So True

by Serena Bell

  He did. He always had, and he always would. He’d moved several states away, lost the woman he cared about, upended the hope for a life of his own, and he couldn’t fully regret it, because it had all been for Evan.

  “You sound busy,” his mom said—code for: You sound impatient.

  “I’m at the hardware store. I’m helping Evan with some stuff.”

  He could see why Chiara had urged him to shop local. This hardware store had some of everything, and right now he was standing in a corner reserved for arts and crafts materials. His hand drifted, idly, to a set of colored pencils that were open, on display. Seventy-two of them, arranged in rainbow order. Chiara in high school would have gone nuts over them. If she’d let herself enjoy them. She might also have gotten hung up about whether drawing was a waste of time. Whether she should be concentrating instead on activities that her father had decided would help her get into college. Her father had treated the drawing like a charming, self-indulgent little hobby. And Chiara herself had vacillated about whether she was any good at it or should give it up. She’d taken some art class and gotten dissed by the teacher, and she’d taken it to heart.

  Without making a conscious decision, he picked up one of the closed, packaged sets beside the display and added it to his basket.

  “Just make sure you’re taking time to take care of yourself, too,” his mother said.

  He rolled his eyes. His mother was a big proponent of self-care. Self-compassion.

  He mostly thought all that was selfishness. You did what needed doing, and then you did what needed doing next, and you put other people first, especially family.

  “I’m fine, Mom. But I’d better go.”

  He had tables to build. A brother to visit. A store to rescue.

  “I love you, Jax.”

  “I love you, too, Mom.”

  He almost put the pencils back on the table. Who was he fooling? This wasn’t an eight-pack of Crayolas. This was an expensive gift.

  But he could see the look on her face, that lit-up, alive expression, and he couldn’t make himself leave them behind.

  15

  “I’m kicking you out.”

  Jax had come in, crossed his arms, and made the pronouncement.

  “Out of the shop?”

  “At least away from the counter. I’m building the new counter today.”

  “You know we’re open.”

  He swept a critical look around the empty shop.

  “Okay,” she said, with a sigh, and yielded the space to him.

  She decided to use the time to rethink what was on display. Evan needed to lead with fun family and party games that would pull tourists in. Then he could upsell people to high-end games like Agricola or Scythe or Terraforming Mars. But he wasn’t going to grab walk-in traffic with that stuff. It just didn’t work that way.

  Also, people didn’t buy what they didn’t understand. Especially with those more complicated games, Evan would have to keep demos on the tables to lure people in.

  She spent half an hour rearranging stock and furniture to appeal more to moms, dads, kids, and groups of casual-gamer friends, then realized she’d frozen in place and was staring at Jax while he worked.

  Because, who wouldn’t have?

  At some point, when she wasn’t watching, he’d stripped down to the waist—just like Auburn had said.

  Damn her for being right.

  He was wearing a pair of jeans that fit him like they’d been made for his butt and thighs, but that wasn’t where her eyes wanted to go. They were fixated on the taut skin stretched over acres of muscles in his chest, stomach, and back. Oh, my God, he looked good. All golden tan and glistening just the tiniest bit with sweat, and every time he moved to drill or hammer or screw or whatever the hell he was doing with that other thing, his body bunched and flexed and made something go loose and liquid low in her belly.

  He looked up and caught her looking. They both looked away at the same time.

  Ten itchy minutes later—ten minutes of very deliberately not looking his way—she realized it was time for her to get the hell out of the shop.

  “Mind if I run out?”

  “Nope,” he said, not looking at her.

  She headed into town and found Lily herself behind the counter at Tierney Bay Diner. She walked Chiara’s order for two lasagnas back, then came out to chat.

  “Are the lasagnas for you and Auburn?” she asked.

  “Um, no. One’s for me and one’s for the contractor who’s working at Meeples.”

  “Oh, that guy,” Lily said, eyes going wide. “He was here for breakfast this morning. He is—a nice addition to the landscape.”

