Chapter 5
Jasmine ought to be used to testosterone, what with four brothers and a pack of male cousins. Rob and Peter, especially, had practically lived at their house. Hard to believe Rob was married and expecting his first child, but Peter was still single.
She eyed him across the table. She had no problem seeing why Basil was unmarried, although it wasn’t too much to hope he’d grow up and settle down one day, but why not Peter?
If he’d dated in the last year or two, Jasmine hadn’t heard about it.
He was sweet, funny, and way too cute, if a cousin could think that and get away with it.
And Alex. Now that he’d settled into his career and bought a house — and was over his crush on Jasmine’s roommate, Linnea — he’d probably start looking.
He’d marry some woman just as intense as he was and raise a pack of perfect kids.
Jasmine would still be single. An old maid. But that was okay, especially if the alternative was a guy like Nathan Hamelin .
Speaking of. He settled into a chair at the head of the table in the guys’ house and pulled a portfolio from his briefcase like some kind of businessman. The black pants and gray button-up shirt — again with the gray? — solidified the persona.
Still rankled that he’d laughed at her for thinking he was trying to get back together with her. How else was she supposed to read his intense gaze and constant proximity?
Nathan thumped a sheaf of papers together, laid them on the table, and folded his hands over them before looking at each of them in turn.
Jasmine raised her chin and met his gaze for those brief seconds. This was a business meeting. Nothing personal. She could do business.
“Let’s clarify the purpose of Bridgeview Backyards, what you plan to accomplish this year, and where you hope to be in five years.”
Not massaging strangers’ backs anymore. But that was more of a wish than a plan.
“The startup this year is expensive.” Peter leaned forward. “We’re putting in the infrastructure, like the garden shed, the raised beds, and the soil. The tools. We’ve all contributed from our savings to get started.”
“How much money can you make out of this one backyard in one summer?”
“We have three yards. Mrs. Essery next door, and another yard a few blocks west.”
“So there are signed legal arrangements in place?”
“A verbal agreement at this point, but Jasmine is writing something up for them to sign.”
Nathan flicked a glance her way.
“Sorry. I haven’t done it yet.” Basil had been correct when he accused her of hating computers. Why did secretarial work always get slid off to women as though they were automatically better at it?
“You’ll want those documents before you begin work in their yards.”
Now he was a lawyer? Jasmine fought the urge to roll her eyes. “They’re friends. Neighbors. It’s fine. We’ll get to it.”
“You never know when someone will sell. Or, for that matter, the woman next door is getting on in years. What if she dies?”
Jasmine waved her hand. “Yes, I know. I’ll do it. Soon.” Probably not before Eden and Jacob’s wedding next weekend, but soon.
Nathan stared at her as though gauging her intent before nodding. “So three backyards this year. And then expanding, I take it? If you and Peter plan to leave your jobs and go full-time?”
“Yes. Not sure if you remember Dan Ranta. He’s my roommate’s brother, and he runs their family landscaping business. He has a couple of clients who are interested in having someone take over their space.”
“We figure we can manage eight or ten yards,” put in Peter. “A lot of work with all the planting, weeding, watering, and harvesting.”
“And selling it how?” Nathan asked.
Basil thumbed his chest. “I’ll be doing a lot of that this year at the Night Market in Kendall Yards on Wednesday evenings and the farmers market downtown on Saturdays.”
“Oh.” Nathan leaned back. “I’d assumed you’d be going for a subscription program.”
Jasmine blinked.
“I mean, isn’t it easier to keep selling to the same people than continually finding new ones? When you expand production, will you just add new outlets, so all of you are tied up at a different farmers market every weekend? What if you don’t sell out?”
Uh. Hiring Nathan — or someone — had been a good idea. “I definitely don’t want to sit at a market every weekend. Basil’s the schmoozer, not me. That’s what we’ve got him for. I want to work with the plants.”
“There’s only so much you can sell from one venue, I’d think.” Nathan looked between them. “This isn’t my area of expertise, so feel free to convince me I’m wrong.”
What, he didn’t have all the answers? That was something new. Jasmine squashed back the irritation. He was doing them a good turn, even if they were paying him to shoot down their plans, such as they were.
