by Serena Bell
Having a tutor should have made him better at math. And yet he managed, for months, not to improve at all. Once, after he and Chiara were together-together, she said something about being a crappy math tutor and he confessed that he’d deliberately never learned anything so he could keep sitting next to her.
She’d swatted him on the arm. And then kissed him and said she’d sort of hoped he would keep sucking at math, too.
He could ask her if she remembered that.
No, goddamnit, he couldn’t. Not after the way she’d reacted to the colored pencils. She obviously did not want to take a trip down memory lane with him.
Speaking of which…he backed out of the driveway of the Campbells’ old house, because getting caught there would be creepy.
Impulsively, he made one more stop on his way back to town.
He had to brace himself for it—the house had been falling down when he, his mom, and Evan had lived there. He’d done his best to keep it up, repainting and repairing trim, doing yardwork, when he wasn’t picking up Evan from an activity or taking him to a doctor’s appointment. He wondered if the current owners had also let it fall to shit, or whether they were doing a better job of taking care of it.
But when he reached the street where he’d lived, the house was gone. In its place was what Jax could only call a mansion. It loomed over the smaller houses on either side.
You couldn’t go home again. He’d heard that somewhere. And it was apparently true.
Not that he would have wanted to. Not to that house.
The Campbells’ house, though, had felt like home.
Well, until it hadn’t.
He started the truck again. He needed to get the hell back to work so he could get the hell out of town, before he started wishing for things that couldn’t be, ever again.
18
For the rest of Friday, Jax worked in a whirlwind of hammer blows and sawdust, and Chiara stayed as far out of his way as she could, catching up on work for her own business, rearranging Meeples stock, placing orders, and designing social media posts.
By the end of the day, the check-out counter was done, and at closing time, he sent her away to go visit Evan so he could spray paint it without suffocating her. They’d agreed on white with red flourishes—shelves and drawers.
When she came in Saturday morning there was a note from Jax telling her that she shouldn’t use the counter, but that it would be good to go by Sunday. He’d built her a temporary stand for the register from the remnants of the old counter.
Her first impulse was to be annoyed, but the counter looked so goddamned cute, she couldn’t find it in her. Plus, she didn’t need to use the counter, because they didn’t get a customer all morning. In the afternoon, a few families drifted in, and Chiara did several hundred in sales. It was great, but not enough for a Saturday.
She’d planned the shop’s first event to bring in families, a “Gaming with Kids of All Ages” workshop, for next weekend. She was really hoping it paid off, because otherwise Evan would be screwed.
Speaking of Evan, where was Jax? Every time the door opened, she looked up, but it was never him.
Finally it was too much for her. Where are you?
It was more than forty-five minutes until she got an answer back. Building.
Are you at Evan’s?
No.
Where?
Silence.
Cape House?
Yes. But don’t come up here.
Why not?
You’ll see it when I’m ready for you to see it.
Should I be scared?
No. You should be excited.
That sent a waterfall of tingles down her spine. Can you send me a picture? Or give me hints?
Nope.
Jax! I don’t like surprises.
You’ll like this one.
She thought about defying him, about showing up at Levi’s workshop to see for herself, but something stopped her.
Maybe she didn’t hate surprises as much as she thought.
Sunday morning, she went to see Evan again.
“When are they springing you?” she asked, setting Shards of Infinity and Innovation, two of Evan’s favorite games, on his nightstand.
He frowned. “Things still aren’t…copacetic.” He made a face. “They think there’s scar tissue blockage, so I may have to have another surgery. They’re going to do some imaging. But no matter what, I’m not leaving before next weekend.”
“Oh, hon,” she said, and took his hand.
They sat for a moment, and then she said, “Jax built an amazing counter for the store.” She pulled out her phone and showed him.
“Niice!” Evan said. “Man. I gotta get him to show me how to do that while he’s here.”
“I'm sure he would love to. He’s working on other stuff but he won’t tell me exactly what.”
“Yeah. He won’t tell me either. He gets like this sometimes. He really loves surprises.”
For some reason, that made Chiara smile.
They played a long game of Shards of Infinity, and Chiara told him about the sales she’d made the day before, and the mom and son pair who’d been in a couple more times. And her newest plans for demos and events.
“I didn’t schedule anything out past when I know I’ll be around,” she said. “I didn’t want you to feel locked into anything. And I know that until we turn things around, you can’t afford to hire someone to do events. But I have faith you’ll feel better by then.”
“At least someone does,” he said gloomily. He sighed. “Kee. I really don’t want to lose so much intestine that I have to have a colostomy bag.”
“Oh, Evan,” she said, her heart giving a terrible lurch. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Your mouth, God’s ear,” he said.
She reached over and hugged him, tight. His beard—now officially a thing—was surprisingly soft against her cheek, and he felt strong, despite the time in the hospital. Even so, her voice choked with tenderness. “You’re going to be fine, bud.”
She went out twice as determined to make the shop work.
