by Kali Brixton
I kissed her cheek before taking my place beside her. “You always say that.”
She placed her weathered hands on my cheeks and stared at me with her kind, slate-colored eyes. “That’s because it’s true. My home is your home, so whenever you can make it, it’s always the right time.”
I pulled out the chair next to hers and took in the lovely spread she had prepared for us today. “How are you feeling?”
“It’s been a good day. I even got some knitting done.”
“That's so good to hear. Any special projects?”
“Just letting the needles go where they want today. They didn’t seem to mind these old hands working with them again. How was your day?”
“Same ol’ same: work and sweaty men.”
“Mmmhmmm. Any of those sweaty men catch your eye today?”
I plastered a fake grin and bit back the bitterness that threatened my even tone, “Of course not.”
“Holding out for a businessman, huh?”
“Nah. Met plenty of them in college; not my type.”
“So, the rugged ones are.”
Just one of them. Stop. That. Now. “You know me: I like the worker bees best.”
“I don’t blame you. Those are the ones with the real muscles.”
I laughed heartily. “Real muscles?”
“Yes. They get them from manual labor, not lifting weights in a stinky ol’ gymnasium.” She grimaced. “Speaking of work, how’s my handsome Grey?”
My eyeroll probably said more than my words. “Still ornery as ever.”
“I’d be disappointed if he wasn’t,” she grinned with a wink. “A little birdie told me you might have some new workers coming.”
“We had orientation with them today.” I stared in the abyss of my teacup. “I hope they might work out; we need the manpower right now to get these houses finished.”
“Anyone you know?”
“Yeah. Jimmy Erickson. You know, Leda’s son?”
She smiled over her teacup, which she sipped slowly and finally set it back in its dainty saucer with care. “The lady with the trick hip who still takes dance lessons?”
“The one and only.”
“I’m all for people pushing beyond their boundaries, but I think after two sprained ankles, a broken hip, a pulled hamstring, and a dislocated elbow, I’d call it quits.”
“Leda’s dedicated, all right.” Leda Erickson was the picture of determination but had the grace of a one-legged mongoose on a dance floor. Some people had a natural inclination for rhythm—others do not. Leda falls into the latter category (and unfortunately, onto the floor at least 3 or 4 times a lesson), but with her 30th anniversary coming up, she had made her husband agree to dance lessons so they could “wow” their guests at their anniversary party. Mr. Erickson is quite nimble on his feet and does well to guide his left-footed leading lady across the floor, but even the most patient partners have their limits. “I caught Mr. Erickson taking a sip out of his flask last dance class,” I chuckled as Elsie giggled. “I gave him a look.”
“What’d he do?”
“He gave me a big ol’ grin and winked, like it was our little secret, put the flask in his jacket pocket, and patted his hand over it,” I laughed a little harder as I put butter on my scone.
“I don’t blame him. I’d say he needs more than a sip to deal with Leda some days.” I grinned at her remark, knowing she was probably right. “So, Jimmy Erickson. Anyone else?”
“No one worth noting.”
I didn’t miss the slight smirk over her teacup. “Sure about that?”
Grey. He always tried to swing by Elsie's in the evening at least once every week or so to check on everything and calls her from time to time, catching her up on the latest gossip and vice versa.
"I assume a little blond birdie told you otherwise?"
"Perhaps." Yeah. A big-mouthed Grey birdie. "So, he's back in town?"
“Waltzed in like he didn’t disappear two years ago and reappeared like everything was peachy.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I let go of Deacon a long time ago. He’s free to do what he wants. He has anyway since college, so…”
“Did he explain where he had been or why he left so suddenly?”
“Nope.”
“Hmmm.” Disappointment vibrated through that sound.
“Anyway, after he startled me and gave me a huge bump on the noggin, I let Grey know he wasn’t to let Deacon anywhere near me.”
“Seems a bit harsh for someone you’re indifferent about, wouldn’t you say? More tea?”
