“You from Moo U?” the man asked, a hint of brogue in his voice.
“What now?”
“The college,” he said, shaking his head. “Obviously not. You must be new in town, then.”
“Do I look it?” I looked up, giving the Scottish bartender a once-over worth saving. He was tall and broad, with dark hair and tattoos and that voice.
He shrugged.
“I’m just passing through, but I might be here longer than I planned,” I said, thinking about my car in the parking lot out back.
“You a fan of the weather?” he asked, lips twisting into a smirk.
Was this guy flirting with me? I scratched at the corner of my mouth, but his stare didn’t leave my eyes. Nope, not flirting, just nice. What a concept. Vermont was wild.
“My car overheated, I think. I’ll probably have to find a mechanic to take a look at it in the morning.”
“We have a few of those,” he said. “What can I get you to drink while you warm up?”
“Just a good red wine would be nice,” I said.
“We have mulled right now, since it’s winter. Did you want to try that?”
“Yes,” I answered, rubbing my hands together. I licked my lips, thinking of the warm spices and hot wine, and I turned my attention to the stage, trying to listen to the singer. He’d started to sing a song that I didn’t recognize, and his voice was low and gravelly. The way he sang made my chest tight, and I cleared my throat, thankful when the bartender came back with my wine. I handed him my credit card to open a tab, then turned my focus back to the stage.
The singer worked his way through the rest of the song, then two more before announcing he was going to take a break. The quiet hum of conversation filled the air again, and I caught the bartender out of the corner of my eye. He was a few stools down, chatting with two men who looked to be a couple. The younger of the two gave the bartender a big smile, then fished out his phone, sending off a rapid-fire series of texts. The other man looked a little more cautious, but he smiled at the young man like he was in love, and then they walked across the bar to a booth and sat down.
The bartender caught me staring at him and headed toward me. I looked down, my cheeks a little flushed at being noticed. Sure I’d tried to flirt with him earlier, but he clearly wasn’t interested and I didn’t want him to think I was desperate. Some tourist making heart eyes at him or something.
“How’s the wine?” he asked after reaching me.
“Really good,” I answered honestly, taking another drink, swallowing down my embarrassment. “I’m Liam, by the way.”
The bartender smiled. “Auden.”
It was nice to know his name so I could stop thinking of him as the bartender. Auden held out his hand and I shook it, years of training forever ingrained by my parents. “Nice to meet you.”
Then I said his name to myself three times and noted three things about him, so I would remember it.
Auden has a delicious voice.
Auden works at the bar.
Auden is nice.
“I had a friend make a call for you,” he said, unprompted. “I know a guy who can take a look at your car for you.”
Auden is really nice, I amended.
“Oh.” I smiled broadly. “A mechanic, right? What’s his name?”
“His name’s Jasper Cunningham,” Auden said. “He lives out of town a bit, works out of his own garage, but he’ll be down before we close to take a look at your car.”
“That’s great.” I let out a tense breath and circled both of my hands around my wine glass. “I appreciate that a lot.”
“Not a problem,” Auden assured me.
“Hey,” I said, reaching out and stopping him as he tried to walk away. “Who’s the guy on stage?”
“That’s Jon. He plays here on Wednesdays and Saturdays when we have open mic nights. He’s good, right?”
My brain landed on one part of that sentence, and it wasn’t the right one.
“You have open mic nights?”
“Fridays or Saturdays normally.”
It was Wednesday, and I didn’t know how long it would take to get my car fixed. I hadn’t planned on staying in Vermont for three days, but this bar was cute and cozy and I wasn’t really on a schedule.
If anything, the longer it took for me to get back to California, the better. I’d planned this road trip as an escape from school, from my parents, from their expectations, from life. They didn’t know I’d even left LA, which shouldn’t even matter. I was twenty-four. An actual adult, and I didn’t need my parents’ permission for anything, let alone taking a road trip.
Even if that road trip took me to every state in the continental US in a car they’d bought for me. Even if that road trip didn’t have an end date. Even if that road trip had me, Liam Luckett, Jr., playing guitar in every bar I could find that had an open mic night when I passed through.
I thought, out of all the lies I’d told as part of my grand adventure, the origin story of the guitar might have been the worst. But I didn’t want to think about that now, and I didn’t want to think about that here. I was in Vermont, halfway through the states and nearly ready to head west again. That change in direction was a sign my freedom was coming to an end, and I wasn’t ready for that yet.
So, while I hadn’t planned on staying in Vermont for long, maybe my car breaking down was a sign it wasn’t time for me to head home quite yet.
“Do you want some more wine while you wait?” Auden asked.
I blinked, caught off guard by the melodic lilt of his voice.
“Yeah,” I told him with a smile. “That would be great.”
3
Jasper
The sunset forced me back inside.
Which wasn’t saying much because the sun set early in the winter, but it was cold and, unfortunately, there was no way the storm was going to wait until Friday to hit us. As long as it waited until Thursday, I’d be fine, but the sky looked ominous. I cursed myself under my breath for letting the propane delivery go as long as I had. It was a prime example of how I’d been living my life on pause for the past three years, and the pending storm just further proof I needed to get it together.
