by Lucy Hawkins
Eight
Hank
Leaning back in the porch swing, Hank let out a slow, disappointed sigh. “I just need to know he’s all right.”
“You’ve been looking for almost a year. I think it’s safe to say he doesn’t want to be found.” Ray, the private investigator Hank had hired to look for his brother, closed his notebook and stuck it in his messenger bag.
“Or he’s not able to get in contact with me because he’s caught up in something.” It was a stretch, for sure, but he wasn’t ready to give up hope just yet.
The last time Hank had seen his brother, Daniel had cleared his bank accounts, leaving no trace, save for a note saying he was sorry and that Hank shouldn’t go looking for him. Of course, Hank had immediately ignored those wishes and hired Ray to find him. Ray’s first piece of advice was to go to the police, but Daniel was the only family Hank had left. He couldn’t do that to him.
Besides, it wasn’t Daniel’s fault he was the way he was. Four years older than Hank, he’d already aged out of the system when Hank moved to Redwood. At eighteen, he’d been out on his own and getting by the only way he knew how. Their father might not have been good for much, but he’d taught them both how to steal and not get caught. Only he had been caught. The only way Hank had been able to find him at all was when he’d served a stint in prison for a series of carjackings and burglaries.
By that time, Hank was living in Florida, so when Daniel was released, he moved in. Slowly but surely, he seemed to be getting back on the straight and narrow. He’d found a job at a local restaurant and had high hopes of becoming a chef one day. He had even started passing on some of that knowledge to Hank. Every night, they cooked together, bonding over the one thing they had in common. Daniel was so proud of the fact that Hank hadn’t turned out like him or their father.
But the thing was, Daniel wasn’t like their father either. Sure, he’d had some bad luck and resorted to doing bad things to get by, but behind the touch exterior was a man who loved food and animals and could somehow identify any type of flower or tree. A good man. They were both finally getting somewhere. Hank had his football career, and Daniel was advancing in the restaurant. He hadn’t even cared when Hank told him he was gay.
Then he disappeared. When he’d asked to borrow some money for a car, Hank hadn’t thought twice about giving him access to his bank account. But rather than coming home to find a new car in his driveway, he’d discovered Daniel was gone.
“I haven’t ruled out the possibility,” Ray said, “but it does seem unlikely. He wasn’t affiliated with anyone in Florida. It seems he was really keeping himself out of trouble after his time in prison.”
While Hank didn’t want to tell him to stop looking, it seemed as though Ray was trying to convince him to. Ray didn’t know the full extent of Hank’s financial struggles, but he knew that Daniel had drained his bank accounts, so he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that Hank didn’t have loads of cash to blow. And private investigators weren’t cheap. With the added expenses the inn had accumulated, it wasn’t as though he could afford to keep looking for Daniel, especially if Daniel didn’t want to be found. Hank shook his head. They’d worked so hard to turn Daniel’s life around. He would be damned if it was all in vain.
“Just one more month,” Hank pleaded. “If there are still no leads, we’ll close the case.”
Ray pressed his lips together but nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is. I need to find him. I just don’t believe he would up and vanish without a good reason.”
“I’ll do my best.”
After Ray left, Hank stayed on the porch, rocking idly in the swing. Was he wrong to put so much effort into finding his brother? He’d always wanted to do right by the people he cared about—Norma, Daniel, and even Alex. When Alex had burst into his kitchen complaining about cake samples, Hank knew he had to help, even though it meant taking on one more task. A task he probably wasn’t even equipped to handle. But it had been worth it to see the way Alex looked at him—like he could rely on him. If only he could rely on himself.
With just a few days left before the wedding, he knew he needed to actually make the cake. If everything wasn’t perfect, Alex was likely to have a meltdown, and Hank was desperate to avoid that. If only they could have more moments like the ones they’d shared in the kitchen, when Alex looked so relaxed and carefree. He might have been uptight by nature, but there was another side to him. The corners of his eyes wrinkled every time he smiled, and his eyes sparkled like emeralds. God, he was waxing poetic about a guy who didn’t even want him.
