“I’m sorry,” I say. “Is there anything I can do to make this better?”
“Stay away from her.”
“I will. Promise. Cross my heart,” I say, acting out the gesture in front of her. “Anything else?”
She nods, looking around Dave’s front yard. “Well, you could bring her pots and pans back. They were the first nice thing she ever bought for herself, and it makes it easier to save money if you can cook at home. I’m sure she’d like to have them returned.”
“Okay,” I say, wondering why some dude would take a woman’s kitchen equipment. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I bite my bottom lip, trying to figure out how to get a set of pans back from a guy I don’t even know. Dylan scrutinizes every move I make. Finally, she shakes her head.
“You pawned them, didn’t you?”
“No,” I insist, slightly offended. “I wouldn’t pawn someone’s pots and pans. Who do you think I am?”
“A jackass.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. I forgot.”
“And you could bring me a bottle of Jack. After all, I’m helping her pick up all the pieces of her heart that you so thoughtlessly threw against the wall. So thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
She scowls. “Really?”
“Look, I’m doing my best here,” I say with a chuckle. “Give me some credit.”
Her arms cross over her chest as she considers this. “Fine. I’ll give you some credit for at least sort of taking responsibility. That’s it. That’s all you get.”
“Good enough, I guess.”
With a satisfied nod of her head, she starts to turn away, but then she stops before she gets too far. “One more thing,” she says, looking at me over her shoulder. “Don’t tell Navie I was here.”
I blink once. Twice. Three times.
Navie? Bartender Navie? Navie-Who-Works-At-My-Cousin’s-Bar Navie?
My friend Navie?
Navie knows Dylan? And Dylan doesn’t know me?
Am I being set up here?
I grab at my temple with my right hand.
“You won’t, right?” Dylan asks when I fail to answer.
“Yeah. Sure. I, um, I won’t say a word,” I say, trying to piece all this together.
Her shoulders relax, the V-neck dropping low enough to see the cleavage that I would enjoy any other time except right now when I’m mentally marinating Navie knowing Dylan and Dylan thinking I’m some other guy.
I run a hand down my face and, once again, regret not going back to bed.
“It’s a shame you’re such a jackass,” she says.
I drop my hands. “Well, thanks. But I’m not one really.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Suit yourself,” I say. “But tell Navie that if she needs to talk—”
“Nope. If you want to talk to her, you do it. Be a man. Prove me wrong.” She walks toward her car again. “And bring back her pots and pans. Do you hear me?”
“If I can find them.”
She stops at her car and flings open the door. Her eyes narrow again. She’s so damn cute, and this entire thing is so bizarre that I can’t take it. I laugh.
“If you don’t find them, I’ll come find you,” she says.
“Could you warn me first? And let me schedule that into my day because I’m running about a half hour behind right now.”
She fights a smile as she climbs into her car. She pulls away just as quickly as she arrived, and I’m left standing next to Old Man Dave’s truck, wondering what the hell just happened.
Two
Peck
I tug my hat down to block out the early evening sun. Stepping over a broken piece of sidewalk that the town of Linton hasn’t bothered to fix in at least fifteen years, I make my way toward Crave.
My cousin’s bar is my usual haunt after work, and today is no exception. What is different about today, though, is that I have a reason to be here besides not just wanting to be alone.
My face breaks into a grin as I remember the little spitfire. Her finger pressed against my chest as she leveled warnings makes me laugh. But as entertained as I am with Dylan’s moxie, an uneasiness settles over me when I think of Navie.
I would like to think Navie and I were close enough that I’d know if she was seeing someone seriously enough for them to steal her cookware. And I’d really hope she knows she could ask me for help if she needed it because if this guy is the jerk that Dylan seems to think he is, then what else has he done?
The door chimes as I tug it open. Eighties rock music is playing on the speakers, letting me know my cousin Machlan, the owner of the bar, is still here. Pieces of streamers and popped balloons are stuck on random nails and pictures from Machlan’s birthday party that got a little out of control last weekend.
“Hey,” Machlan says from the other side of the bar. “You’re in here early.”
“Long day.”
I plop down on a barstool. Machlan slides a beer down the bar, and I catch it with one hand.
“Tell me about it,” he says. “Hadley woke up mad at me for something I did to her in her dream last night. And then Navie was an hour late and about as happy with me as my girlfriend for some unknown reason. I can’t win.”
I take a long sip of beer. The glass has the perfect level of dew on the outside. Setting it back on the bar, I look at my cousin. He doesn’t seem to know things he’s not telling me, but Machlan is good at hiding shit.
“What’s going on with Navie?” I ask with as much nonchalance as I can muster.
“Fuck if I know. I’ve learned it’s best not to ask.” He leans forward, his elbows resting on the counter. His lips turn up into a smirk. “Tad was in here earlier looking for you. Said something about gas cans and a note left scrawled on a two-by-four in spray paint last night?”
“I left a damn note, and I returned the gas cans. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Maybe that you broke into his barn,” Machlan offers.
“I did not.” I look at Machlan. He’s still wearing that stupid smirk. “What? The door was open. That officially makes it not a break-in.”
