Home to Stay (Southern Boys Book 2)

by Harper Cassidy

  He navigated back to the text window to ask Gallagher what the discount was, but then he decided not to. It wasn't Gallagher's catering business and he was more likely to insist on Chet taking the discount than was his mother, who had never met Chet. He made the decision to pay the full price pre-discount and leave a note in the payment explaining why. When he was done, he texted Nick again.

  Chet: Okay, done. Thank her again for me. And thank you again.

  The next morning, Chet answered the door to find a striking blonde with a no nonsense ponytail and a pretty but functional mint green apron that said "Imperial Catering."

  "Hi, you must be Gall-er, Nick's mom. It's nice to meet you. I'm Chet Barnaby."

  She stuck out her hand and took his in a firm grip. "Delia Mayhew. It's a pleasure." When she smiled, her whole face changed. "I appreciate your business, Mr. Barnaby. Where should we set up?"

  "Please, call me Chet. And if you'll follow me, I'll show you."

  "One sec, let me just get the team."

  Chet waited while she waved to her employees to follow and then he led her into the dining room behind the kitchen, a great hall which his father had had created by combining three other rooms. Chet had never eaten in it, except during one of the charity functions right after its completion, but one by one Delia’s employees entered, laden with boxes and serving dishes. He watched as green boxes were set up with signs behind them that said "ham" and blue ones with a "turkey" sign. A yellow box held a tray with an assortment of sliced cheeses.

  They were running out of room on the first sideboard, so a few people had to hang back while he and Delia cleared a second one. He noticed there were two pink boxes left, another yellow and one lone beige one, which struck him as odd.

  "What's in the beige box?" Chet asked as he shifted empty serving dishes from the top to the drawers of the sideboard.

  "Oh. Well, since you didn't fill out an order form, you didn't specify, but in a group this size, we usually find it's best to have some gluten free and vegetarian options. Don't worry, it's built into my standard price."

  Chet slapped himself on the forehead. "I can't believe I didn't think of that. God, I've only been gone from Nashville for a few days and already I've forgotten how to do this!"

  "I'm sure nerves probably play a larger part than memory. Nick has told me what your week has been like, so I don't think you need to beat yourself up too much. You're doing fine, Chet. Cut yourself some slack." Delia patted him on the shoulder, then returned to moving dishes herself.

  Chet felt tears spring up at her motherly treatment—a thing to which he was long unaccustomed and sorely missed—so he hastened to change the subject. "And what's in the pink ones?"

  "Okay, guys, we're clear to set up the rest over here. Is someone getting the drinks?" Delia called to her people before answering Chet. "Oh, that's dessert. Since you refused my friends and family discount," she said with a gentle shoulder nudge, "I figured it was the least I could do." Then she winked at him. "Plus, once you've eaten my strawberry cake, you'll become addicted and be a customer for life."

  "Ah, the old, 'the first taste is free' trick. Very crafty," he said, smiling at her.

  They finished setting up just as the first employees started to arrive, Pete first among them. Chet's heart started to pound and he could feel panic start to set in, but Delia caught his eye on her way out and gave him a thumbs up. She mouthed "You got this" before turning and walking out the door. Chet took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He hoped she was right.

  12

  Nick was looking over some expense reports for one of his clients when Lauren's voice came over the intercom on his desk.

  "Nick, I'm sending someone back to your office."

  He frowned, confused. "Do they have an appointment?"

  "Does a mother need an appointment?" his mom asked as she stepped through the door.

  "Hey, Mom!" he said with happy surprise. He got up to give her a hug and accept her kiss on the cheek. "This is a nice surprise. What brings you by?"

  "Well, I met your friend today," his mom said, plopping down in the chair across from his desk. "So I thought I'd come by and have a chat." She picked imaginary lint off her apron. "He's handsome."

  "Mom—"

  "Nick," she countered. "It's just an observation. He was also a bundle of nerves. I know you two have... history of some kind, and it's none of my business. But that boy needs a friend."

  "He's hardly a boy, Mom."

  She waved at him impatiently. "In my experience, anyone orphaned that young will always be a boy—or a girl—to some degree. Anyone with trauma, for that matter." She shook her head. "Anyway, my point is... I'm asking you to look out for him. You told me what kind of week he's had and having met Walker Barnaby a time or three, I can guess what kind of life he's had. At least up until he moved away. He seems like a good person, Nick."

  "You're just a big softie," he said with deep affection and a smile. "Do those employees you yell at know what a big softie you are?"

  "No, and you'd better not tell them!" She stuck out her tongue in a show of maturity. Then she grinned. "I love you, kiddo."

  "Love you too, Mom," he said, sobering. "And I'll do what I can for Chet, but you should know he isn't overly fond of me." He narrowed his eyes, subjecting her to his lawyer scrutiny. "What's got you so convinced he's such a good guy, though?"

