The Next Day (Foothills Book 2)

by Carrie Thorne

  Tilting his head to the side, he teased, “Always the lazy one.”

  Glancing up, he saw Freya’s fine ass swinging up the stairs as she carted up a pair of lamps. Suppressing a groan before he let on how long it had been since he’d even noticed a woman, the last few years in the Navy having crushed his sex drive to a flaccid pulp, he felt an almost foreign, but miraculously welcome twitch in his pants. Didn’t matter what the woman’s face looked like, he was absolutely interested. Closing his eyes, he kicked his mental ass for being such a shallow dickwad, while cheering that things were still functional down there.

  Turning, he checked the boxes and grabbed another that said HEAVY on it. Not that he doubted his new neighbors couldn’t handle it; hell, Freya’s bare shoulders said she was fit as fuck, but it was his shitty packing job, he’d take the crap loads.

  A few more times up and down the stairs, and they were already done. Trekking down the stairs for the last item, he watched as Freya’s curvy backside strutted out of sight.

  Sophie waited at the bottom. “See you around. Don’t be a stranger. You need anything, directions, food, whatever, just come on over, okay?”

  His breath came easy as he reached the ground. “I really appreciate the help. Thanks. Know any good pizza delivery around here?”

  Shaking her head, Sophie grinned. “My first time living in rurality too. Say goodbye to conveniences like delivery. Anonymity. Variety. Walking anywhere useful.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “You know, my sister said I could stay in her apartment in Denver while she’s deployed. Should have taken her up on it.”

  “Give it a few weeks and then let me know how you feel.” She backed up a few steps. “Check your fridge. Paul and Denise stocked it for you, among other updates.”

  “Asher’s parents did all this? I got to know them a bit on their trips to visit Asher. They’d take the three of us to dinner every time.”

  “They’re good people. Be careful, they take in strays.”

  There was that damn pang again. Like the one he’d felt on the drive in. “The couch?”

  She nodded. “And the bed. See you around, Zane.”

  Shit, he hadn’t even been in the bedroom yet. He’d been planning to sleep on the floor the first night or two until he picked up a mattress. The truck gate vibrated his palms as he slammed it shut.

  Crunching the dirt under his feet, he halted. Heaviness in his gut weighed him down as he remembered he had one more load. He opened the passenger door and unhooked Jack. Carting the cool metal under his arm, he trudged up the stairs for the last time that night.

  His eyes blurred as he looked around the room. Where the hell did one store their dead friend? Shaking his head, he blinked away the weird question. “Not like you’re going to care, you’re just a tin can of dust.” He tucked Jack’s urn into the back of the coat closet.

  2

  Good Morning, Sunshine

  Thundering louder than the caffeine headache he was brewing, Zane awoke to a fist pounding on his door. Fucking shit, Asher. It was seven in the damn morning, and he hadn’t slept more than a quick nap at a rest stop on the drive up. Grumbling, he pulled on a pair of black sweats.

  Swinging open the door, he snagged the coffee straight from Asher’s hand. “Hey,” he muttered.

  “Good morning, Sunshine,” Asher grinned back. As he stepped into the apartment, his feet echoing on the floor as it was still essentially empty aside from the couch and stack of boxes, he whistled. “You’ve got some unpacking to do.”

  Zane flipped him off as he wandered to his new couch, plopped down, and popped the cap off his coffee.

  Asher explored, ducking his head into the bedroom before scoping out the rest. Zane still couldn’t believe Asher’s parents had done all this for him. His own parents hadn’t even returned his call yet so he could let them know he was out of the Navy. As soon as his moving team had left last night, he’d crashed face down on the pristinely made bed.

  Asher dumped his bag of savory-scented something in the kitchen and crashed on the other side of the L couch. “I think my mother likes you better than me. I got dishes as a housewarming present.”

  Zane flashed him a sleepy wink. “It’s mutual. Mind sending me her number, your dad’s too, so I can thank them for setting this place up so nice? You made it sound like I was moving into some tired old dump, the apartment over your grandfather’s garage.”