After she left the hospital, she went straight to Meeples, hoping Jax would be there, maybe with part of his surprise to unveil—but no. He didn’t show up until mid-afternoon—empty-handed. He was wearing paint-spattered jeans and an equally stained t-shirt. There was a smudge of paint on his cheek—white. She wanted to reach up and wipe it away—even though it was dry. Instead, she eyed him narrowly.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You’re supposed to be renovating the store—”
“And I am,” he said. “You’ll see.”
“So mysterious.”
“You aren’t good with surprises, are you?”
“I’m fine with surprises,” she protested. “So why are you here?”
“So suspicious! I’m just here to see how things are going.”
“Quiet. Too quiet. My own business has slowed way down because I put marketing on hold until I knew where things were going with Buyathon. I burned through what I needed to do, and now I’m bored.”
He looked around the store. “You could read comics.”
“I’ve read them all. Twice.”
“You could play a game.”
“I’m tired of paying games by myself.”
“I could play a game with you.”
“Would you?” She didn’t mean to sound so shocked, but she was genuinely surprised. He’d said he wasn’t a game guy—and even back in high school, he’d mostly sat out Campbell games of Taboo and Scrabble.
“Sure, why not?”
“Want me to teach you the game I just played with Evan?”
“You visited Evan?”
She nodded.
“How was he? I’m going over later.”
“He was…” She sighed. “Honestly? He seemed kind of discouraged. And I think he’s scared. He said—”
She hesitated, worried she would be breaking Evan’s confidence.
“I know,” Jax said, and the sadness in his voice and on his face made Chiara’s stomach hurt. “He’s totally freaked out about where this is going. And the thing that sucks is, they’ve made these huge strides in immunotherapies, and his insurance won’t pay for it.”
Impulsively, she touched his hand, slipped hers around his. It was as big and warm as she remembered, and calloused now; she reflexively ran her fingers over a callous and he made a soft little sound that she felt all the way down to her toes.
Oh. Oh, she liked that way too much. She dropped his hand and retreated to where she’d set down Shards. “Here. This one.”
They sat at the demo table together. God, this table really was small. His knees were so close to hers that she could feel the heat coming off them—and knees weren’t even a known heat-generating body part.
She should probably stop thinking about heat-generating body parts.
She dealt the cards, set up the marketplace, showed him how to reset his counters, and taught him to play.
He caught on fast, and in twenty minutes, he was beating her. And crowing about it.
“Seriously, Jax?” she said. “Did you hustle me? Do you secretly come in here at night and practice.”
“No. I just have that competitive fire,” he said, lining up his cards. “Sixteen attack.”
“Sixteen—”
“You’re down to five.”
“Yes. I can see that.”
He beat her handily and wanted to play again, so they did. And then he said, “You need to teach me Terraforming Mars.”
“You can’t handle Terraforming Mars.”
“Try me.”
So she got out the game. Once again, he was a quick study.
“You don’t have to let me win,” he said, right around the time the oxygen level on Mars maxed out.
She scowled at him. “I’m not letting you win.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Go to hell, Walker.”
“I don’t need to go to hell,” he said. “I own the red planet!” Then he sobered up. “I’m sorry. I’m being a terrible winner.”
That made her laugh. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“I don’t care if I win.”
“You don’t—you don’t what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t care if I win. I just like playing.”
“Who doesn’t care if they win?”
“I don’t. I like everything about playing. I like the cards and the game art and the little pieces and setting up and putting things away. I just like games.”
He stared at her until the intensity of his gaze made her face hot and she had to look away.
“You know what I think?” he said. “I think you would make an amazing game designer.”
For a beat, she let herself entertain the thought—she’d done a lot of play-testing—it wasn’t the craziest idea ever. But then she wrinkled up her nose at him. “Are you trying to find me yet another alternate career?”
He shrugged. “No.”
“Good. Because I like mine.”
He didn’t say anything else.
“And speaking of which, looks like you might still be around on Friday when I go for my Seattle interview. You up for holding down the fort?”
“Sure am.”
He put another two cards in play, set a greenery hex on the surface of Mars, and sealed his victory. Then he said, “Just don’t go into alternate-Earth-building. You’re not cut out for it.” He regarded his conquest with a smirk. “Also, loser puts the game away.”
“You would do it wrong anyway.”
But when it came time to clean up the game, he let her instruct him about which pieces went in which bag and didn’t even give her a hard time about it.
19
He worked his ass off that week, building and painting racks and shelves and tables in Levi’s workshop. Occasionally Levi wandered out to check on his progress, and Jax cautioned him—for the hundredth time—not to say anything to Evan. Or, for that matter, Chiara.
“You do great work,” Levi said, running his hands over Jax’s creations. “I wish I’d had you here when I did the hotel reno. So much shoddy shit, man, I tell you. I could probably give you full-time work for weeks undoing the fucking mess those guys made.”
“Thanks, man,” Jax said. “But I’m outta here as soon as this is done.”
“She knows that, right?”
