Booze O'clock

by Bijou Hunter

“Boom!” Cap hollers and everyone—except Hayes—laughs. Even the waitress and cook in the back snicker. Candy winks at her youngest who grins at his father’s clear annoyance.

  I’m afraid to join in the fun and laugh too. They’re so mean to each other, yet don’t seem to actually hurt their targets. Cricket and Poet finish up their tiff by switching seats with Minnow so the mini-twins can be weird together while their parents cuddle.

  “Are you going to finish your bacon?” Chipper asks, nudging me gently.

  Shaking my head, I pick up the slice of bacon to hand it over. Chipper bites into it rather than taking it from me.

  Chipper has a subtle way of letting me know he’s focused on me throughout breakfast. No big shows of affection, he instead orders a refill of my orange juice without me saying anything. He hands me a napkin when I manage to drop mine under the table. Throughout breakfast, Chipper acts as a protective wall between his family and me. Even when I relax some, he doesn’t draw attention to me. He just quietly lets me know he’s thinking of me while I get accustomed to the ruckus behavior of his family.

  I assume breakfast is ending when Cricket and Poet take their restless twins out to the car. I wait for Chipper to signal our exit too, but he orders another cup of coffee instead.

  “When you’re done, we’ll walk next door to the office, and I’ll show you our HQ.”

  “I’m still unclear what I’ll do as your assistant.”

  “So am I, but that’s what makes it fun as fuck,” Chipper says, grinning. “We’ll figure shit out together.”

  I grin at his expression until Cap startles me by standing. The massive teenager walks over to Candy and leans down until his face is next to hers.

  “I’m ready to work on math,” he says in a voice too deep for someone so young.

  Candy finishes her coffee with a gulp before following Cap out the door. I watch them go, hating how much she looks like Mom from the back. Their loose blonde hair falls in the same way, and I shiver overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu.

  “We can hang out here and talk to Hayes about his fear of koala bears,” Chipper says, noticing my sinking mood. “Or we can mosey over to the office. I know I prefer the one I haven’t done at least a million times.”

  “Kid,” Hayes says, glancing at Chipper, “fuck off.”

  Laughing, Chipper slides out of the booth. “Right back at you, Dad.”

  I follow Chipper out of the restaurant, across the parking lot, and to the next-door bunker-style building where Candy sits at a desk.

  “Four people called for you yesterday,” she tells Chipper. “I only got the names of three of them because the last one copped an attitude. Talk to your minions about watching their manners with me.”

  “My minions already know your ass requires kissing. I’d guess that particular loser was someone I didn’t want to talk to anyway.”

  On one end of the office, Candy’s desk is joined by two others. Behind them is a door covered with signs reading, “Warning!, Danger!, Radiation!, Flammable!, Toxic! Explosive!” I assume the door leads to Hayes’s office.

  Chipper gestures to a desk with nothing on it. “This is mine. If you ever drop by, feel free to work your ass groove into the chair.”

  “Wait, what do you do here again?”

  Chipper glances at Candy who smirks even while never looking up from her laptop. When his gaze returns to me, I realize I don’t care what he does. I just want him to always look at me with such heat.

  “I’m organized,” he says, pulling open a drawer with files stacked. “I oversee several legal businesses, and all their info is right here and on my laptop in the car. The other, less legal, aspects don’t need a paper trail.”

  “Now you sound like Hayes,” I tease, wanting so desperately to fit in with the cool kids.

  Chipper leans down and whispers in my ear, “Stop getting me hard around my mom. It’s just not nice.”

  Despite no doubt blushing as bright red as a baboon’s ass, I only smile at his comment. Chipper is so obviously testing my resolve, and I want him to know I can hold my own. At least with him.

  I’m less confident about taking on the entire wacky clan when they’re at their most acerbic. Still, I know in my heart that Chipper and his family offer the best opportunity for me to dig my way out of my grief and start anew.

  CHIPPER

  Mom clearly intimidates Tatum. I leave them alone for a few minutes so I can torment Cap in the conference room where he does school work. When I return, the women haven’t moved at all. Mom glances up from her laptop to give me a look that says, “I tried.”