  “Uh. Yeah. He is.”

  Lily raised an eyebrow. “So he’s new in town?”

  “You didn’t get the whole story out of him?”

  “I was on the grill this morning. I saw him but didn’t get to give him the third degree.”

  “He’s Evan’s brother, actually. The kid who owns Meeples, you know?”

  Lily nodded. “Another excellent customer.”

  Chiara squinted at that; she was pretty sure there wasn’t much Evan could safely eat at the diner.

  “I do special meals for him,” Lily said, seeing Chiara’s eyebrows rise.

  “You’re a saint,” Chiara said.

  Lily shrugged. “I just appreciate a kid who appreciates good cooking, you know?” she said.

  The lasagnas came out—Lily had put a friend-rush on them—and Chiara hugged Lily across the countertop, then walked the hot food back to Meeples.

  “Here,” she said, setting Jax’s on the counter and trying not to ogle the lovely hollows in the muscles of his shoulders, the grooves to either side of his spine.

  He looked up from what he was doing, and when he saw the boxes she had laid out, a smile lit him up.

  “You got me lunch?”

  “I was getting myself some, so I figured—yeah, I got you lunch.”

  “Wow. That’s—thank you.”

  He looked like she’d brought him Christmas, not lunch. She remembered him being like that in high school, too. So damn grateful to her mother, thanking her five times a night for having him and Evan over, for cooking for them.

  Back then it had been because no one ever cooked for him.

  Was it possible that was still true? Because if so, the women of Bakersfield were missing out in a big way.

  “Oh, man—oh, God, that smells unbelievably good.”

  “Tierney Bay Diner,” she said.

  “That place!”

  “Hang on,” she said. “You know this is a no shoes, no shirt, no service establishment, right?”

  Mainly because there was no way she could eat while he looked like that. It was too distracting.

  He laughed, grabbed for his shirt, and tugged it back on. “Hey. Um. I have something for you, too.”

  “You—what?”

  “Hang on. Give me a second.”

  He went out of the shop, was gone a few minutes, and came back in with a small brown paper bag. “Here,” he said.

  The package was flat and made a strange subdued rattle, like the rustle of leaves. She opened the bag and pulled out a box of seventy-two colored pencils. Something lurched in her chest. These must have cost him a fortune. And she’d never use them.

  “You shouldn’t have. Seriously, Jax. I don’t draw anymore. I haven’t since high school. It was just a passing phase.”

  He frowned. “It shouldn’t have been.”

  “It was just a kid’s hobby. I never had the eye for it.”

  And once Jax had left, she hadn’t had the heart for it. But even if she had, being practical had become even more important after her parents’ death—and numbers sure beat the hell out of pretty pictures in being employable.

  “You only believe that because some art teacher who was probably jealous of you said it.”

  “I just—I don’t have time.” She tried to hand the pencils back to him. “Jax. I can’t
accept this. It must have cost you a hundred bucks or more.”

  “I want you to have them.” He put his hands up in the universal gesture of refusal. “I won’t take them back. It’s fine if you can’t use them. Maybe Hannah can. Or you can keep them in the shop for kids to use.”

  “These aren’t kid colored pencils.” Against her own better judgment, she opened the box, stroked a finger over the pencils. They wiggled in their little grooves, and she wanted. She wanted to use them. Just like she wanted all the things that Jax made her think about, all things that didn’t make any sense to her life now.

  It touched her that he’d gone to the trouble of buying the pencils for her, even though money must have been tight for him, especially with his brother blowing the college funds and him having to buy materials for a reno. It moved her more than she wanted to admit.

  And why could he still do that to her? She wished, more than anything, that she could put up a wall around her heart. So he couldn’t mess with her, even unintentionally. He was so bad for her sanity. She was still as vulnerable to him as ever.

  Thank God he was leaving soon.

  16

  His belt sander quit spinning mid-morning. Which sucked, because he’d been making great progress.