Peter shrugged. “I don’t mind doing a market on Saturdays. But a subscription service... we’ve talked about doing one next year. Not sure if we’ll have enough produce consistently this summer.”
Jasmine leaned forward. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, does it? I mean, if we had half a dozen subscribers this summer, that’s some guaranteed income, and we can sell the rest at the farmers market.”
Now why did Nathan’s nod of approval, his gray eyes lingering on her, make any difference? She wasn’t interested. Neither was he.
She yanked her gaze over to her brother. “By we , I mean Basil.”
“Could.” Basil shrugged. “If you all think it would work. I never claimed to be the brains of this outfit.”
“Oh, get real. Your grades through school were just as high as Alex’s and mine. ”
He grimaced. “Not my thing.”
There had to be a reason he’d drifted and lacked confidence. If he’d only take down the facade and let someone in.
Peter took a deep breath. “Where do we go from here?”
Jasmine’s eyes locked with Nathan’s. The answer was simple. From here, they needed to go their separate ways as soon as possible. That meant Nathan needed a good plan, and she needed to follow it.
No way was he striking up even a friendship with Jasmine again.
He wasn’t. No matter how adorable she looked in that flannel shirt open over a pink T-shirt, her hair pulled back into a ponytail.
No matter how she tried to slide the public face of Bridgeview Backyards over to Basil, when anyone with two good eyes could see she’d be much harder to resist. Her sales efforts, that is. Not her, personally.
Nathan had told her he wasn’t interested, and he was going to stick to the party line. She was his client and related to his landlord. Once he got his business established, he’d start looking for a house of his own. Either way, he’d be able to avoid her once a few meetings were out of the way.
“What do other box programs charge?” asked Peter.
“They’re all certified organic, and we won’t be.” Basil parked his elbows on the table. “Doesn’t it take three years to get that certification? And if we keep adding yards, it’ll get confusing because they’ll all be at different stages.”
Peter shrugged. “It’s part of the record keeping. We’ll just say we’re in transition. ”
Jasmine looked from one to the other. “Do we have a wide enough range of produce planned for this year to take subscribers into the fall?”
Nathan leaned back in his chair. They were on their way, and didn’t need him for the moment.
A sudden rainsquall pummeled the house. Had he closed his windows in the basement?
The weather had been great earlier. He surged to his feet before remembering they were awning windows and wouldn’t let the rain in.
Instead of resuming his seat, he walked across the living room and looked out on the street, where rivulets already streamed downhill.
At least over here, he didn’t have to look at Jasmine. Or, more to the point, avoid looking at her. He was over her, remember? He’d dated a dozen women since leaving Spokane eight years ago, several of them somewhat seriously.
His cell phone rang. Nathan strode over to the table and picked it up. An entrepreneur couldn’t afford to ignore calls. Not with the number of business owners he’d offered his services to this past week.
“Nathan Hamelin. How may I help you?” He turned back to the window where the sky was already brightening.
“Well, son, what’s this I hear about you being in Spokane and not coming to see your old man?”
Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose. Not a conversation he wanted Jasmine and her family to overhear, but he also didn’t want to get soaked to the skin finding privacy. “Hi, Pops.”
“Is it true?”
“Uh, yeah. A few days ago.” Or a couple of weeks. Should’ve known the local grapevine would still work fine, even though Pops and his fourth wife lived over on Elm, on the outskirts of Bridgeview.
“When was you gonna let me know?”
“Soon. I’ve been busy trying to start a business.”
“Where you staying?”
“With some old friends. You might remember the Santoros.”
Pops grumbled something Nathan couldn’t quite catch. “You come by, you hear? Shouldn’t have to find out my own kid is in town from the likes of Beulah Essery. Makenna says come for dinner.”
Nathan had forgotten the name of Pops’s latest. Thankfully, he hadn’t been invited to the wedding, which had taken place in Vegas a few years back. “Uh, I’m busy tonight.” If only he could claim that every night.
Honor your father and mother. Right. That’d be easier to do if they’d honored each other. What would it be like to have parents who stayed together, like Ray and Grace Santoro? Must be idyllic and peaceful.