They didn’t have to identify “she” by name. They both knew who they were talking about.
“A, she knows,” Jax said. “B, there’s absolutely nothing going on between us. Swear on—”
Really, he should swear on Levi’s dad’s grave, but that would be the height of crassness, and he didn’t have it in him. “Swear to God,” he amended.
There was nothing going on between them, but he had to say that it didn’t feel as much like the truth as he would have wished.
Maybe Levi saw it in his face, because he just said, “Don’t make me kill you.” And then he wandered out again.
Meanwhile, Chiara had been working like crazy in the shop. Jax was finally starting to feel hopeful that between the completed work he was about to spring on her and the work she was doing, they’d get Evan pointed in the right direction. He went down to the shop a couple times a day to recheck measurements, make sure he was going to be able to fit stuff through the door—and—he wasn’t going to lie to himself—to see her. It didn’t matter whether she was puttering around the store, doing work for her own business on the computer, or chatting a mile a minute with customers, she was like a hummingbird. That kind of constant energy whirring under her skin made him feel more awake. More alive.
He was ten times more productive after he saw her. He got more done in the hour after he dropped by the store than in the two hours before. It was like a drug. They should bottle her.
Plus she was bringing him lunch every day now. Sometimes she brought it up to him at Cape House, but she was respectful of his rules; she knocked and he came out and they walked to the beach to eat. Or she’d text him that she had lunch at the shop and he’d use that opportunity to head over. Often it was something she’d gotten at Tierney Bay Diner, but occasionally it was leftovers from her dinner the night before. She cooked stuff he liked—comfort food—lots of pasta and risottos and stews and chilis, even though it was summer. No salad-y bullshit. He loved it. He loved it way too damn much.
Tuesday and Wednesday, she brought him dinner, too. Because he was working pretty much from sunrise until he fell into bed, exhausted. His breaks were visiting Evan and grabbing food with Chiara.
Then somehow it was Thursday, and tomorrow was the day she was going for her interview in Seattle. And he was close to where he’d wanted to be, but not quite there. But that was fine. He had a plan.
He brought dinner to the shop for the two of them. Because he wasn’t an asshole, and as good as it made him feel to let her take care of him, he was never going to be the kind of guy who took that for granted. He had asked Lily, at Tierney Bay Diner, what Chiara’s favorite was, and Lily had told him Chiara loved the heck out of a good bolognese and that last year she’d gone nuts for Lily’s lamb version. After that, Lily had put some lamb in the freezer, saving it for Chiara’s birthday or another special occasion, but she said she’d happily whip it up for Jax to bring to Chiara. And she made him a molten chocolate cake, too. “It’s her favorite,” Lily said.
Lily didn’t ask questions, raise her eyebrows, or make snide comments, and Jax was grateful.
Chiara did go nuts over the lamb bolognese. “Oh my God!” she said. “This is my favorite. How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “But Lily did.”
“Oh, Lily. She is a Tierney Bay treasure.” She said it through a big mouthful, an expression of bliss on her face.
He was a huge fan of that expression of bliss. He’d seen it in another context a long time ago, and he hadn’t forgotten
it.
Damn, he was suddenly not hungry at all. Or at least not for Lily’s lamb.
“What?” she asked, looking up and catching him staring. She swiped at her face.
“Nothing,” he lied.
After she’d demolished the chocolate cake, he drove her home and dropped her off. Then he took the truck back to the workshop, filled the bed, and headed to Meeples.
On the sixth trip, Tierney Bay’s chief of police, Alfie Rains, pulled up alongside his truck outside the shop and got out of the patrol car.
“Jax Walker,” Alfie said. “Ran your plates. Kept seeing a vehicle I didn’t recognize. But I knew your name, and I know your face, now that I see it.”
When Alfie was a beat cop, he had once brought Jax’s mother home, extremely drunk, from Bob’s Tavern. He’d helped her into the house and onto the couch. And then he’d pulled Jax aside and said, in a voice so fierce it had scared Jax almost more than the close call with law enforcement: You ever need anything, you call me. Not one of the other cops.
Jax, of course, had made it a personal goal never to call any cop. Ever. Cops were one step away from child protective services and losing Evan.
“Hi, Chief Rains,” Jax said.
“What are you up to? And can I safely assume it’s with your brother’s knowledge? And/or Ms. Campbell’s?”
“You can.”
Alfie took a look in the back of the truck, then came around and leaned near where Jax was standing. “That’s nice work.”
“Thanks.” Jax said. “I appreciate it.”
“You turned out okay.” He didn’t say, despite everything, but they both knew it.
Jax laughed—a short, humorless laugh. “Guess I did.”
“And your mama?”
“She’s doing better,” Jax said.
Alfie nodded, tight and knowing. “Glad to hear it. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Can you maybe—?” Asking a favor of the chief all these years later made his belly tight with remembered shame, but he didn’t want to risk ruining the surprise. “Can you not let the Campbells know I’m here tonight? This is a surprise for Evan and Chiara.”