“Thank you. And no, I think I could be a lot more difficult. I could have told Grey to fire him.”
“Would you have done that, though?”
“No.”
“You sure you want to shut him out? There used to be a time when you would’ve been glad to see him coming home.”
"That was a long time ago." When I was a different person. When he was a different person.
"Two years isn't that long ago, Charlotte. Maybe he had his reasons..."
"Well, whatever the reason is or was, I'm not interested in knowing. He can keep to his side of the site, and I'll stay on mine at work."
"Where's he staying?"
"I don't know. Didn't ask."
"You aren't very happy to see him, are you?" The curiosity completely faded away from her tone and demeanor, and that grandmotherly concern pushed to the forefront.
"Not really," My other thumb caressed the side of my teacup handle. "I'm sorry I'm so cross today. I just...could we talk about something else?"
"Sure, honey." She lifted the teacup to her lips and took a slow slip. "So, how are Nikki and Staci doing?"
Chapter Six
Deacon
After our little text exchange, it was hard to concentrate the rest of the day. Questions swam in my head like they were in open water with no buoy in sight. When did Charlotte start mouthing off to people? Or does she only do it to me? That one stung a little bit. Does she hate me that much? And how is it even possible that she's even more beautiful than before?
Grey was talking with all the new workers—me included—but I couldn't seem to focus on what he was saying. I barely made out his "Good work today, men" comment before the fog started to lift. His gaze landed on me in inquisition as the other guys gathered their belongings and walked towards their vehicles, gravels crunching in their heavy-booted path. I pretended not to notice those green eyes were still trained on me and quietly got my stuff together.
"Deacon. We need to ta—"
"Hey, boss. Wanna go grab a beer with us?" A guy from the experienced crew shouted as they made their way offsite.
"Nah. Mom's cooking tonight."
"Such a mama's boy."
"And proud of it!" He grinned and winked. Yelp. Mama’s boy. Although when Lynn Kasen’s your mom, that’s a badge of honor. "Go easy on the drinking, fellas. We've got work, bright and early."
"Devereaux? You game?"
"You heard the man: Lynn Kasen's cooking." I knew as soon as the words flew out of my mouth, I had made a mistake. I had no right to impose on their family dinners, but once upon a time, I had a standing invite to the Kasen dinner table. As great a cook as Lynn was, though, the company always made it better.
"Damn. Is it an open invitation?"
"We'll be having the cookout in a few weeks. You'll get to sample the goods soon."
"Boss lady gonna be there too?"
The biggest guy of the three looked straight at me as he said that, gauging for a reaction. His watchful eye had caught mine when I took my last look as Charlotte left the site for the day. I had wondered if he felt protective over her like Grey, but it seemed he had designs on my girl. Before I could open my mouth to put him in his place, Grey cut me off.
"Should be. Probably bringing her new boyfriend. See you guys tomorrow."
I couldn't take in his astonished face fully because I was too busy catching flies wi
th my open mouth. Boyfriend? I turned toward Grey, ready to fire some questions at him and caught the last remark from the quiet one of the trio: "Told you so, dumbass. She doesn't date guys from the crew." A chuckle came from one of the guys—Brent, I think—and a frustrated grunt from the other, more than likely the delusional one. I waited until the sound of their work boots faded, ready to grill him, when he held up his hand, warning me to stop as he watched the guys get into their vehicles. Once the loud rumble of one of the guys' trucks could cover our voices, Grey looked back at me.
"Let's go to the office."
I nodded, knowing he wanted privacy to talk.
The metal office door closed behind me, and I was immediately hit with the much cooler air of the office, which still carried the faint scent of Charlotte’s perfume. The breeze was a relief from the humid late spring heat.
"Grey, you’d better be joking."
His laughter rang throughout the tin office, and his happy-go-lucky strides to the fridge made me more anxious and annoyed. "Water?"