Hauling himself out of the swing, Hank made his way to the kitchen and opened the cupboard, pulling out powdered sugar and vanilla. He had icing to make.
Alex showed up two hours later with an empty reusable carryout cup. He plopped down at the bar and pushed the cup forward with one fingertip, toward Hank. Something about the innocent gesture tugged at Hank’s heart.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“Please?” The word was so quiet Hank barely heard it.
Something was definitely wrong with Alex. Every time Hank had seen him, he was full of energy and enthusiasm. Even when he was exhausted, he still came in like a wrecking ball, giving orders barking at Hank for coffee. Today, the bags under his eyes were especially pronounced, and he wore a T-shirt and ball shorts instead of his usual button-down and chinos.
Hank filled his mug, adding in the milk and sugar before screwing on the lid and passing it back across the island. “Is everything okay?” he asked after a moment.
“Hmm? Oh, um… yeah. I’m just tired.”
Just tired. The oldest copout in the book. He’d heard it often when his teammates were dealing with stuff at home, and he’d used it himself on more than one occasion. Hank wanted to push, but he knew better. If he did, Alex would only dig his heels in and go all stubborn on him. No, if he wanted answers, he needed to take a more subtle approach.
“If you say so,” he said with a shrug. “I thought we might divide the icing flavors into categories so you can pick one from each category. Since it’s a summer wedding, I made a few with different berries, but I’ve also got some with different liqueurs, and then your more traditional flavors.”
Alex nodded. “We can go ahead and rule out the ones with alcohol in them. Not because I don’t think they would be bad, but uh, let’s just say there are reasons we can’t do that.”
No alcohol? That was odd. He was fairly sure neither bride nor groom had anything against drinking, so it wasn’t that. And Alex didn’t even know what kinds of alcohol he had included, so it wasn’t preference. So why—oh. Oh, that made a lot of sense. It explained the short timeline as well. Hazel was pregnant. He didn’t let on, though, instead just nodding.
“Okay, no alcohol. Let’s start with the fruit-flavored, then.”
Walking over to the pantry, he opened it and picked up the stack of Tupperware containers he’d used to hold the icings. He set them down in front of Alex and opened each one.
“I tried to come up with different ones that would go well with lemon,” he said. “So, I’ve got strawberry, blueberry, raspberry, and watermelon.”
Alex eyed the Tupperware containers without making any move to try any of them. Yeah, something was definitely off. Ordinarily, he’d be halfway finished with the tastings and taking notes about which ones he liked best. But he hadn’t even brought a notebook or pen.
“You want to talk about it?” he asked after a moment.
“Talk about what?”
So that was how it was going to be. “You look like someone just kicked your puppy, and you haven’t slept. You’re wearing ball shorts, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t even know you owned a pair of those.”
“They’re Taylor’s from when she played ball in high school, and it’s nothing.”
“Certainly doesn’t seem like nothing,” Hank said.
Letting out a slow breath, Alex ran a hand through his hair. �
�I got an email from Grant, and I finally read it yesterday, and it’s just… I talked to Hazel about it and she told me to pretend like he doesn’t exist, but that’s harder than I thought it was going to be.”
“I’ve often found that even though people are well-meaning when they say to pretend someone doesn’t exist, it doesn’t actually help the situation at hand.”
“No, it definitely didn’t. I even took a bubble bath last night and thought it might help, but it didn’t.”
Much as Hank wanted to imagine Alex in a bubble bath, he forced himself to stay on topic. “So, what’d he say?”
Alex shrugged. “All the usual stuff. He wants me back, he made a huge mistake, he wasn’t ready to commit.”
