It wasn’t the toddler’s fault that Josh had fucked up, royally, and not noticed for three whole years.
Becca gave him a look that said she could tell something was seriously wrong.
“Don’t start,” he warned.
She raised her hands. “Okay, but whatever it is, fix your face before this afternoon.”
“Yeah. I will.”
“Does this grumpy Saturday morning vibe mean you don’t want to come to the pancake breakfast with us?”
Josh rolled his eyes, and almost swore a blue streak about the relentless marketing events his newest neighbours were doing, before remembering little ears always heard everything.
And he didn’t need Charlie’s fifth and sixth words to bemotherfucking keeners.
For the three years that he’d been back in Pine Harbour, the dilapidated harbour where his garage was located had matched his general vibe. A little rundown, very hardworking. Honest and real.
Now everything was changing, really quickly, and he wanted that. He did. He wanted his town to have growth, and he wanted the harbour to have new life breathed into it.
But did it have to happen so…aggressively?
Fuck, he didn’t even have a good reason for hating Pine Harbour Brewery, the latest brainchild of Campbell Mills, Hunter Jackson, and Trent Aitken—three former soldiers who bought the land behind Josh’s garage.
In a few short months at the end of the previous summer, a modern building popped up. Over the winter, they installed a craft brewery inside, and now, six weeks before the start of cottage season, they were ready to soft launch their business.
He was officially impressed.
And unofficially exhausted just by observing them when he shot hoops behind the garage. Didn’t they ever feel the unrelenting need to go take a nap? Was that just him?
And his need for a nap would only increase if he had a stack of pancakes for breakfast. “I’ve got work to do,” he said, gesturing at Olivia Minelli’s minivan. “Brake job.”
He also had some homework to do, a bunch of questions to answer for the lawyer he’d hired, but he’d been dragging his feet on even looking at that today.Fuck.
“Oh, bummer.” Becca perched herself against a workbench, keeping one eye on Charlie and making no move to head off to breakfast. “So, what’s up?”
He was tempted to tell her. It might come out eventually, anyway.I’m still married. I found out from a TikTok troll, and it’s been seventy-two hours of confusingwhat the fuckinertia. I’ve hired a lawyer I can’t afford, in another country, to unfuck a mess I didn’t want and didn’t make.
But he wasn’t ready for the questions. He would never be ready. He hated talking about Monica. Had barely confided even small slices of what happened to his brothers.
Instead, he changed the subject to Becca’s fiancé’s hockey team and their success in hunting down a spot in the playoffs. “Hayden’s playing well.”
Her whole face brightened. “I know, I’m so happy for him. That’s why we’re here, actually. Giving him a bit of space to do nothing but eat, breathe, sleep hockey in the last few weeks before the end of the season.”
They chatted about hockey for a few minutes, until Charlie asked for pancakes, really clearly—in toddler speak. “Cancakes, Mama?”
“Absolutely, my little mister.” She picked him up. “Say bye bye, Uncle Josh.”
“Buh-bye,” Charlie said, handing over the plastic wrench he’d hung on to until the very last second.
Josh gave him a high five. “I’ll see you at the marina,” he promised Becca. “With a smile on.”
He followed them outside. The bitingly fresh spring morning couldn’t decide what it wanted to do, weather wise. The sun was trying to come out, but the wind whipped in that erratic way that threatened to bring back a bit of winter, if only for a few hours.
Hopefully, that held off for the afternoon.
Traffic was steady now, a line of trucks and cars coming down the hill from the main part of town. Stopping at the stop sign in front of his garage, waiting to turn left to go to the brewery.
Everyone loved pancakes, it seemed. Well, that was good for his town.
