Chapter 23
Tank
“Well, this certainly could have turned out a whole different way,” Rose says. With a sigh, she leans against me.
It’s a little more of a slump than a lean, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders.
I have half a mind to kick out the entire party that’s taken over her apartment so I can put her to bed.
With her continuous four o’clock wake-up times, I’m not sure how she’s still standing.
Not to mention the overwhelm of the events today.
Almost immediately after Harper shared her amazing news—which I’m still trying to wrap my head around—the rest of my extended family showed up to join us.
The group includes the usual suspects: all my kids and their significant others, plus Val, Chevy, and Kyoko.
Clearly, Chase texted to let them know where we are.
Despite the hour, Pat and Lindy also have both of their kids.
Jo, who’s curled up on the couch, is sleeping through all the noise and celebrating.
Evie, on the other hand, is wide awake, and has been passed around from person to person.
Right now, Chelsea is holding her and looks like she just caught a serious case of baby fever.
Champagne, beer, and a couple of pizzas appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.
Or maybe I was just too busy talking to notice who was responsible for them.
I’m grateful, as Wolf’s thing went long, and I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.
But it also means that no one looks like they’re planning to leave anytime soon.
The atmosphere is celebratory, and I’m not sure if we’re celebrating Harper’s pregnancy, the success of the event earlier with Wolf, or even Rose and me. Maybe all of the above.
Rose yawns, then looks up at me with a laugh, covering her mouth. “Sorry. I’m still not caught up on my sleep from this week.” She gives me a mock-glare that’s adorable. “I blame you and all the early-morning walks.”
Rose and I have walked the last three mornings in a row at four o’clock, which is more night than morning.
Today and yesterday, I stuck around after to help her.
I’m not the best in terms of following recipes or decorating, but I excel at cleaning up, organizing, and carrying things.
I’d also like to think I make excellent company.
“Are you having regrets, Rose?” I ask.
She grins. “None at all. But I think I’d like to switch to afternoon or evening walks, please.”
“I think we can arrange that. Next week, things should slow down.”
“You think so?” She glances out over her living room. “I’m not really sure there’s any sign of slowing down here.”
Honestly, she might be right.
I spent years overrun with my kids’ homework and sports schedules and school activities.
All five of us practically lived out of the suburban I bought to cart us and all our gear around.
Meals were on the road, driving to and from one thing to the next.
I specifically remember sitting in the stands once at a track meet for Collin or maybe Pat, with Harper coloring beside me.
An older woman seated nearby, who in thinking back was probably not much older than I am now, said something that stuck with me—though I’m not sure I understood it fully until right now.
“It seems overwhelmingly busy right now,” the woman said, leaning over to pick up a crayon Harper had dropped. “Then it will get quieter. And if you’re lucky, it will get busy again.”
At the time, I think I thought of it as just one more person trying to give the widowed dad another piece of unsolicited advice. I didn’t appreciate it and probably wasn’t as gracious as I should have been.
But now … I see what she means.
Life did get quieter for a while as my kids left the house one by one for college.
There were noisy and busy holidays and summers at times, depending what everyone was up to or where they were living and working.
I think buying Sheet Cake was not only a way for me to find some purpose in my life and to work on building and helping my kids build their legacy, but it was a way of creating connection.
This town has become something of an epicenter for us all now.
I’ve officially arrived at what that wise woman said I should hope for: being busy again. I’m not sure of Collin’s exact timeline, but I suspect by this time next year, he and Molly will be married. His facility will open, and I know we’ll all jump in to help.
And now: a third grandchild. Which will mean lots of little trips to Austin, unless we can somehow convince Harper and Chase to come out here and settle in Sheet Cake. Doubtful, but a man can hope.
And speaking of town, there’s always something happening in the part I own that requires my attention, whether with my tenants or something I’m not required to help with but get dragged into anyway—like Wolf’s election.
Oh, and the falling-apart house that I’ve hardly given a moment of thought to after seeing it with Wolf last week. I need to do something about that.
And assuredly the biggest and most unexpected change: Rose.
There is a lot going on. I couldn’t be more grateful.