Michael was dead, but I wasn’t.
Though, if I had to survive a storm with no propane, I might be.
Thankfully, I had a centuries old wood-burning stove in my sitting room, which was coincidentally my favorite room of the house. Back inside, I sat down in front of the cast iron beast, my butt firmly planted on a rug my grandmother had woven by hand when she was a teenager, and I set to digging kindling out of the basket in the corner.
I grabbed a few small chunks of wood and tossed them into the fire, listening to it sizzle and crackle as it stoked the flames. Leaning back, I gave a quick look around the room, around the first floor of my house that was far too big for only me. I loved my house, and Michael had loved it, too.
The house sat on a handful of acres, having been sectioned off from a more expansive farm in the mid-1800s. Going back five generations, my great-great-times however many great-grandfather had built the place with his bare hands after buying the land. The manual craftsmanship accounted for the sloping floor in the front corner of the house, but everything else was up to order and probably built better than some of the modern day houses in Montpelier.
Though I had more bedrooms than I’d ever need, and an attic that Michael and I never quite started to renovate, the house had original, wide plank wood floors running through all three levels and reeked of heritage and love in every corner you looked. The kitchen had notches on the door frame marking my height as I grew, and the height of my father, and his father before him.
The stair bannisters had been carved by hand, the roof joists in the attic assembled with so much thought and care, the garage had been an addition in the fifties by my grandfather, and the rocking chairs on the porch were a gift to my mother when she and my dad got married. While every part of the house had something spe
cial about it, the sitting room was my favorite place.
It sat in the front corner of the building, and it had a nice bay window and a view of a small pond. Beyond that, nothing but trees all the way to the property line. The ancient and charred wood-burning stove was in the sitting room too, and I sometimes wondered if my preference for the room had to do with that heavy beast.
I crumpled up some newspaper and tossed it in with the kindling, closing the grate and pushing up the sleeves of my sweatshirt as the room warmed. Beside the bay window behind me was a couch that had seen better days and sturdier stuffing, but sitting on it always reminded me of a warm hug from my mom, which was nice. I’d slept on the couch more nights than I’d admit to anyone, and I didn’t think I’d ever be willing to part with it… or have it reupholstered.
The entire house was laced with bits of history and memory, forever touched by the generations who’d lived here before me. I didn’t think there would be a generation after me, for obvious reasons, but the idea of the house slipping out of the Cunningham family had been enough for me to look into adoption more than once. But not since Michael died.
At that thought, as if the house knew I was about to tumble down a rabbit hole of memories where I didn’t belong, a log in the stove cracked and popped, shattering the silence. Gus ran into the room, eyes wide and mouth barking.
“Quiet, you big fool.” I stretched my hand out toward him and he trotted over, accepting the reassurance all was well. I sighed, appreciating the way his soft fur felt against my palm. “We should eat, yeah?”
Gus apparently recognized the word eat and took off into the kitchen without looking back, his nails skittering across the wood as he rounded the corner. His priorities and his loyalty had been clear since the day we brought him home from the shelter.
My house was a giant square, with all the rooms on the first floor connecting. It had been fun as a kid, running laps inside with Devon when there was too much snow, even though our moms hated it. We were lucky that our parents were best friends because so often that meant weekends and holidays together. Devon was my best friend, and I’d known him longer than anyone.
I slipped through the kitchen and into the utility room, scooping some dry food into Gus’s bowl before getting something for myself from the fridge.
Gus looked down at his bowl, then looked up at me, clearly displeased.
“I’ll get you some human food in a couple days. You know the drill, buddy. Just the weekends.” I spoiled the dog because I didn’t have much else to do, but I had to draw the line somewhere.
I made myself a simple dinner, as always, and I ate in silence, as always. The house was quiet, except for the creaks and moans of the old wooden joints as the wind whipped around the corners, and I looked outside the large window in the dining room just in time to see the first flakes of snow flutter toward the ground.
“I was right, Gus,” I told my dog, “the storm is early.”
I turned my phone back on to make sure there weren’t any urgent alerts about the severity of the storm, finding a slew of missed text messages from Tai, my friend Emmett’s new partner.
Tai: Got a job for you.
Tai: Stop ignoring me.
Tai: Out of towner needs car help.
Tai: I told Auden to tell him you’d help.
I dropped my fork on the table and frowned.
Me: I don’t want to help.
Tai: Of course you do.
I groaned, remembering the ignored invitation, knowing that Tai and Emmett were at the bar watching Jon sing because it was a Wednesday. I hated that I knew all of that, and then paused, wondering why it bothered me so much to know someone else’s routine.
Tai was like a fungus, but the cute kind, and he’d worked some magic on Emmett that had them both hung up like lovesick teenagers. I wasn’t jealous… I didn’t think. I was happy for Emmett, for both of them, and I knew I needed to be a better friend to them both.
I needed to be better all around and to more people than just Devon. More importantly, I realized I wanted to be better.
It had started with the sheets.
But I could do more.