  “God damn,” he said. It wasn’t the sander’s power, because the pile of shit was still vibrating, which meant it was the drive belt. He could try to repair it, but it had been a while since he’d messed around in the innards of a sander. It would be a hell of a lot easier if he could borrow someone’s.…

  And maybe he could.

  “Do you think Levi has a belt sander?”

  “What’s a belt sander?”

  “This thing.” He held it up, although he could tell it made about as much sense to her as Terraforming Mars made to him.

  “Probably?” She shrugged. “Want me to text him?”

  “Sure?”

  She grabbed her phone, dashed one out, then said, “He said come on up.”

  A few minutes later he pulled into the Cape House parking lot and found himself staring at the hotel where his life had changed completely.

  Eleven and a half years ago, he’d climbed this hill on foot to ask for a job. Back then, Cape House had been a popular Oregon coast destination, but definitely still a beach hotel, with all the scrappy charm that went with it. Weathered cedar shingles, exterior staircases with indoor-outdoor carpeting, balconies on the beach side with cast iron railings, and metal and plastic furniture. As soon as he’d stepped into the shabby lobby, he’d felt at home—like he and Cape House were old friends.

  Sometime since then the hotel had come up in the world. The stairwells had been closed off, the whole building reclad in siding and freshly painted, the trim and windows upgraded and in perfect repair. There was a new wing, too, whose one glass wall exposed a full-size swimming pool. He was pretty sure that if he walked around to the beach side, he’d find well-crafted wood railings and upgraded furniture.

  Levi Campbell had grafted a new entrance on the front of the building, and Jax couldn’t help but feel that the new-and-improved Cape House was watching him warily to see if he measured up.

  Or maybe he still felt like Rich Campbell was watching him and finding him not-quite-good-enough.

  He sighed and heaved himself out of the truck, striding up towards the lobby and main office.

  Levi wasn’t behind the desk—Jax didn’t recognize the middle-aged man who was—but the man ducked into an office and Levi came out.

  “Walker,” Levi said. It wasn’t exactly friendly. “You need a belt sander? What for?”

  “I don’t know if Chiara told you—” Jax felt the weight of Levi’s hostile scrutiny, but hid his immediate defensiveness behind the friendliest tone he could muster “—but she and I are fixing up Meeples. Evan’s store. I’m working on new built-ins—front counter, shelves, racks—and my sander just died.”

  Levi’s gaze assessed him. “There are some good reasons I shouldn’t give a shit about your problems.”

  He was a big guy; Jax could probably take him in a fair fight, but Jax guessed pissed off big brothers hit extra hard. He gave Levi a tight nod, holding his own temper—he deserved the wrath, after all. “Fair enough.”

  “But you came through with Dad’s loan money, and that meant something to me.”

  Startled, Jax said, “Oh, Jesus. That.” He’d almost forgotten. He’d returned the money Rich had given him when he left town, sent it to Levi with interest and told Levi in a note that it was repayment on a loan. “I owed you that money.” He wasn’t going to take any credit from any member of the Campbell family for zeroing out that particular ledger.

  Levi assessed him a moment more, then seemed to arrive at a decision. “Come with me,” he said. He led Jax out a back entrance of Cape House and around to a utility shed. He threw open the door, to display a treasure trove of equipment in a neat workshop. Jax immediately spotted the jointer, thickness planer, circular saw, router—and a couple of belt sanders.

  Levi tilted his head. “Whatever’s in here is yours to use. You can take a sander with you. Just leave the pneumatic. That’s mine.”

  Jax didn’t want to push his luck, but it was the perfect segue. He took a chance. “One thing I need is space.”

  Levi appeared to think it over, then nodded. “As long as my guys aren’t working in here, you’re welcome to it. You get out of the way if they need it.”

  “For sure.” Jax bet Levi was a good boss—like Rich had been.

  “I’ll get you a key. So I don’t have to see your ugly mug every time you want in.”

  Jax wasn’t sure if Levi was joking or not, but figured he’d err on the side of laughing.