  She sat up and pressed her knees together primly with her hands. "Don't you cross examine me, Nicholas Samuel Gallagher, Junior. I have very good instincts about people. Not to mention, the man refused the discount I offered him."

  "Really?" Nick asked, genuinely surprised. "Did he say why?"

  "Yes. Because he was putting me out by asking last minute and using his connection with you to even book with me. Said he appreciated the gesture, but it didn't feel right."

  "You made him strawberry cake." Nick didn't bother pretending it was a question.

  His mom shrugged. "So what if I did?" She stopped to clean her nails. "Nicky," she said tentatively.

  He stiffened. She only used that name when she was going to start a difficult conversation. And if there was one person on earth who could get the truth out of him when he didn't want to give it, it was his mother. He assumed it was about Chet, and though he didn't know what she could possibly have learned at lunch that would warrant the use of the nickname, the topic was such a minefield in general that he knew he wouldn't want to answer, regardless.

  "What sort of history do you and Chet have with each other?"

  Oh. She'd brought out the biggest gun in the Chet arsenal without even knowing it.

  "What?" he asked, more to stall for time than because he didn't know exactly what she was asking.

  "When I mentioned that you'd told me how bad his week had been, he looked really strange. And you've been cagey about him, ever since you mentioned he'd come back to town. I know I said it was none of my business, but, well... I'm your mother and I'm nosy."

  Nick couldn't help a small laugh at that, but then he sighed. "You really hone in on the jugular without even trying, don't you? Is that a mother thing?"

  "Yes, just like trying to dodge a question is a son thing."

  "Haha." He sighed again. "I don't really want to talk about this, but you're not going to let me skirt around it, are you?"

  "Sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything. I'm just trying to help you. You know that. He's hurting. And if whatever happened between you can be solved so that you can help me—"

  "What if it can't? What if our history involves me being the biggest possible asshole to him at the worst possible time and he can't ever forgive me?" He heard his voice crack a little, but he couldn't do a thing to stop it.

  "Oh, honey," his mom said, voice soft and compassionate. "What did you do?"

  He dropped his face onto his hand and rubbed at his forehead with his fingertips. "I bullied him in high school."

  "What?" her voice was shocked. "Nicky, why? That's so
unlike you!"

  "Because I was gay and I was scared!" He groaned and stood up from his desk. "It's not an excuse, but it's the truth. I was a dumb, scared kid who had shitty friends and what started out as me trying to get his attention turned into me treating him like shit instead. And he... well, I don't know if he still hates me, but I know that he used to. I've apologized, but I don't know if he can accept it and I can't blame him if he doesn't."

  Without another word, she stood up and pulled him into a hug. When she released him, she took his head in both her hands.

  "That was a mean, awful thing to do, but I know high school was very hard for everyone. You can't keep beating yourself up over it. You know better now. Maybe he will forgive you and maybe he won't. But forgive yourself. All right?" She hugged him again. "I love you, Nick." She started to leave, but then paused halfway to the door. "If he'll let you, please try to be his friend. I meant it when I said he needs one."

  She didn't close the door behind her when she left and Nick heard her and his father exchange cold greetings with each other as they passed in the hallway. He didn't understand how two great people could still be so bitter toward each other all this time later. It was a shame her powers of interrogation and persuasion didn't run both ways. Then he could ask her what the deal was and try and get it to stop.

  "What did she want?" Nick's dad asked, walking through the open doorway.

  "Please don't start. It's been a long morning already. She wanted to see her son," he said pointedly.

  His dad winced. "Sorry. You're right. I've had a rough one myself. You want to grab lunch in a bit? My treat to make up for being an ass."

  "I can't today, but I'll take a raincheck."

  "Of course. I might just have something delivered from the diner instead. You want in on that? I think I'll see if Lauren does too."

  He walked out without waiting for a response, but a few minutes later, Lauren buzzed to ask Nick for his order so she could call it in. He had no appetite after his conversation with his mother, but he knew that would change as the afternoon wore on, so he ordered soup and a sandwich. When that was done, he started prepping for his next meeting—the first of three he had scheduled for the day, two of which were elsewhere—but in the back of his mind, Chet lingered, popping up whenever the roulette wheel of Nick's mind paused for a moment.

  13

  Chet stood in the front of the room, as the workers gathered around him. To his surprise, he didn't need to quiet them. There seemed to be an unspoken no talking rule in effect and he was grateful, even if he only planned to say a few words to start with.

  "Everyone, I want to thank you for coming out this morning. I'm anxious to hear all your questions and suggestions, but first, I'd like to invite you all to grab a plate of food and have a seat at the table. I'm going to do the same and then I would like to go around the table, one person at a time, to hear your concerns and requests. Does that sound all right with everyone?"