I shook my head, and he cracked open the door, a small gust of icy air cutting through the warm room the air conditioner struggled to keep cool enough.
He motioned to the chair Charlotte was sitting in this morning, taking one of the visitors' seats in front of the old metal desk. Almost immediately upon sitting down, the smell of her perfume met my nostrils. I breathed in the scent like it was the last one I'd ever take and exhaled slowly, not wanting to lose it.
After chugging his water bottle, he crushed the bottle and capped it. "First of all, she doesn't have a boyfriend."
I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion. "But, you just—"
"I know. I was trying to throw Davies off her scent. Great worker, but he's had a big crush on her since he got here. That was to keep him from overstepping a line he knows he shouldn't cross—and to keep you from doing the same," he warned, leveling a stare at me.
I opened my mouth in protest, but Grey continued. "Don't tell me you weren't about to tell him to fuck off. I saw it all over your face."
I wasn't going to lie—done enough of that already, haven't you?—so I chose to close my mouth and stare back at him.
He grinned that pearly white grin of his that I'm sure made women fawn, but it just made me want to slug him. "Thought so, which brings me to why I wanted to talk with you. What the hell was going on with you today?"
"What do you mean?"
"Deacon, you're one of the sharpest men I know—nothing escapes you. But, it was like your head wasn't in it today, especially after she left. Let’s be honest for a second: we both know why you're back.” The squeak of the old office chair filtered through the air as he propped his folded arms on the desk. “And for what it's worth, I support you—I always have. But, I need you to understand something: I cannot let my connection to you cloud my judgment or make it seem like I'm covering for you. I need all of my crew sharp and focused. Otherwise, people will get hurt, and that’s not something I can allow to happen. There's so much that could go wrong on a good day, let alone when everything's working against you. I need to know that while you're here, you can compartmentalize what's happening elsewhere."
For the first time, I wasn't seeing him as Grey, Aidan's little brother, or Grey, Charles and Lynn Kasen's carefree son. I was seeing the man he had grown into: he was a man leading a crew of other grown men—men who respected the hell out of him. "I can do that."
"Good to hear. The guys are fairly harmless, but a few of them like to try and get under the new guys' skins, just to see how far they can goad them, you know?"
I nodded in agreement.
"You're probably going to hear some of the guys talk about Charlotte, but the men who have been around for a long time are just as quick to put them in their place as I am. I don't have to lose my job over her because the guys like to look out for her. She's good to them, and they don't like anyone being a dumbass when it comes to her.”
So, I am the only one she talks to like that. Great.
"Like Davies. He's never once said anything about Charlotte to me until today, but I can tell he's smitten with her. So, that leads me to believe the only thing that would make a guy take a chance like that is if he sensed some competition. But now, all he's done now is earn an ass chewing from Barclay and Griggs. They love her the most out of the whole crew and see her as a little sister."
"Smitten?"
"Did you just miss the entire point of what I just said because I’m a poetic fucker?"
"Nah. I got you."
"Good. We’ve discussed this: I’m #TeamCharcon all the way.”
“What the hell is a Charcon?”
“Your all’s couple name. Like Brangelina?”
I stared at him, wondering what the hell he was even talking about, which he seems to pick up on.
“Maybe Charcon’s not right… Cheacon? Darlotte? I’ll talk to Elsie and see what she thinks.”
“We’re not even a couple.”
“Yet. Don’t forget the power of the word yet, my friend.” He slapped his jean-clad thighs and bounced up on his feet. I swear the man was an eternal fount of energy. “Now, let's go home and grab a shower. I'm starving."
I winced at my assumption from earlier. "You sure Lynn won't mind me coming over?"
"Are you kidding? She was upset you didn't come over and visit when you got in yesterday. Got something to change into?"
"I can run to the house and grab something."
"No need. I've got some spare clothes at the house. Sweatpants might be a little short, but they should fit…maybe.” He threw his head back in laughter because being a damn giant is fucking comical apparently. "Besides, you don't want to miss it while it's fresh."