Hank hated him. How could anyone be afraid to commit to someone like Alex? Sure, he could be a bit difficult to deal with at times, when he was somehow managing to be both energetic and demanding at the same time, but that was just how he asked for help. Alex was brilliant and funny and hot as hell, and anyone who was blind to that fact didn’t deserve him. Grant didn’t deserve him.
“So, um, what do you think?” he asked.
“About which part?”
“The… the taking him back part?”
“Are you kidding me right now?” Alex asked. “No, I’m not taking him back. He was a horrible boyfriend.”
Hank raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
Alex hadn’t shared much about Grant, just that he’d left him the day of their wedding. And while that alone would be enough to make him a horrible boyfriend, somehow Hank knew there was more to the story.
“He, uh… he cheated on me. A lot. He never admitted it and I can’t, like, prove anything, but he always worked late, and he changed his passcode on his phone super regularly.” Alex stared down at his hands. “And he always… He always went out of his way to tell me about things I was doing wrong. I wasn’t a good enough cook, and I didn’t wear the right clothes, and if I ate too much or didn’t go to the gym, it was always ‘You’re really letting yourself go, you know. It’s kind of disgusting.’”
Anger built steadily inside Hank as Alex spoke, and he clenched his hands against his sides. With any luck, he would never meet Grant, because he really didn’t want to go to prison for assault. Or murder.
“I just… I thought he loved me,” Alex said, his voice small. “I thought he was saying those things because he wanted what was best for me. And now I know Hazel always hated him, but I never listened to her, like… Can I even be trusted to have a relationship again?”
“Of course you can,” Hank said gently. “That relationship wasn’t a good one, but it doesn’t mean every relationship has to be that way. There’s someone out there who would give the world to be with you. Who thinks you dress great and doesn’t give a damn that you can’t cook. Someone who thinks you’re the hottest guy he’s ever seen.” Easy Morrison. Don’t give anything away. “And when you meet him, you’ll know. You’ll know he’s the right guy for you.”
Alex looked up at him, his expression so raw Hank wanted to hold him and never let him go. “You really think so?”
He nodded. “I really do.”
Sliding off his stool, Alex walked around the island and wrapped his arms around him. “Thanks, Hank,” he murmured.
Was he breathing? He was fairly sure he wasn’t breathing. Because if he breathed, it would break whatever was happening between them right now, and Hank didn’t want to do that. He had imagined them together in more ways than he could count, but it had never been like this, standing in the middle of his kitchen, just hugging. It was somehow even more intimate than anything he’d dreamed up. And he never wanted it to end.
Inevitably, of course, it did. Alex pulled away and smiled shyly up at him, and it took every ounce of self-restraint for Hank not to reach out and stroke the backs of his fingers down Alex’s cheek.
“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice unsteady. Clearing his throat, he squared his shoulders. “So. About the icing.”
Nine
Alex
It seemed as though Alex’s brain had been replaced by a giant planner and a countdown clock. With one day before the wedding, he found himself running in circles, directing staff he’d hired for the day while trying not to think about the interview with Weddings Quarterly at two. The flowers had been delivered early that morning and were currently being arranged by several staff, while others worked on manicuring the garden as Alex watched from the window.
It really was fortunate Hazel was getting married in the summer. That was when Redwood was most beautiful. The flowering trees around the property were in full bloom, the weather was warm, and there wasn’t a chance of rain in the forecast for the next two days. If only it stayed that way.
“Norma always put a broom in the tree when we had events here,” Hank said. Alex turned and found him leaning against the door frame, a broomstick in his hand. “She said it was a little bit of witchcraft that kept the rain away.”
Alex laughed. “My grandma used to say the same thing.” Every time their family had gathered together in her garden, the broomstick had been there, positioned among the branches of her giant oak tree. “Do you really think it works?”
“Dunno,” Hank said with a grin. “It never did rain on those days, though.”
He walked outside, and Alex followed him to a graceful weeping willow at the edge of the lake. Raising the broom, he hurled it like a javelin into the heart of the old tree.