But I also suddenly wonder if I need to find someone who can manage a lot of the Sheet Cake things that currently keep me occupied. Maybe it’s time to close down my circle a little bit so I can focus fully on the most important part: my immediate family.
Because if things go the way I hope they will, I’ll be building a new home—physically and figuratively—with Rose.
If that’s what she wants. I feel pretty certain she’s open to that with me. As far as dilapidated farmhouses … well—that’s another question I’ll need to ask her.
“I still can’t believe your Chelsea is Skunk Chelsea,” I say now with a shake of my head. As I watch, Rose’s daughter hands Evie back to Lindy. The two of them laugh as Pat swoops in to steal the baby, pressing loud kisses to her cheeks and neck.
“Please tell me your family doesn’t refer to her as Skunk Chelsea,” Rose says. She laughs. “Actually, she’ll find that funny. At least, I think. I’m really glad it’s not an issue. It really could have been.”
“Would that have been a dealbreaker for us?” I ask. “If our kids weren’t able to get over it?”
Rose tilts her head to look up at me. She looks exhausted but also happy. “I think I might have told them to get over it. Because their history doesn’t get to dictate my future.”
I’m glad to hear Rose mention the future so casually. It’s also a relief to know our children wouldn’t have come between us.
Because I’m still not sure how John feels about it. Or, specifically, about me.
Right now, he’s chatting somewhat casually with Kyoko and Chevy, but there’s a tightness to him, a coiled tension.
It’s not lost on me that he hasn’t said much to me aside from initial introductions.
Or that he’s almost exclusively talked tonight with the people who aren’t related to me.
Mason. Chelsea. Chevy. Val. Kyoko. It seems he’s intentionally avoided being drawn into conversation with my family.
I wonder if Rose has noticed. I also wonder if I’m being paranoid or just reading into things.
Just then, John’s eyes slide to mine. Immediately, he glances away.
Nope—I’m definitely not being paranoid.
“This is the most alive my place has felt since I moved in,” Rose is saying, and I bring my attention back to her, trying to stuff my worry about John away for now.
“I guess that’s kind of an obvious statement.
But I realized while staying with you how empty my loft is.
I haven’t done a very good job of really settling in.
But this”—she gestures around the very full room—“is the dream. Your people, my people. Our people.”
She sighs, dropping her cheek against my chest, and there’s a sudden tightness in my throat.
This is what I want too. Exactly this. Not only the fullness and love stemming from being around children and their loved ones. I’d thought that was all, thought that was enough. At no point did I feel like I was missing anything—or anyone.
But that was before Rose.
Now, having her in my arms, it’s so clear that I had become the cliche of not knowing what I was missing.
Until Rose, I didn’t recognize my deep, abiding loneliness or the need for connection that was my own.
Possibly because I’ve honed the craft of being alone, of needing nothing for myself, of giving everything I could away for the benefit of other people—namely my kids.
And, lately, this town.
As a sort of visible token of this fact, Wolf suddenly appears in the doorway with Pat, who must have gone downstairs to let him up.
“It’s the man of the hour!” Pat crows, lifting one of Wolf’s arms in the air like he’s the winner of a boxing match.
Though I feel like surely the night has used up its quota of cheering, more erupts, waking Jo, who sits up sleepily on the couch, clapping her hands like everyone else, despite being half awake. The noise sets Evie to crying, and Lindy approaches us, patting the baby gently on her back.
“Rose, do you mind if I duck into one of your bedrooms to feed Evangeline? I need somewhere a little quieter. I can just use your guest room.”
Brushing a hand over Evie’s hair, Rose pulls away from me. “Come on. You can use my bedroom. I don’t have any furniture in the guest room.”
It’s the perfect opportunity to talk to John, and I’m almost across the room to him when Wolf intercepts me. He holds out a hand to shake, but I’ve no sooner taken it than he lets go and grabs me in a hug.
“Thank you,” he says, pulling back to meet my gaze, his brown eyes sincere. “I know a lot of people helped, but I also have come to recognize the architecture of Tank Graham. And it was all over tonight. So, thank you.”
“Of course. I’d say anytime, but honestly, it was a lot of work.”