  “You were. Then they took one look and decided to do the remodel they’d been planning. You owe me too, by the way. Paul decided this would be a perfect father-son project–which he knows I hate. I had to rip out dog-piss carpet for you. Fourteen-hour days getting this place cleaned up so it would be done before you got here. And I’m stuck bunking with a snooty attorney that already divided up our cooking nights.”

  “Why didn’t you nab this place for yourself?” He glanced around. “Don’t your folks own this and the house?”

  “Yeah. I’m buying the house in a few months, but for the first time in my life I’m trying to not rush into a situation. Sophie says I’m not allowed to propose until we’ve been together at least six months, I can do my own laundry without turning my whites pink again, and can cook a decent dinner that doesn’t involve open flames or peanut butter. Living next door sounded like a little too easy of access.”

  “Smart woman. I should have done that same fucking thing.” Zane took a pull on the dark brew, wishing he’d left the lid on longer as it was already lukewarm.

  “I can’t say I regret never meeting your ex-wife. Sounded like a real peach.”

  “She’s half the reason I joined the damn Navy, after she’d dug us irretrievably into debt.” Zane had joined a few years before Asher, and they’d hit it off immediately, then Jack joined up, and the rest was history. Blaire hadn’t even made it through his first op before the screaming matches and guilt trips began. That had been a hell of a homecoming. I need someone who will be here for me. To not be called away at a moment’s notice while I’m trying to build my career. She’d claimed she couldn’t handle worrying over him like that, not even knowing where he was, yet in the same sentence she blamed him for making her miss a critical conference call.

  Asher winced.

  Zane hauled his ass off the couch and scowled out the window. “How the hell did we get on that stupid fucking topic?”

  “Sorry. My fault.”

  Across the field, the lawn made way to a wide patio that created a perfect lookout, right down to the rustic log fence before dropping off to the valley beyond, the view like something out of an REI ad. Right in the center, that crazy woman with the perfect ass was upside-down in a yoga pose, her leg pointed straight up to the sky, and her wild black hair was free, skimming the mat at her feet.

  Gently swaying with the breeze, the trees at the edges of the yard seemed to welcome the morning right along with her. Moving gracefully into the next pose, she stood and raised her arms above her head like the mountain in the distance.

  Asher cleared his throat, “Hungry?”

  Nodding, Zane swallowed the desperate whimper that nearly gave him away. His voice came out croaky. “Starving.”

  Tearing into the English muffin that sandwiched the melty sharp cheddar over fried egg and seasoned sausage, he asked through his full bite. “How’d you end up living with a snooty lawyer?”

  Grinning, Asher ripped off a bite of his own breakfast. “I just needed a place to crash for the next few months, and I get to annoy the hell out of Grady while I’m at it.”

  “Nice arrangement.”

  “I thought so. Honestly, he’s a good guy, he just needs to realize it instead of defaulting to prick. So, I help him get his head out of his ass, he teaches me how to cook and clean and all that bullshit I managed to dodge the first thirty years of my life.”

  Zane took another gulp of coffee, downing the last of it as his headache retreated to the periphery. They ate in silence for a bit. After enough years of ops together, they had
no problems not filling the silence in with small talk.

  Clearing their trash from breakfast, Zane stuffed everything in the paper bag and tucked it under the sink, adding kitchen garbage can to his shopping list. Bathroom too, he supposed.

  Asher hopped to his feet and eyed the boxes. “Need a hand unpacking?”

  Shaking his head, Zane’s vision blurred as he took in all the work ahead of him. “Nope, thanks though. As I have zero plans for the next… eternity, I may as well take my time.”

  “It’ll come to you.”

  “I guess. First time in my life I don’t have a single thing on the calendar.”

  “Why don't you make use of that degree of yours?”

  “Did I mention I only studied architecture because my parents are architects and Blaire wanted to be an architect and how romantic to be partners in life and in business? Turns out, not so romantic when one of us has no interest in designing shit for other people to criticize. Married, divorced, and broke before my twenty-fourth birthday.” He ripped open the kitchen box and pulled out his coffee pot, unwinding the kitchen towel he’d wrapped around the fragile glass carafe.

