That night, I let myself believe one reckless, perfect night could be harmless and easy to forget. I didn’t ask for promises. I didn’t ask for more. But when I woke up, he was gone without a note or a quick apology scribbled on hotel stationary.
I tried to tell myself it didn’t bother me.
But seeing him again…it isn’t nothing.
He doesn’t get to casually reenter my life like I won’t remember how quiet it felt afterward.
There’s no way in hell I can do this.
CHAPTER 5
WE DON’T BLUR THE LINES.
Tucker
Seven Stools is quieter than usual for a weeknight, which is odd given that we have a couple of dozen people now scattered across different rentals around town. I’m not complaining about it—as long as they don’t start arguing over the jukebox or convincing me that Fireball is considered top-shelf whiskey.
But I love entertaining them when that argument starts.
I enjoy working at the bar after a day of construction work. I started here the day after I turned twenty-one to help Griffin. Hehatesworking evening hours because it attracts a different group of people that he doesn’t have the patience for.
Me? I don’t mind because I fit right in with them.
I’m good at both of my jobs and it keeps my hands busy.
When my hands are busy, it means my head is quieter.
I’m halfway through wiping down the pint glasses fresh out of the dishwasher when the bell chimes over the door. Griffin hates that bell, and every time it goes off, I smile to myself and add one more person to the count in my head.
Looking over, I see Nan strutting through the door like she owns the place. Some days, I wonder if she thinks she owns the town. She’s everywhere; a gossip queen and professionalmeddler. She somehow always seemed to know things before everyone else does.
“Talkative Tucker.” She beams, taking a seat at the bar. “Don’t you look chipper this evening.”
“I’m always chipper.” I laugh. “What are you doing here so late? Don’t you have your recorded soaps to watch?”
“They’re recorded, Tucker. Means I can watch ’em whenever I please.”
“Valid point.”
“I’ll take a glass of water, two lemons, and extra ice.” She nods, and I shake my head, laughing. I fix her drink, setting it in front of her, then brace myself. Because if there’s one thing about Nan we know, it’s that she never shows up out of the blue without a hidden agenda. “So, how’s your new tenant doing?”
And there it is.
“Don’t know. I’ve been working.”
Which isn’t a complete lie. Between finishing up some projects around town before this big renovation starts, and working here every night, my hours blurred together.
“You mean to tell me thatyou—Talkative Tucker—haven’t gone over there, knocked on the door, and introduced yourself?”
I sigh. “Nan, I worked all day yesterday finishing up a house then meeting the crew at the house on Redwood Ave for the show in the afternoon, only to wake up at the crack of dawn again today to lay foundation for Frank across town. Then I came right here. I don’t know what to say other than I haven’t even been home.”
I know I’m the one who agreed to let someone stay at the apartment above my garage after Nan begged me, but deep down, seeing my new tenant will only make it clear that I’m no longer alone on my quiet property. Which sounds dumb, but for years it’s been my sanctuary. It’s the one place I can let my guard down. The one place where I can sit in my own grief without judgment or pity. The one place where I don’t have to hide behind being the guy who makes people laugh.
No one has any idea how much time I spend actually trying to fool those around me.
I will never let anyone close enough to see through my jokes, to the mess underneath.
That would be dangerous.