“How the hell are you gonna get that down?”
Hank pressed his lips together, as though trying to hide a smile. “Guess I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.”
That made two of them. It was hard enough trying to get through the day without having a complete breakdown. There was still so much that needed to be done. The thing that disappointed him most was the swans. Every time Hank had asked about it, Alex said he had some leads he was still chasing, which wasn’t a complete lie. He was still chasing. But no one had been able to help him. If Hank knew, that would only go to show that his idea had been silly all along. He was supposed to be a damn good wedding planner. Supposed to work miracles and make the impossible possible. It was his job to create a scene akin to something in a fairytale picture book. And he still didn’t have swans.
“I can’t believe how well everything is coming together.” Hank walked up to the bank, standing next to him to watch no fewer than three dozen workers scurrying around the place.
The inn had already begun its transformation, but Alex still had a number of things left to do. He hummed in agreement, though he really wanted to scream. Instinctively, he looked at watch. Ten minutes until his meeting with the people from Weddings Quarterly. He was going to vomit. They were going to want to ask him all sorts of questions, and each one would be invasive. A reminder that he wasn’t the hotshot he once thought he was. He knew how they would paint him—a sad individual who lived vicariously through others since he couldn’t have his own dream wedding.
“Hey.” Hank nudged his shoulder, concern written in his features. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” Alex said far too quickly. At Hank’s dubious expression, he sighed. “I don’t know. I’m always stressed the day before a wedding, but this is so much worse than normal. This is Hazel’s wedding. I can’t have any slipups.”
There was so much more Alex wanted to say. Hank had been so great when Alex had opened up about Grant, he found himself wanting to do the same now. Annoyance rippled through him. How was he supposed to reconcile this Hank—sweet, kind, caring Hank, who seemed genuinely interested in his wellbeing—with the Hank he’d known in high school? He’d been so adamant that Hank was the same person he had been then, but he wasn’t. Just another thing Alex had gotten wrong over the past few months.
“Try not to worry. Everything’s coming together just like it should.”
Hank patted Alex on the back, and Alex stiffened. His button-down shirt stuck to his back where Hank’s hand had been. I
t was a casual touch, as though Alex were one of his football buddies. That sent another thrill of annoyance through him. He didn’t want to be one of Hank’s football buddies.
So, what did he want?
“Thanks.” The muscles in his face tensed as he attempted a smile. “I’d better go wait inside to greet the magazine people.”
Hank nodded, and Alex turned to walk back to the inn, his expression immediately dropping. He barely had time to catch his breath before there was a knock at the door. He glanced at his watch. Right on time. His heart hammered in his chest, so he took a few breaths. Once he’d calmed himself as much as possible, he walked to the door. As soon as he opened it, he was bombarded with greetings and introductions from the two Weddings Quarterly staff who stood in front of him. Inviting them inside, Alex tried to focus on what Lydia—the thin, blonde woman who seemed to be in charge—was saying.
“Do you mind if I take a few snaps?” asked Jack, the photographer. Alex thought he had dressed appropriately for the interview, but Jack’s perfectly cut trousers and crisp shirt put him to shame. Before he could answer, Jack held up his camera and snapped away.
“Uh, sure.” Alex crossed his arms, attempting to relax his shoulders.
“How about on the porch? Great natural lighting.”
Alex had almost forgotten the manic energy these sorts of people were. City people. He’d been one of them once, but in the months since he’d been back in Redwood, he’d fallen back into the laid-back way of life. At least for the most part. Now they were in his face, pulling him in different directions and asking a million different questions. In a way, it felt like home.
“I like that idea,” Lydia echoed. “What a cute little place this is. Our readers are going to go crazy.”
Hank interrupted them then, introducing himself before offering refreshments. He seemed at ease in a way Alex hadn’t expected. Then again, Hank knew how to please people, even if he didn’t think he did. He had a certain charm about him that everyone seemed to gravitate toward.