“Brunch tomorrow then.”
That was easy. “I’ll be in church.”
Pops snorted. “Lotta good that’ll do you.”
Nathan managed a laugh as he paced in front of the living room window. “Actually, it has done me a lot of good. You might try it sometime.”
“That’ll be the day.”
And one Nathan should be praying for. He glanced over to the table across the room.
Jasmine watched him. He turned his back on her.
Those feelings of awareness needed to disappear, and now.
Old habits died hard, apparently. “Look, how about I drop by some evening soon. You still at the old home place? ”
“Yeah. South Elm. Remember how to find it?” Sarcasm dripped from Pops’s voice.
“Pretty sure I do. I’ll let you know when.”
“Makenna don’t mind cooking for you, she said.”
“Maybe sometime.” Nathan clicked the call off before Pops could apply any more pressure.
He slid his phone into his pocket and ran both hands through his hair as he stared out the window.
He’d known he’d have to face his father if he moved back, but he’d still had an unshakable sense that returning to Bridgeview was the right thing to do.
Was he really strong enough to deal with everything?
With seeing Pops? With being around Jasmine?
He advocated all his clients have solid, well-thought-out business plans, but he’d driven north on a wing and a prayer.
Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose and strolled back to the table. “Sorry about that. Did you come to any conclusions?”
Three pairs of brown eyes under dark hair looked back at him. Only one pair mattered, which was not the direction he was supposed to go. He focused on Peter. The brains of the outfit.
Peter stared back. “Everything okay?”
“Just my father finally heard I’d returned. About business—”
“He drinks a lot, your dad.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he does. Nothing new.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nathan shrugged. “It’s a fact of life. Thinking about Pops helps keep me dry.”
Basil chuckled. “I bet. Feel sorry for that youngest brother of yours, though.”
Nathan’s eyebrows rose .
“Jason. His mother died a few years back. Didn’t you know?”
He wracked his mind. Jason was from marriage number three, wasn’t he?
Marsha’s kid. Nathan had done his best to block all this.
Alcohol had helped until it hadn’t anymore.
More memories he needed to block. Jesus was a better way to cope.
And Jesus was all about love and second chances, not about wishing on dandelion fluff.
“If I knew, I forgot.” Safe enough, and true. “How old is he now, anyway? Ten? Eleven?”
Jasmine crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “Fourteen.”
Nathan stared back. “Can’t be. How would you know?”
“He’s in the same class as my cousin Landon. Uncle Al and Aunt Winnie’s kid.”
“Oh.” Nathan remembered being fourteen. That was about the time he’d gone off the deep end with drinking, partying, and girls. Jasmine’s influence had held him in check for a few years, but he’d gone back to his old lifestyle when he’d landed in California.
No more. But did that new resolve give him any obligation toward his half-brother?
“He’s running with a rough crowd, Landon said.”
Yeah, maybe he did have some responsibility. Pops sure wasn’t likely to give the teen any guidance, and what could Makenna do with someone else’s son, even if she wanted to?
Nathan grimaced. Like he knew how to keep a kid out of trouble. He had no experience. “Must be nice to be a Santoro and not have all this mess in your family.” Man, he hadn’t meant to spit that out loud.
Basil let out a sardonic laugh. “Being Santoro isn’t all that perfect. ”
“Sure it is. An entire extended family with no half or step-kids. No divorces. You don’t have any skeletons banging against the closet door, trying to get out.”
The cousins exchanged a glance.
“My kid sister is pregnant.” Peter’s jaw clenched as he pinned Nathan with a look. “She’s sixteen, a junior in high school. The father — the guy who told her to get an abortion — is your half-brother Connor.”
What? Nathan snapped his mouth shut. One of Rhonda’s sons. Pops’s wife number two. Hadn’t she taken the boys and moved to Yakima years ago? “I, uh... I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
“But...” Nathan’s brain reeled. “How can you even talk to me? Work with me?”
“It wasn’t you. You’re not responsible for his actions any more than I’m responsible for Dafne’s. They made their own choices.”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry.” Back to Bridgeview. Back to the curse of Hamelin boys running wild. Trust a Hamelin to bring shame to a Santoro.