"What's she making?"
"Chicken and noodles."
No. Fucking. Way. "Are you serious?" My eyes gleamed with hope, wanting this moment to be truer than anything in the world. Well, except certain other moments that involve—
"You know I don't joke about my mama's meals. She was so excited you were back, she insisted on making it."
It's been two years since I've seen her in person and she still cared enough to remember my favorite meal of hers. “Your mom is a saint.”
“That she is,” Grey beamed with a proud mama’s boy smile plastered on his face. “She wanted to get everyone together to celebrate you coming home, but Mason won’t be able to make it.”
“That surprise you?”
Grey shrugged his shoulders, clearing his throat, “I think he’s got something going on at work. I’m sure you’ll see him soon.”
No skin off my nose. The elder Kasen twin hated my guts with an ungodly passion, and there had been very few attempts at hiding it over the years. If it wasn’t a death stare, it was some sour comment under his breath, or good ol’ fashioned seething on his part. I’ve never been able to figure out what I did to him exactly, but that general disdain for me had deepened since Aidan died if he won’t even come to a family dinner because of me. Yet another Kasen family member to win over.
After he locked up, we made our way to our trucks. “Wanna ride over with me? I can drop you off on the way back through tonight?”
“Sure?”
“Yeah. Got a new playlist I haven’t listened to yet, and as the old saying goes: sharing is caring.”
“Please tell me it’s not—”
“It’s not.” He paused, a guilty look on his face. “But, let the record show: Queen Britney is always welcome on my playlist.”
“You have a problem.”
“I am a warm-blooded American male who happens to appreciate her fine dancing skills and sharp fashion decisions.”
“She’s a hot piece of ass would have sufficed, Grey.”
“No need to state the obvious, my friend.”
As Grey had a particular beautiful blonde dancer on his mind, mine drifted to the beautiful blonde dancer who had waltzed in and out of my mind all day long for the last seventeen years. I knew going into
this, I had an uphill battle ahead of me, but I was up for the challenge, no matter how agitated she was at the sight of me today. I was in it for the long haul this time, though, so I’d tweak my game plan as I went along.
If Charlotte didn’t want to talk to me one-on-one, she might be more agreeable in front of a Kasen who’s always been in my corner and was subsequently playing hostess tonight. That and maybe the pasta coma from her mom’s chicken and noodles might make her more pliant to my strategy. Whatever it took, all I could think of at the moment was God bless you, Lynn Kasen. God bless you.
Chapter Seven
Charlotte
The crunch of the egg noodle bags kissing the granite countertops caused enough of a ruckus to bring a curious hound dog investigator into the kitchen. I knelt to the floor and kissed his head, throwing my arms around his big body for a squeeze, rubbing his back as he planted his head on my shoulder. I pulled back and encircled his face with my hands, scratching him underneath his ears, just how he liked it. “How’s my sweet Jesse?”
“You’re a lifesaver, sweetheart.” Mom’s frazzled voice entered the kitchen before she did. Her signature blonde bun was high on her head, and her well-worn, “around-the-house” outfit as she called was clinging to her curvy body. Her arms wove around me and held tight, squeezing every ounce of love she could get out of this hug and putting it right back in. “How’s my favorite daughter?” Sometimes looking at my mom was like looking in a mirror, but since Daddy got sick, she had aged considerably with worry. Yet, the shine of her inner beauty never seemed to dull, regardless of life’s circumstances.
“Well, your only daughter is doing fine. How are you?”
“Running around like a chicken with its head cut off, but what’s new?” My mom had one of those megawatt smiles that brightened the room immediately. “I just gave your dad something to calm him. He’s had a rough day.”
“Therapy not go well?”
She blew out a frustrated sigh. “He’s having trouble accepting it’s not an on-off switch.” Waving a dismissive hand, she added, “You know how men are: Point A to Point B, and…”