“Pretty sure Tad and all relevant legal definitions don’t agree with that assessment.”
“Well, common sense does. Think about it. I didn’t have to break anything to enter, and I returned everything—except the gas, but there wasn’t much in there, really.”
Machlan doesn’t look convinced.
“Besides,” I say, “he would’ve given to it me if I’d have asked.”
“Which is what you should’ve done.”
I shrug, taking another drink. It was a couple of gallons of gas. If Tad is really that pissed about it, I’ll just remind him of this the next time he calls me with a broken down tractor at dark.
Machlan chuckles. “Well, you owe me twenty bucks for the gas. I paid him to keep him from coming to find you.”
Eyeing him curiously, I tip my bottle from side to side. “Why are you being nice to me?”
He rolls his eyes as he starts to respond, but he’s interrupted by a loud crash from the storeroom. It’s followed by a loud string of profanities before Navie comes marching into the room.
Her hair, streaked with bright pink strands, is a haphazard mess on top of her head. She comes to a halt in front of Machlan.
“If you want me to serve tequila tonight, you’re gonna have to get it off the top shelf yourself because I’m not screwing with it. I almost just died.” She gives Machlan a don’t-mess-with-me look before flipping her gaze to me. Her irritation eases a bit. “Hey, Peck.”
“Navie,” I say with a tentative nod.
She flips me a forced smile before refocusing on my cousin.
“Why does he get a smile,” Machlan says, pointing at me, “and I get yelled at?”
“Because Peck didn’t set a death trap for me in the storeroom,” she replies. “And he’s cuter than you. And nicer. And—”
“And I sign yo
ur check,” Machlan counters.
“And I’m cuter.” I grin as they both look at me. “What? She said it. Not me.”
Machlan sighs, handing Navie a white bar rag. “I beg to differ on that, Peck.”
“It’s true,” Navie says. “I’d be all over him if he didn’t feel like my brother on some level. That and he has that thing for Molly McCarter. That makes me a little concerned about his well-being.”
She rolls her eyes so hard that it has to hurt.
“Never understood the Molly thing either,” Machlan says.
“Let’s keep my girl out of this,” I say. “She’s never done anything to either of you.”
“Because I keep my pants zipped up when she’s around. Otherwise, there’s no doubt she’d have done things to me that she’s done to every other guy who lives in this half of Illinois,” Machlan says. “When are you going to let that whole thing go?”
I take a drink of my beer and set it down with a thud. “Never.”
The two of them go into an already-heard, overly tired tirade about Molly. They share a venom with the rest of the town against the woman I’ve always defended.
Molly was my first crush. Since the first night she crawled in my bedroom window when we were six, I’ve had a soft spot for her. It’s crazy, I know, and the sentiment hasn’t exactly been reciprocated, but I can’t help it. I like her. Period.
Machlan looks at his watch. “I’ll go get your tequila, but then I gotta head home. Add twenty to Peck’s tab for gas.” He shoots me a look before heading toward the storeroom. “Behave.”
I take another drink as Navie pulls out a white takeout box from Carlson’s Bakery from behind the counter. She sets it on the bar.
“I know it’s bad manners to bring food from one establishment into another, but this sandwich is my breakfast, lunch, and probably dinner,” she says, “so I don’t care.”
I lean against the counter and study her. Besides her annoyance, there’s no sign she’s been through something like Dylan described.
Dylan.
I grin.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks, picking the onion off her sandwich.
“Oh, nothing. Why didn’t you just cook?”
“Busy.”
Unhelpful.
“Do you usually cook?” I ask, prodding a little harder.
She quirks a brow as she shoves a bite of turkey and cheese into her mouth. “Sometimes.”
“What’s your favorite thing to make?”
“What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?” She rips a napkin out of a container in front of me. “Why do you care what I like to cook?”
“Gee, take it easy,” I say, leaning back. “Just making conversation.”
And probing you for information, but I’ll keep that to myself.
Her face falls. She tosses the wadded-up napkin on the counter. “I’m sorry. Bad day.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.” She takes another bite, a bigger bite, to keep from talking. “I’m fine. I’m always fine.”
Frustration is written across her face. I look at the television hanging above the coolers and try to hide mine. Why won’t she just tell me what I want to know? It’s not like I can just blurt out that her friend Dylan accosted me today and told me all her secrets.
Thinking of Dylan with her hands on her hips makes me grin again.
“Machlan said your brother was coming to town,” Navie says, dabbing a napkin against her mouth.
“Yup. Vincent and Sawyer are coming in for a couple of days.”
She raises a brow. “Sawyer? Do you have another brother I didn’t know about?”
“Sawyer is Vincent’s son,” I clarify. “He’s a cute little shit.”
“So is this brother of yours a lot like you?”
I swirl what’s left of the beer in the bottom of the bottle and consider her question. “Vincent is a couple of years older than me. I think he might’ve hit thirty this year.” I make a face. “Anyway, he’s more of a troublemaker than I am.”
“Oh, really?” Navie grins. “Is that possible?”