Me: Fine. I’ll come down.
Tai: I know.
I finished my dinner and washed up, then grabbed a basic set of tools and loaded them into the cab of my truck, shoving the key into the ignition to let the motor warm up before I left. I unlatched the gate to the garage and groaned for how fucking cold it already was.
There were a handful of mechanics in town, but after the war, my grandpop had started working on cars as a hobby to keep himself busy, and he’d become the unofficial favorite mechanic in Burlington. He passed his love of cars to my dad, and my dad to me, and that was how I found myself with a late night message from Tai and Auden and a tourist with a car that just wouldn’t start.
It took me about twenty minutes to get into town and I parked in the lot out back, immediately spotting the car in question. A too clean, too new, luxury SUV with out-of-state plates parked at the far corner of the lot. I sighed inwardly, hoping it was just an oil change or a battery jump, and headed around to the entrance.
The snow had started to come down, a thin white blanket covering the sidewalk, yet undisturbed by footprints. Winter had officially arrived.
Inside the bar, I shivered off the cold and spotted Emmett and Tai at one of the booths, talking together with smiles like they always seemed to have. I pushed in beside Tai, shouldering him into the window.
“You did come,” Tai greeted with a laugh. “I knew you would.”
“I didn’t,” Emmett said.
“You said there’s someone with car trouble.”
“And here you are.”
“You told him I would do it,” I accused.
Tai grinned and shrugged.
“At least get a drink while you’re here?” Emmett suggested.
“Maybe,” I agreed. “Let me see about this car first.”
I worked my way through the crowd toward the bar, finding Auden and immediately recognizing the owner of the car. To start, his clothes were far too fancy for a place like V and V, and to end, he was just too pretty.
Way too pretty.
I balled my hand into a fist and shoved it into my pocket, forcing a smile. No. Absolutely not. There was no way the first person I found attractive who wasn’t my husband was going to be a twink from out of town. That was a recipe for disaster.
“There you are,” Auden said, his lilting accent a comfort as always.
“I’m here.”
“This is Liam. He’s having some car trouble.”
“Oh.” The single syllable tumbled out of Liam’s mouth and landed between us, an equal mix of surprise and pleasure. I swallowed, licking my lips and glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
Liam was small and young with a mess of blond hair atop his head and eyes so blue they sparkled like the sky in spring. He looked to be vibrant and full of life, a stark reminder of everything that I was not.
“What’s wrong with your car?” I asked, in lieu of a greeting, shoving a slurry of unwelcome thoughts into the back of my mind.
“Hi, I’m Liam,” he said, and I could feel him watching me with those aquamarine eyes of his.
“I heard,” I said, a little gruff. I turned to face him and folded my arms over my chest. God, he was nice to look at, but also, absolutely not.
No, Jasper.
Liam’s stare dragged over my face, narrowing as he traced the shape of my beard and worked his way down my chest to my hands. His mouth parted, showing the barest hint of the tip of his pink tongue, and he bit down, lips twisting into a smile before he looked back up at my face.
“Who are you?” Liam asked, tilting his head to the side.
I grunted, clearing my throat and shooting an accusatory glare across the room at Tai, who watched us intently.
“My name’s Jasper,” I said.
“Quite a name,” Liam said softly. “Are you a lumbe
rjack?”
“Holy shit.” I ran my fingers through my hair and looked away, shaking my head. “Are you for real?”
“Syrup tapper?” he asked.
“I’m a mechanic,” I snapped. “I’m told you need one.”
“My car was in the red when I got here.”
“Overheating?” I asked.
Liam shrugged and reached for his drink which, by the way his hand swayed, was not his first of the night. I flicked my attention to Auden, who held up three fingers.
“All right, let’s go take a look,” I told him.
Liam reached into his pocket and held out a set of keys. The top of my lip pulled into a smirk and I scoffed. “Yeah, come on,” I told him.
He jangled the keys at me. “Here. It’s cold out there.”
“I know. There’s a storm coming.”
“Dammit,” Liam muttered under his breath. “I didn’t find a hotel.”
I let out a rough breath. “We need to go look at your car.”
Realizing he would not come with me, and not wanting to be outside once the snow really started to fall, I held out my hand and, with a quick glance, he dropped the keys into my palm.
“You’re a good man, Jasper,” Auden said, and I glared at him, turning toward the front door.
Tai and Emmett of course pretended like they hadn’t been watching the whole thing, but I glared at them too for good measure as I stomped around the block and back to the parking lot. I hit the key fob to unlock the car… and nothing.
I wiped snow off my brow and picked the valet key out of the fob and shoved it into the door, sliding into the driver’s seat and closing the door behind me so I didn’t freeze. I wasn’t surprised to find the car wouldn’t start. So, it was definitely a battery issue, but that didn’t explain the overheating.
I got out of the car and locked it, replacing the key into the fob and heading back into the bar. The snow was really coming down and there was no way I was going to get this car fixed tonight. When I got back in, Tai was at the bar talking with Liam and I shoved him out of the way and dropped the key on the bar.
Daybreak Page 2