  “Well, now you’re thirty-four, frugal as an old man, have absolutely no responsibilities, and are already making eyes at my cousin.”

  “Your cousin? Shit man, I’m sorry. Was I that obvious?”

  “You’ve still got a stream of drool running down your chin. Have at her; she’ll have no qualms about telling you off if she’s not interested.” Asher winked and headed for the door. With his hand on the knob, he shrugged, “I’ll be back tomorrow and we can head into town, pick up anything you need. Careful, if we spend too long at the hardware store, my dad may try to rope you into working for him.”

  Zane snorted, “We’ll see. I think I’ll take the rest of the summer off.”

  Prickles sprouted from her skin as the breeze cooled her sweat-soaked body. Freya ended her morning routine and rested her hands on her hips, taking in the ridiculously epic view. In all her travels, she’d never found any place that quite matched the Pacific Northwest.

  Scooping up her mat, she headed back toward the house. The old craftsman structure had certainly seen better days, but Uncle Paul kept it in good repair. She could still picture her grandfather teetering on the ladder, cleaning out the gutters and having her run the bucket across the yard to dump the leaves over the embankment, then bring it back again. Between loads, she’d grab a handful of blackberries, plus a few extra for Grandpa.

  Okay, so a niggling part of her was jealous that Asher and Sophie were buying the place, but more, she was glad it was staying in the family. After a decade of roaming around Europe, she was still wondering how she felt about the idea of settling down at all. Buying a house was a long way off.

  Asher had been by, but didn't stay long. Sophie’s car was gone for the workday, but Zane looked to be home. Biting her lip, she paused, then kept walking toward the main house. As much as she wanted to see that face close up, she’d give him space.

  For now. One little pinky-shake, and the pheromones had pinged back and forth between them. And he’d totally checked out her butt.

  Sauntering inside, she set her mat under the entry table. To the left, the open kitchen was sparse, with a few small boxes of Sophie’s on the far counter that hadn’t been unpacked yet. There were four stools, but still no table. To the right, a stone fireplace took up half the main wall, with built-in shelving on either side. A couch and TV were in place, although not hooked up yet, but otherwise the room was pretty empty.

  After a quick shower, she hopped on her phone to order a Nespresso machine and some pods. For now, she grimaced as she caffeinated with bland drip coffee. There was really no going back once becoming hooked on viscous Italian brews. She dragged one of the stools to the window.

  Resting her feet on the windowsill, she pulled up her banking app. Sneering, she didn’t care for the checking account balance. The move over had pretty well emptied it, and her primary gallery in Florence only deposited every ninety days.

  Rolling up the cuff of her jeans so the distressed fray at the ends would stop tickling her ankles, she moved on to read the news. At least the jetlag was easing a bit.

  Gravel crunching under tires caught her attention. Checking out the window, she saw the dust cloud trailing behind her mother’s F-150. Setting down her coffee, she strolled barefoot onto the covered porch and leaned against the pillar. The worn wooden planks cool against her feet, her toes curled around a loose nail. She'd have to swing by Sutherland’s to pick up some basic tools.

  The truck door wobbling behind her as she rushed down the path to the house, Tammy giggled out loud. Freya dashed down the few steps and flung her arms around her tiny mom, both rocking on their feet and grinning like a couple of fools. “My baby’s home at last. I’m so happy,” her mom said, wrapping her arms around Freya’s side as they walked into the house together.

  That last little bit of wondering why she’d come home melted away as she remembered exactly why. “I was just here two weeks ago for Pippa’s wedding,” she teased.

  “You know what I mean. Now it’s permanent.” Tammy helped herself to a cup of coffee. “Sophie at work?”

  Nodding, Freya held out her mug for a warm-up. “Monday through Friday, nine to five.”

  “And when will you be looking for something similar?”

