock up. For a few seconds, I wonder if he might actually let the subject go. We hop into the cab of my truck and pull slowly out of the parking lot.
“Come on, man, what is going on with you two?” he asks, chuckling as we turn onto Fourth Street. “I mean, first you guys are eye-fucking at The Mitch, and I know you’re hanging out a lot. You said you hooked up—”
“Kissed. Once. ”
“—but what gives?”
I flick my blinker, staying quiet until we turn onto the main road.
“Look, I care about Busy. If I decide to give her a few pieces of furniture so she isn’t sitting on the fucking floor of her living room anymore, that’s what I’m gonna do. Is that okay with you?”
Sighing, Nick nods. “Yeah, yeah. Fine.”
“I get that you’re just looking out for me,” I tell him, patting him on the shoulder. “And I appreciate it, but Busy and I are fine. Promise.”
“Fine, man. If you say so.”
We move on, shooting the shit about the recent A’s game while we drive out to the cabins. We unload everything and bring the couch around to the back, where I know Busy keeps her screen door unlocked. Then we carefully maneuver the piece inside and get it set up in the center of the living room, facing the wall where most people would probably set up their TV.
“You’re right. She does need some fucking furniture,” Nick jokes, his eyes scanning around the living room. “You think she’ll be happy about the fact that you’re giving these to her or pissed?”
I chuckle as we begin walking back out to the trailer for the coffee table. “Oh, definitely pissed.”
Nick laughs. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I would want to see Busy Mitchell angry.”
I think back to the night we first met, knowing it wasn’t anger I saw on her face when I approached her in the dark, but fear. Sometimes the two can look fairly similar, though, so it’s the only thing I have to go on.
“Well, I’ll just remind her that she broke into my place and now I’ve broken into hers,” I tell him as we get the coffee table set up in front of the couch. “So now we’re even.”
He shakes his head. “Do I want to know that story?”
I smirk at him. “Doesn’t matter if you do. I promised her I’d keep it a secret.”
“See, that’s what I don’t like,” he says, crossing his arms as I close Busy’s screen door. “You shouldn’t be keeping secrets from me. I’m your best friend.”
“And you don’t keep secrets just between you and Claire?”
The question is out before I realize what I’m implying, but Nick catches it immediately, his head rolling back just slightly.
“You mean between me and my wife of eight years?” he asks, laughing. “Of course I do.”
Sighing, I lead us back out to the front. “You know what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t,” he replies. “Because it sounds a lot like you’re comparing your relationship with Busy—a woman you’ve known for a few months who you claim is just your friend—to the one I have with my wife.” He pins me with a look that says he caught me.
And he did. He did catch me.
But what am I supposed to say?
I have feelings for Busy that are far more than the platonic ones I should have? I wish with everything inside of me we could have more than just friendship? Admitting those things out loud, to anyone, would be almost as bad as the fact that it’s exactly how I feel.
“Maybe just think about it,” he continues, tugging the passenger door open. “Dating her, I mean. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”
I chuckle to myself, but it rings hollow.
Because the worst has already happened.
It’s almost seven when I hear Busy’s car pulling up on the gravel drive outside, her brakes squeaking just slightly as she comes to a stop. I lie stretched out on my couch, baseball on the TV, though now I can barely focus on it knowing she’s going to walk into her house and see the furniture I set up. Honestly, I really have no clue how she’s going to react.
Only a few minutes go by before I hear her screen door and then the heavy thuds of her footfalls first on her porch then mine. I know without a doubt those are not happy steps.
“Why is there furniture in my living room?” she asks, standing at my screen door.
I look over my shoulder, finding her with her hands on her hips, confirming my earlier assumption.
“When I told you I was considering getting a couch, I wasn’t asking you to give me one.”
Sitting up, I nod. “I know that.”
“So then…what? What made you decide to give me furniture, and don’t even try to deny it, because I know a Cohen Custom piece when I see one.”
I have to work hard to hide my smile at that, because it was very much a compliment. Knowing Busy can spot my work—my family’s legacy of work—bolsters something in my chest.
“I normally move a lot of pieces over the Fourth of July holiday and sales were just super slow this year,” I tell her, having come up with this plan before I even asked Nick to help me load up the trailer. “These are some of the ones I was hoping to get rid of that didn’t sell, and I was thinking maybe you and Junie might like to have them.”
She’s already shaking her head before I’m finished.
“I appreciate that Reid, really.” She crosses her arms. “But I can’t afford these, even if you do a wildly deep discount. And there’s no way I would accept them for free.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why not?”
She scoffs. “Because.”
“Because why?”
“What do you mean because why ? Because…it’s far too generous.”
Sighing, I push up from the couch and cross over to the screen door. Then I shove it open. “You can come inside, you know. You don’t have to stand out there.”
“I’m serious, Reid,” she continues, stepping in, her face awash with frustration.
“So am I,” I reply. “You’re doing me a favor. If you came to my shop, you’d see how many pieces there are that I need to unload. I need to make space for other projects.”
Pinning me with a look, she rests her hands on her hips. “You’re full of shit.”
