“Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Tomorrow. After we do the paperwork... can I show you what I’ve been working on? In the workshop?”
Jake’s pulse spiked. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Wes nodded, gave him a small smile, and walked out.
Jake sat there, watching through the window as Wes climbed into his truck and drove away.
Friday.
Tomorrow.
Might as well be next year.
He pushed his cold fries around the plate, watching the sun begin to slant through the blinds.
I trust you.
Jake had come to Spoon to save people.
He was starting to think Spoon might save him right back.
Seven
Friday Afternoon.
Wes had been useless all morning.
Miguel had noticed—the way Wes kept checking his phone, the way he’d miscounted change twice, the way he’d nearly walked into a low-hanging branch because he wasn’t paying attention.
“You got that meeting today?” Miguel asked around noon, netting a balsam fir for a young couple.
“Yeah. Two o’clock.”
“Maybe you should eat something. You’ve been wound up all morning.”
“I’m fine.”
Miguel gave him an eye-roll that said he wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t push.
By one-thirty, Wes had given up pretending to be productive. He told Miguel he was heading in early to prep, which was a lie. There was nothing to prep. The paperwork for his business plan was ready. The kitchen was clean. Everything was in order.
Inside, Henry was in his chair, watching a British baking show. He glanced up when Wes came in.
“Meeting today?”
“Yeah.”
“With that banker? Jake?”
Wes paused. Something in Henry’s tone was different. Not suspicious exactly, but... encouraging?
“Yeah.”
Henry nodded, eyes back on the TV. “I like him. He seems decent.”