  Oh boy. Already? Letting air flow in and cool her lungs before she huffed, she exhaled and said, “My easels and supplies should be arriving in a few weeks, and once I’m settled, I’ll head into Seattle to buy what I couldn’t ship.”

  “Yes, but are you sure you can make a living at that? I mean, I know you have been, but long term? Do you want to couch surf for the rest of your life?” Tammy led the way back out to the porch and parked on the shade of the front step, continuing once Freya sat beside her.

  Dig that hot poker a little deeper. Freya was worried enough about losing her in-person presence to build her brand. “I’m scared but I’ll figure it out. Mom, that vineyard painting I sent you the pic of is being featured at an auction in Rome next weekend. I’ve been making a name for myself and some pieces have become investment pieces for big spenders; this auction and the additional pieces this new gallery picked up should set me up for months.”

  Crickets creaked in the distance, a cheerful bird squawked a redundant tune as she waited for her mother to either argue or pander. Could go either way, really.

  “I’m sorry. It was one thing, getting to see you in action in places where art matters. But here? Making a living at art seems so beyond Foothills. I still have that sweet little painting from your first day of kindergarten on the mantle.”

  She leaned into her mother as they sat side by side on the porch steps. “I know, Mom. I’m not that little girl anymore. I wouldn’t have come home yet if I didn’t think I could continue to make a consistent living at this.”

  “I know, just let me adjust. But if anyone can make it happen, you can. You have always been a force of nature.”

  Freya took a long sip and feigned a smile. That force of nature spirit usually resulted in her spinning her wheels or bowling right past anything useful.

  Jerking upright, her mother chirped, “Speaking of little girls. Your cousin Lulu is getting married on the tenth.”

  “Little Lulu? What is she, nineteen? Twenty?”

  “Twenty-one and madly in love with a boy she met at college. They’ve planned the ceremony at this fancy hotel at Lake Tahoe.”

  “Why not at Uncle Joe’s place? Doesn’t he still have the cabin there?”

  “He does, but they’re planning a huge reception. I was actually hoping you’d agree to go.” Her mother smiled winningly, showing every pearly tooth in her mouth.

  Groaning, Freya set her coffee on the step between her feet and scrunched her fingers in her hair, the curls still damp and tangled. “I’ve reached that age, haven’t I? Everyone’s getting married. I see no point in flying out to a cous
in’s wedding I haven’t seen in ten years.”

  “That whole side of the family came to your wedding.”

  “And I still wish they hadn’t.” She cringed.

  “Just because you didn’t show up doesn’t mean they weren’t at least there to support you.”

  “I didn’t not show up… I just… I’d changed my mind.”

  “And hopped on the first flight out of the country.” Tammy’s voice oozed with disappointment, the regret still palpable.

  “Can we not go over this again? Randy wasn’t the one–and no one hates this more than I do–that I didn’t figure it out until an hour before the ceremony. And he’s happily married and living in Bellingham now.”

  Tammy wrapped her arm around Freya’s shoulder and hugged her tight. “I know, Sweetie. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. It might feel good to see everyone again, flaunt your success a bit. Now if only you had that sexy Italian fiancé to show off, that would help.”

  Snorting, Freya’s abdomen bubbled with laughter. Only her mother would suggest braggery to fix hard feelings. “If it means that much to you, I’ll go. Giovanni was pretty, but he was an egotistical ass, and we had nothing but pheromones to keep us afloat.”

  “You and your pheromones,” her mother rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth turned up in a soft smile. “He was tasty eye candy.”

  Freya giggled, “Wow, Mom. Eye candy?”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, and you two looked awfully nice together.”

  “You and Dad look nice together.” Freya rose to her feet and reached out her hands, hoisting her mother up. “I’ll go to the wedding.”

  “Maybe give them a painting for a gift? And see if you can find a date?”

  Like a fishhook snagged in her cheek, she relented to the ironic smile. Freya often wondered where she had come from. She was the spitting image of her father, but being the only artist of her thirty-nine cousins and seventeen aunts and uncles, an only child of very traditional parents, she was accustomed to being the odd-woman out.