  Tatum and I walk to my SUV in silence, and I can’t feel her at all next to me. She’s breathing and blinking and showing signs of life. However, when we sit next to each other, she feels like a void.

  “Your life in Florida had a routine, right?”

  Tatum glances at me and nods while her brilliant green eyes study my face.

  “That’s what you’ll have here soon. The stress of meeting so many new people will be over. It’ll be routine to join the family for breakfast at Waffle House five mornings a week. You’ll drop by the office a few times a day likely. I’m always in and out. You’ll eat with us at our restaurant a few nights a week. I’m certain you’ll like Bonn and Ruby so I wouldn’t be surprised if you drop by their place on a regular basis. You’re great with the mini-twins, and you like dogs, so I see you visiting Cricket’s house a lot. She and Poet drive to West Virginia a few times a month. When they’re gone, Bianca Bella takes care of the dogs. If you wanted, you could help her. It’ll be second nature because you’ll know them like you knew your old life. Remember that when you’re left out.”

  Tatum watches me throughout my speech. Taking a deep breath, she finds her voice again. “I’m sorry I was so quiet at breakfast. I know it’s dumb to freeze up, but I can’t help it sometimes.”

  “You stayed calm at Cricket’s house.”

  “The dogs and kids helped. I’m not great with people. Like when we had new kids at our daycare, I was fine with them even if they were rotten. I couldn’t deal with their parents, though. Mom always talked to them. We were a team. She was strong where I was weak, and I was strong where she was weak,” she says, and I swear I feel her deflate next to me. “We were a team.”

  I snuggle her closest hand in both of mine. “Now you and I are a team. I’ll help you when you’re weak just like your mom did. I’ll keep you safe the way she did too. And you can handle rotten kids because, yeah, I have no interest in that crap.”

  Tatum startles me by laughing so hard she snorts. “Everything seems so simple when you say it.”

  “It is simple. I’m not saying nothing bad will ever happen. Life is still fucking life, but when you choose a path, I believe you ought to run full speed down it. Don’t hesitate. Just plow toward the finish line.”

  “Wouldn’t taking it slower prevent fewer pitfalls?” Tatum asks, caressing my knuckles with her free hand.

  “Oh, naïve Breezy. Haven’t you ever gone camping? Most of the pitfalls are covered by leaves and piles of deer shit. You can’t fucking see them. Best to move quickly to avoid those pitfalls and shit piles.”

  “I wish I could think like that.”

  “Were you such a tortoise before your mom got sick?”

  Tatum rolls her eyes at my calling her a turtle but then shakes her head. “I probably wasn’t so worried about stuff, I guess. I have a hard time remembering even a year ago. It’s like everything before is a movie I watched rather than something that happened to me.”

  I don’t know how to respond to her words. Tatum might need professional help or at least advice from someone smarter than me.

  I don’t suggest either option. Instead, I squeeze her hand as if affection alone can fix her pain. Tatum does smile, and her gaze remains on our clasped hands for a long time. I tell myself she’s ready to embrace my way of living. All she needs to do is move past enough of her grief and rage to focus on starting
an exciting life with me.

  9—TATUM

  Chipper’s schedule consists of driving from one restaurant to another. We stop at a four-table shop called Pot Pie Palace first. Then we go to a claustrophobia-inducing narrow place called Sal’s Meat Emporium which is a specialty sandwich shop. Next, we’re at the boxy Sunday’s Best Buffet with a back room for special occasions.

  At every location, Chipper asks to see their books, wants to know the names of any new employees, and finally insists on checking their menus. Apparently, he has veto power over food he doesn’t like at the family-owned businesses. Interesting job for him. Boring as heck for me.

  Sitting at a coffee shop, we share a cinnamon bun and talk about our work day.

  “What am I supposed to write in this?” I ask, gesturing toward the notebook Chipper gave me earlier.

  “Any changes I make to each location. We’ll add them to a document I have back at the office.”

  “But there are no changes.”