“Yes, really,” I say with a shake of my head. “While I’ve always pulled questionable behavior, like Tad’s stupid gas cans, Vincent pulled questionable-er behavior. He was always in trouble from doing stupid shit … until he had Sawyer.”
Navie’s features soften. “That’s sweet.”
“I mean, he didn’t really have a choice, being a single dad and all. But he really pulled a one-eighty.” I chuckle at the thought of my brother, the one who absolutely did not give a shit about anything, beaming at Sawyer the first time he rode a bike with no training wheels. “He’s a good dad. Nah, he’s a great fucking dad.”
She grins. “That’s awesome.”
“It’ll be nice to have him back around for a few days. I miss him, you know?”
She turns away and grabs a pop out of the cooler. “I do know, actually. Not that I have a great relationship with my family and I did move here to be away from them, but loneliness is a real thing. Sometimes that leads to really stupid mistakes.” She makes a face. “But my friend Dylan just moved to town, so hopefully that’ll help me stay sane.”
Ding! Ding! Ding!
“Dylan? New boyfriend?” I ask as if I don’t already know the answer.
“Nope. She’s a girl I’ve known my whole life. Probably the only friend I have—friend who’s a girl,” she adds for my benefit. She unscrews her drink. “She’s staying with me for a few days until her rental is vacant.”
“That sounds … fun.” Other adjectives are on the tip of my tongue, but I let them go because I’m not supposed to know her.
“It will be.”
“What brought her here?” I tip my bottle back. I’m not sure if I want to know who stole her pots and pans or not, but I have to try. It’s the only way to know who’s on the right side of life.
Navie watches me take my drink with a heavy dose of curiosity. I’m not sure if she thinks I’m prying, which I am, or if she thinks I’m interested in hearing more about Dylan, which I also am, but she’s clearly warring over how to answer this question.
I’m not surprised. Navie is fiercely private about her life outside of Crave, but she opens up to me more than anyone, I think. Her laughter is usually free, her heart warm and genuine, but she keeps stuff about herself kind of locked up tight. I’m good with that, normally. But if someone is stealing her cookware, that’s an issue. I just want her to know I’m here for her.
She throws her sandwich tray in the trash and faces me with a resolution that makes me a little nervous. “She wanted to get a fresh start anyway …”
“And …”
She closes her eyes.
My stomach twists.
“And I was dating Logan and it—”
“Whoa,” I say, my eyeballs about popping out of my head. “Logan. Logan? Logan, the guy I threw out of here, what, six months ago? For fighting with Machlan? For fighting me? The complete douche?”
She sighs. “That would be him.”
“Navie. Really?”
I think back to the night that Logan challenged Machlan over Hadley. It was ugly. And bloody. And my fist hurt for a week afterward. He’s a good for nothing and can’t even take a punch the right way, let alone know how to treat a woman.
She winces as she looks at me. “Please don’t tell Machlan.”
“Why did you think that was a good idea?” I ask. “I mean, come on, Navie. You’ve seen him in action. You’ve seen him in here, drunk off his ass, acting like a fool. He’s nowhere near good enough for you.”
“Thanks.” She grins sheepishly. “I know. I do. Or I did. Whatever. I just ran into him at Peaches one night when I was picking up takeout, and he apologized for that whole night, and I … I guess I was lonely, and things just … happened. But not anymore.” She shakes her head. “We’re done, and Dylan is here and ready to swoop in and take my mind off it in case I succumb to some kind of assh
ole withdrawal.”
“You were that beat up about him that your friend had to move here to keep you company?”
“No.” She rolls her eyes. “Just perfect timing. Dylan’s pretty stressed out and wanted to kind of get away from everything. She tells herself I need her to justify it in her own mind, but I’m fine. You know that.”
I raise a brow to silently challenge that idea. Navie may always pretend she’s fine, but I have doubts. She’s strong as hell. She’s smart. She’s capable. But she’s a human being with weaknesses like the rest of us, much to her chagrin.
Her answer is to stick her tongue out at me.
“Logan?” I ask again.
“Shut up, Peck.” She shakes her head again. “Not my best decision, I’ll agree, but it was okay for a while.”
I tip my bottle toward her. “I’m gonna doubt that.”
“My heart is a little tender, okay? I’d appreciate a bit of pity.”
I watch her over the lip of the bottle as I down the rest of my beer. I set it on the bar and knock it with the back of my hand. It sails down the smooth bar top and falls into the trashcan at the end with a satisfying clink!
“I should eat the rest of that sandwich,” Navie says. “Eating out is going to get expensive, and I don’t have that kind of expendable income. Heck, I don’t have a lot of non-expendable income.”
“Why don’t you just cook?”
“Mind ya business, Peck.” She sticks her tongue out again as she pulls a stack of napkins off the shelf behind her.
I climb off the bar stool. Taking my hat off, I run my fingers through my blond hair. That was a warning not to press, and I want to respect her request, but I also want to make sure she understands why I was pressing.
“Do you need anything, Navie?”
Her eyes fly to mine as she sets the napkins on the bar. “Why did you ask me that?”
“I don’t know. Seems like a fair thing to ask a friend.”
Gibson Boys Box Set Page 99