“You want me to meet him?” I confirmed, making sure I hadn’t heard him wrong.
Cole reached down and laced his fingers with mine. “Absolutely. Come on in. He’s a great guy. You’ll love him.”
I let Cole lead me into his house, and the moment we stepped inside I could hear a deep voice singing very badly.
Cole rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, he does that.” He shrugged before leading me into the kitchen.
I sat on a stool while Cole organized some drinks, and we chatted about our day. I told him about Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson who checked in yesterday, and their drama. They were great. They were like a sixty-year-old soap opera. They fought and bickered and argued over every little thing. Tonight, at dinner when Mrs. Jefferson ordered the lemon pie for dessert, Mr. Jefferson told her she didn’t like lemon pie. For five minutes we stood there watching them argue over pie. In the end, she ordered both the lemon pie and the chocolate brownie while Mr. Jefferson pouted.
“Sounds like there’s never a moment's peace,” Cole commented.
“It’s pretty crazy, " I confessed, knowing that every day was different at the B&B.
“You sound like you love it though,” Cole suggested.
“I love getting to spend time with my sisters. It feels like forever since we just got to hang out.”
“I get that. Do you think you’ll stick around for a while?” Cole asked.
I knew his question was innocent. At least, I wanted to pretend it was, but it was definitely loaded. Sticking around Wattle Creek had never been on my agenda. My plan, if you could even call it that, had been to come back, put myself back together, take a breath, and then move on to the next adventure. Even though I could see the appeal of sticking around, I wasn’t ready to commit.
Before I could answer, the tallest man I’d ever seen stepped into the room. Wearing a pair of worn jeans, a tight white T-shirt, and bare feet, there was no doubt he was a man’s man. With dog tags dangling from a chain around his neck, the man was imposing.
“Hi, I’m Zane,” he introduced, stretching his hand out for me to shake.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Grace,” I replied, setting my hand in his.
“How do you know this ugly mug, Grace?” Zane asked, his easy-going nature and kind eyes relaxing me. Beside me, I felt Cole move a little closer.
“He picked me up on the side of the road,” I answered honestly, trying not to laugh.
It might be the truth, but it also sounded really weird.
We sat around on the porch for a couple of hours, sharing a beer and watching the lightning bugs dance while Zane told stories about what they used to get up to while they were stationed overseas. He kept the tales lighthearted and althoughthey laughed and gave each other shit, I knew they were only giving me half the story. Something I was truly grateful for. I wasn’t born yesterday. Wars weren’t pretty, no matter how you wanted to look at it, and if these two were still smiling, then that was a blessing in itself.
“So, what are your plans while you’re here?” I asked, picking at the label on my beer bottle.
“Not really sure yet,” Zane admitted with a shrug. “Cole said I could crash here for a few days…”
“Stay as long as you need,” Cole offered without waiting for Zane to finish.
I had no doubt Cole knew exactly where Zane’s head was at and what he was going through, and if giving him a roof over his head for a couple of days or weeks helped, then that’s what he’d do.
“Thanks, man. But I’m not freeloading. Put me to work,” Zane declared, and Cole just chuckled.
“Oh, you’re going to regret that.”
“Probably. But I can’t sit around contemplating my navel all day. I’ll be crazy by the end of the week. A bit of hard work will be good for me.”
“Great! We start at zero six hundred,” Cole told him, and now it was my turn to laugh. Cole turned to me. “What?”
“You.”
“What about me?”
“Zero six hundred.”
“Yeah?” Cole missed my joke. Too many years in fatigues I assumed.