  Chipper smiles, reaching for my shirt collar. “Hayes didn’t check in with each restaurant on a regular basis, and they were pulling all sorts of fucking high jinks. Then he’d find out and have to put a shit ton of effort to get problems cleaned up. This way, nothing gets fucked beyond simple repair. Besides, what else am I going to do all day?”

  “I have no idea what rich people do with their time.”

  “Mostly golf and fucking maids. For the men anyway. The women usually screw their tennis instructors. Oh, and every few months, they throw a benefit for some disease. Last time, we raised money to help kids with cowlicks,” Chipper says and then sighs. “No, it was for cleft lips. Eradicating cowlicks was what Cricket kept telling people she thought the money should go to.”

  When I frown, he adds, “Cricket and the benefit organizer don’t get along. Shelli thinks Cricket is a loud-mouthed whore while Cricket thinks Shelli is a succubus who sucks the life out of people through boredom.”

  “Who’s right?”

  “They both are, though Cricket’s whoring took a real hit when she got knocked up by the dirty biker. Shelli’s boring succubus bullshit continues unabated.”

  Doodling on my notepad, I ask, “Will I have to meet Shelli at some point?”

  “Oh, yes. My world is full of losers you’ll learn to loathe, but those benefit galas are fucking cool. You eat, drink, and dance guilt-free because it’s for charity.”

  After writing the words “Tatum ღ Chipper” on the notepad, I sigh loudly and startle myself by how much I sound like Cricket when she makes an announcement. “I feel useless following you around like this all day.”

  “Don’t you like spending time with me?” he asks as his full lips pucker into a pout. “What would you rather be doing?”

  “Are you going to cry?” I balk, leaning away from him. “Grody.” When Chipper’s brown eyes widen, he looks genuinely hurt. I only smile, though. “You always mess with me. It’s not so fun, huh, big boy?”

  “Is that my nickname now?”

  Rolling my eyes at his quick rebound into cocky man mode, I take my coffee outside and enjoy the semi-warm afternoon. We’re on a particularly busy street. I’ve noticed White Horse is filled with boutiques and small restaurants. Unlike Hickory Creek, this town feels both small town and trendy.

  “I feel underdressed,” I say, noticing women in heels walking past.

  “Really? I was just thinking you were overdressed. I’d dig you in a bikini if the weather wasn’t so frigid.”

  Smiling at how his fingers tug at my shirt, I bravely reach up and cup his face. “I want to be your girlfriend, not your assistant.”

  “But you need a job that’ll allow the endlessly abundant free time necessary to make me a happy boyfriend.”

  “I think I should get a real job and help out by paying rent.”

  Chipper slams his eyes shut, and I worry he’s having some kind of attack. Then his lips curl into a smile, and I realize he’s fighting laughter. I cross my arms and glare at him.

  “My money isn’t good enough?”

  Chipper opens his eyes and grins at me. “I don’t want your money. I want you. All the time. even if you were making a shit ton of money, I don’t want you somewhere else working. I want you with me. The only reason you’d have a hard time understanding this fact is that you don’t want to be with me every minute.”

  Rolling my eyes, I walk toward the SUV. “Stop trying to make me feel guilty.”

  “I’m not trying anything. If you feel guilty, that’s on you.”

  “Fine, then I feel guilty for you looking sad, but I still feel useless following you around.”

  Chipper stands close enough to pin me to the SUV. A sly grin warms his face.

  “Give it two weeks. If you still feel useless, we’ll talk again so I can convince you to give it another few weeks.”

  “Two weeks feels like a lifetime from now.”

  “In two weeks, you’ll be so head over fucking heels in love with me that you’ll swoon whenever we share a room.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “Then you’re suffering from a mental breakdown, and we’ll get you the necessary medical help to allow you to properly swoon.”

  I can’t avoid laughing at how he always has a response. “Are you going to kiss me or is that not allowed?”

  “Not out here with people looking. I’m shy,” he says before planting a very demanding kiss on my very willing lips.

