I froze. “How did you?—”
“Small town.” Bud shrugged, stirring cream into his coffee.
I adjusted my grip on the coffee pot. “And just so we’re clear, my friends did the bidding, not me.” Never mind that I was the one who’d ended the bidding before he’d gone to that hussy in the back row who’d been intent on winning him.
“Sure, sure.” Jimmy nodded sagely. “So, how was the date?”
“None of your business.” I couldn’t help the heat rising to my cheeks.
“That good, huh?” Bud chuckled.
Damn it. I hadn’t meant to confirm the date had happened yet. “Don’t you three have anything better to talk about?”
“Not really,” they answered in unison.
The bell above the door jingled, and I looked up to see Jess striding in, her Pour Decisions apron still tied around her waist. She made a beeline for me, eyes wide.
“Hey, did you know Rhett is at your house?”
I nearly dropped the coffeepot. “What?”
“Just drove by. He seemed to be measuring your porch.” She slid onto a stool at the counter. “Looked pretty focused.”
So he actually had shown up like he said he would. I hadn’t quite believed it when he’d offered last night. Part of me had written it off as post-kiss delirium because he’d promised to do so many things over the years and hadn’t followed through. It had never been malicious, just an endless string of reminders that I didn’t come first in his life.
“Yeah, he volunteered to fix my porch.” I busied myself pouring Jess a cup of coffee, avoiding her eyes. Not that she’d asked for coffee and not that the coffee at her truck wasn’t ten times better than the basic stuff we served here. I needed something else to focus on.
“Did he now?” Her voice lilted with suggestion.
From the corner table, I heard Harlan let out a low whistle. “Fixing the porch, huh?”
“That’s a mighty big step,” Jimmy chimed in.
“It’s not a thing.” But my voice sounded unconvincing even to my own ears. “He just felt bad about never getting around to it when we were married.”
Jess raised a single eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And I’m sure that’s all there is to it.”
“It is,” I said firmly, though my heart wasn’t in it.
Because it didn’t feel like nothing. It felt like something. Something significant.
When we were married, Rhett had always had good intentions about fixing things around the house. But between his shifts at the fire station and the extra hours he’d pick up, those intentions rarely materialized into actual repairs. The sagging porch had been on his to-do list for years.
Now he was actually doing it. Not just talking about it, but showing up.
“Look, he’s just trying to make amends,” I said, more to convince myself than them. “That’s all.”
I leaned against the counter, staring at the coffeepot in my hands. Despite my protests, I couldn’t help wondering if there was more to Rhett’s sudden handyman routine than just guilt.
“He’s on medical leave,” I mumbled, half to myself. “Probably just bored.”
But a traitorous part of me wanted it to mean more than that. I wanted it to mean he was putting down roots again, even if just temporarily. To mean he was investing time and energy into something connected to me. That he was trying to right old wrongs.
That last part, at least, felt true. There’d been something different about him last night. A gravitas and maturity he hadn’t had when I’d ended us. The way he’d listened—really listened—when I spoke. How he’d asked thoughtful questions about the diner, remembered details about me from years ago. The careful way he’d touched me, like I was precious.
Had he come to regret how things had broken between us? Did he want to try again?
Did I?