  Levi didn’t laugh. “The generosity doesn’t extend to my sister. She’s not yours to mess with. You had your chance, and you blew it. We understand each other?”

  Levi’s tone had barely changed. They might still be discussing use of the sander. Which pissed Jax off. Chiara wasn’t an object to be bargained over. But at the same time…he got it. From Levi’s perspective, Jax had treated Chiara like crap, and Levi wanted to make damn sure it didn’t happen again.

  Jax nodded. “We understand each other.”

  Levi was turning to leave when Jax remembered another question he’d meant to ask. “Hey,” he said. “You guys still own the house you lived in when I was in high school?”

  Levi looked surprised at the change of topic, but shook his head. “Nope. Sold it in the early days when we didn’t know how we were going to keep the hotel running. I live at Cape House with Han and Mason. Auburn lives at Beachcrest. Chiara has her own place.”

  “Sorry about the house, man,” Jax said.

  Levi shrugged. “The past’s the past.” And he raised his eyebrows in Jax’s direction, as if to say, And don’t you fucking forget it.

  There was no danger of that.

  17

  On his way back to the shop, the belt sander in the back of his truck, Jax took a detour by the house where the Campbells had once lived.

  He turned up the dirt-and-gravel lane, hoping he wasn’t about to get arrested for trespassing—but there weren’t any other cars in the driveway. He sat, looking at the house. It was a run-of-the-mill Northwest contemporary. Nothing special, but even just staring at it gave him a bad case of feelings.

  After Jax had gotten the Cape House job, Rich Campbell had taken it upon himself to turn what could have been another year of drudge and hardship into a pretty decent senior year. Jax had tried to keep his home life out of Rich’s view—he tried to keep it out of everyone’s view, because the last thing he wanted was for adults to decide they needed to meddle. He knew that was how kids ended up in foster homes. But Rich was a smart guy. There had been enough times that Jax had asked to leave early, or showed up late, or swapped a shift to “help his brother” with something. Jax could make up wild excuses until he was blue in the face, but sooner or later Rich would get the lay of the land.

&n
bsp; “You have a lot of responsibilities at home, huh?” he’d asked casually one day.

  There wasn’t much Jax could say, other than, “Yeah.”

  After that, Rich’s dinner invitations started including Evan. At first Jax said no, because he still didn’t trust Rich not to get up in his business. But the Campbells were too great, and it was too tempting to show Evan how a real family lived.

  Plus, for Jax, not having to eat dinner with his drunk mother—or worse still, not having to eat dinner while his mother was passed out in the other room—had been a breath of relief in a life packed too tight with responsibilities.

  And then there was Chiara.

  In the beginning, Jax and Evan had always left promptly after dinner. But once Jax started getting to know Chiara, things changed.

  Because once he started getting to know her, he wanted to know her better.

  One night, at dinner, he let it drop that he was having trouble with precalculus.

  He was having trouble. He was so tired at the end of every night that doing his math homework was a joke. He fell asleep over and over again with his cheek pressed against the page. He woke up with pencil imprinted on his skin and drool on the paper. He handed in maybe twenty percent of his assignments on time. He was going to be lucky if he managed a C-.

  But he also knew how Rich and his family worked well enough to guess who’d be his tutor if he hinted that he was going to fail math.

  “Chiara,” Rich said. “You still remember your pre-calc, don’t you?”

  She snuck a glance at Jax across the table, squinting one eye. She’d sensed a ploy. Which made him happy, too. She was no dummy.

  “Yeah,” she said cautiously.

  “Maybe you could give Jax a little help after dinner.”

  So after dinner they sat at the Campbell family table, and Chiara eased him through his math homework. With Evan playing happily with Hannah in the living room and the other Campbells making happy Campbell family background noise, pre-calc didn’t seem so daunting. And there was no danger of his falling asleep with Chiara that close to him. He could smell her hair. Her arm occasionally brushed his, and every last hair on that side of his body would stand on end. Along with some other things he tried not to think about.