I laugh. “I’m not .”
Nick said he wouldn’t want to see Busy Mitchell mad, but I don’t mind it all that much. She’s fucking cute as hell, her fists clenched at her sides, the divot between her eyebrows growing more and more pronounced with each thing she says.
“Besides, the one I gave you is totally run down and I absolutely can’t sell it.”
Busy purses her lips, her head tilting to the side, clearly unimpressed. “Now I know you’re full of shit.”
At that, my lips tilt up at the sides. “Maybe a bit.”
She sighs, rubbing her hand against her forehead, her eyes glancing around my cabin before finally returning to me.
“Will you let me pay you?”
I shake my head. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Why are you doing this? Did you think I couldn’t figure it out on my own?”
At that, my teasing expression falls. “Absolutely not, Busy.” I step forward, wishing I could take her hands in mine. “This is not about thinking you can’t do it. This is just…about wanting to help.”
I don’t like that she thinks this is some sort of charity thing, or that I don’t believe she’s a capable person, or worse, if she thinks I think she’s a bad mom. That’s not at all what this is about.
“I’m so tired of accepting everyone’s help,” she finally admits, her shoulders falling.
I wince, realizing maybe I’ve touched on a wound and caused more of a problem when what I was trying to do was solve one.
“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I tell her. “If you want me to take the pieces back to the shop, I can. But when I tell you I want you to have them, I mean it. This isn’t charity. This isn’t me thinking less of you or not believing in you. This is just me, being your friend.”
I pause.
“And selfishly wanting to come over without killing my knees.”
Her lips tilt up at the last part, and I breathe a tiny sigh of relief, knowing I’ve at least made her smile.
“How about…you take the couch, and in exchange, I let you pay me for Junie’s swimming lessons?”
At that, Busy makes a face. “That’s not even close to the same.”
“ But , I’ll let you do it and I’ll stop arguing with you about it. And wouldn’t that feel amazing?”
We’ve been in a major disagreement about Junie’s swim lessons for at least two weeks, mostly because I’ve been refusing to let Busy pay me. I figure I’ve got the free time and it’s getting me back into the water I’ve been avoiding for so long, but she doesn’t see it that way.
She sighs. “You’re not going to let me win this, are you?”
My nose wrinkles. “I’m not going to say no , but I’d say it’s very unlikely.”
Busy scratches at the back of her neck for a second, thinking something over before she sticks out her hand. “Fine, I’ll keep the couch if you let me pay you for swimming lessons and you let me feed you once a week for the rest of time.”
I chuckle at the dramatic stipulation, foreseeing a lot of blue box pasta in my future. Then I take her hand in mine and give it a shake. “Deal.”
“ And , I have a gift for you.”
At that, my eyebrows rise. “What?”
She turns then and exits my cabin, the screen door closing behind her. After a few seconds, her face appears again. “Are you coming?”
Laughing, I follow in her wake, Sydney at my heels as we head outside then cross over to the green cabin.
“Misery!” Junie calls out when she sees me at the door. Then she puts her hands on her hips. “Where Sinny?”
Sydney runs inside and Junie squeals with excitement, the two dashing into Junie’s room to play like they so often do.
“I’ll be right back,” Busy says, disappearing down the hallway toward her room for a beat and leaving me alone in the living room.
I drop down onto the deep green leather couch Nick and I delivered earlier today, sighing when I settle into it so comfortably. This might be one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever created—part of a line of green leather furniture I’ve been developing over the past year or so—and I can’t imagine a better place for it than in Busy’s home.
“Okay, so…now that I have it in my hands, it feels a little ridiculous,” Busy says, walking out from the hallway and rounding to stand in front of me. She’s holding something small and rectangular pressed up against her stomach.
“Well now I can’t wait to see whatever it is,” I tell her, grinning.
Busy sighs then looks down at the item before she hands it over, her cheeks turning pink.
It’s a framed photo of me, Busy, Junie, and Sydney from our hike to Washburn Trail, a selfie she took with her phone while we were all sitting on the bench together, looking at the view. But it’s not just a photo. She added to it, defining some of the negative space and painting pine trees and wild geraniums into the image in splashes of gold.
The imagery is stunning, and I have a feeling this is just a small taste of what Busy can do when she allows herself to jump into the water.
“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to put it up anywhere. I promise I won’t be upset,” she tells me.
I look back up at her, raising an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? This shit is going on my shelf.”
It’s hard not to miss the look of relief that sweeps over her at my words. My eyes drop again, and I look at the image, my thumb sweeping over it, tracing the image behind the glass.
“It’s incredible,” I tell her, my voice reverent. “Thank you so much for taking the time to make it for me.”
When she doesn’t respond, I look at her again, finding her watching me with a kind of glazed look for just a beat before she shakes her head slightly and takes a step back.
“I’m glad you like it,” she tells me, rounding the couch and heading into the kitchen. “Now…I was going to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches tonight, but I know you love mac and cheese. Any preferences?"
I chuckle quietly to myself.
“I’m down for whatever,” I tell her, shaking my head, unable to erase the smile on my face. “It all sounds good to me.”