  Chipper wraps me in his arms and plants the kind of kiss that leaves me swooning—just as he wants. I try to meet his intensity with my own, but he’s too much, and I only hold on for the ride.

  My complaints about my job end once Chipper kisses me so fiercely. I’m admittedly very agreeable on the drive back to his house. Every time my worries return, I caress my lips and think of Chipper’s unflinching swagger. If we keep kissing that way, his confidence is bound to infect me.

  Arriving at the house, Chipper decides to take me on a tour. He claims a bunker is built in the backyard, but the dropping temperatures keep him from taking me outside to see.

  Instead, we stop in his home theater where I run my fingers over the stone back wall. I can’t believe how every inch of the house feels like it stepped out of a ski lodge. When I imagine Chipper designing the room and picking the material, the process overwhelms me. I don’t know how he did it without pulling out his hair.

  Next, he shows me the indoor pool.

  “Cricket should have built an indoor pool,” he says, leaning my back against his chest. “She said it wouldn’t fit the aesthetic of her house. Such a lame reason to give up swimming for months out of the year. No doubt she knew she could drop by here whenever she wanted. She brings the mini-twins over a few times a week to practice swimming.”

  I study the high wooden ceiling with the thick dark beams. Even the pool area feels as if it belongs in a magazine or one of those especially decadent episodes of “House Hunters.”

  “It’s a big house,” I mumble once we return to the kitchen. “As your assistant, am I in charge of cleaning? That would take up half my day right there.”

  Chipper grins at my comment, likely thinking it’s dumb. “The maid comes every other day starting on Monday and skipping Sunday,” he says, pulling out a schedule. “Gina has a list of cleaning to do each day. If you want her to work on something else, you’ll need to let her know. Don’t get freaked if you turn a corner one day and she’s just there. I often can’t tell when Gina’s in the house. She’s as quiet as a fucking mouse except when vacuuming.”

  He taps the next name and number on a list stapled to the schedule. “Albie is my head landscaper. He won’t be around as much during the colder months. In spring, he comes every two weeks. In summer, it’s every week. If you want something cut down or planted, you let him know what and where.”

  Chipper opens the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of what smells like lemonade. “There’s a delivery grocery service. If you want something from any restaura
nt we own, they’ll deliver even if it’s not the policy for other customers. I also have a guy that I can call in the middle of the night who will run to Walmart to pick up anything I need.”

  When I frown at that concept, Chipper’s smile grows wider. “Like if you were sick with vomiting or the shits. He’ll bring meds, soup, whatever you want. It’s great in a pinch. He does the same for Cricket. Last year, the mini-twins got a stomach bug, and everyone in the house was down within twenty-four hours. Isaac kept them supplied until they stopped puking. Nothing nefarious about having a guy like that. Plus, Isaac makes a couple extra bucks for his family.”

  Running my hands through my hair, I shake out the strands in the same aggravated way as when the daycare kids were having an especially crappy day.

  “Why do you look so jittery?” he asks, leaning against the counter with the glass of lemonade he poured. “This could help.”

  I shake my head at the drink he offers. “This place is too much.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s too big and needs too much upkeep. It feels more like a hotel than a home.”

  “I’ll sell it, and we’ll find something else,” he says without hesitation.

  Despite my growing tension, I can’t help smiling at the certainty in his voice. “Can you imagine how pissed you’d be if I wanted you to sell your house?”

  “No, I’d be cool with it.”

  “Liar.”

  “Oh, I’d miss the old homestead for sure, but your happiness matters more than a fucking house.”

  My heart hurts at how much he craves to take care of me. “I don’t want you to give up your home. I just can’t imagine it feeling like a home to me.”

  “Well, you’ve been here less than two days. I can see why you’d write off the place.”

  I smile at his comment. “I’ve only known one house. One neighborhood. One kind of life. I’m not a cool, flexible person, and this house is too grand.”

  “I’m a cool guy, and this is a cool house, but it’s not grand. It’s comfy. It’s just big. See the couch right there in the living room? Well, that’s a comfy couch meant for watching TV or reading a book or making out with a sexy blonde.”