  Chet looked around at the nods and heard the murmurs of assent. He gestured toward the tables of food and people started toward the spread Delia and her workers had laid out. He let everyone else go ahead of him and then he grabbed his own sandwich and a slice of strawberry cake and took a seat at the head of the table closest to him, which had been left empty. He wasn't surprised to find Pete sitting to his left, but he hastily decided to start on his right side with questions.

  He waited until the last person left the dessert table and took their seat, then he stood up to get everyone's attention. As soon as all eyes were on him and conversation stopped, he sat back down.

  "Okay, what I'd like us to do is, starting here on my right, I'd like each person to tell me their full name and their role at the farm, and then let me know if they have a question they'd like to ask or other concern they'd like to address. If you don't have a question, I'd still like you to introduce yourself, so I can get to know all of you." Chet turned to the woman seated on his right. "Hi, would you mind starting us off?"

  "Uh, hi. I'm Molly. Um, Turner. And I'm in accounting. I don't really have a question. Just wanted to say sorry about your dad and, um, welcome, I guess." Molly gave him a small, nervous smile, which he returned warmly.

  "And you?" Chet asked the next person, who also had no questions.

  They went down the line, with most people either having no concerns or lobbing easy questions at Chet that he could answer quickly and without referring to his notes. About halfway down the right side of the table, he reached a formidable looking woman who, unlike Molly, was not the least bit timid or hesitant.

  "Elaine Stadler. Production manager. We need another tractor and another trailer. I told your old man, but he put me off with some line about shareholders. With the decrease in the time it takes us to plant and harvest and haul, they'd pay themselves off in half a season. I can show you the stats, if you need 'em."

  Chet shook his head. "No, I've looked over all the reports, and I think you're probably right. Extra equipment could save us a lot of time. I'm guessing you've already picked out the equipment you'd like to get?" Chet asked with a smile. When she nodded, he said, "Good. Send the information to my email and I'll see if what you want is in the budget. If so, I'll have acquisitions take care of it. If not, I'll get with you about cheaper options. Sound good?"

  "Would if I had your email," Elaine said dryly.

  "Oh, right! I almost forgot. Thank you." Chet got up and grabbed a stack of papers from the back corner of the room. "I didn't have time to have business cards printed, but I wanted you all to have my information." He divided the stack roughly in half and held one stack out in each hand as he returned to the table. "Molly, Pete, would you take one and pass the stack down, please?"

  As the papers were passed, he spoke with six or seven more people, none of whom wanted anything in particular. Jerry Planchett, whom Nick had said was in charge for the time being, introduced himself. He wanted to make an appointment to go over his day to day duties, in case Chet wanted to change anything, but otherwise had no concerns. Near the opposite end of the table a slim man with wire rimmed glasses looked at Chet with nervous determination.

  "Steve Keith. I'm head of marketing. I'd like to strongly recommend we get rid of our outdated website and develop a real web presence. We could make more money and have less waste if we were set up for online orders. We wind up with a surplus every season. We donate a lot, but some still goes to waste. If we had real online capabilities, we could either sell the surplus or donate it farther afield than Rubyville and the surrounding county."

  "Is that something you can do or will we need to hire out?"

  "So you're willing to consider it?" Steve looked surprised.

  Chet frowned in confusion. "I have considered it. I think it's a great idea. Can you do it or—"

  "I can do it! I'll need a little budget for domains and webhosting and that kind of thing."

  Chet nodded. "Email me a proposal and we'll go from there."

  Another person suggested having a stall at the county seat's farmer's market. Someone else wanted more livestock. And then there were suggestions of expanding the crop selections, expanding which livestock they raised, and branching out into other products, like soaps and cheeses and pickled vegetables. Chet listened to each one and told them all whether he felt their suggestion had merit. Regardless of whether he felt they were worth considering or not, he asked for them to send proposals to his email, allowing the ones he'd turned down outright a second chance to plead their case with additional information.

  Finally, the person before Pete finished their introduction and stated they had no question. Chet's heart had started to pound as soon as he realized how close to Pete they were getting and it took it up triple time when Pete's gaze fell on Chet's. Chet had been surprised by how quiet he'd been throughout the meeting. He'd tossed out a barb or two, but all of them had been directed at his coworkers and only when the idea being put forth was legitimately one of the weaker ones. He'd said not one s
ingle bad or snarky thing in Chet's direction. It made Chet even more nervous.

  "Pete Richards. I'm foreman over all the field workers. I need more workers and all my people need raises."

  Pete's expression was defiant, but Chet suddenly got the feeling it was for show. Chet wondered if somehow he'd won Pete to his side. It didn't seem possible, but what other explanation was there for Pete's attitude adjustment? Chet couldn't think of one.

  "Well, at the risk of repeating myself, go ahead and send me an email, telling me how many people you think you need and how much you think your guys des—"

  "People."

  "I—what?"

  "They ain't all guys," Pete said, and for the first time his tone held a hint of derision.

  Chet smiled. "Sorry, I've been hanging out with Yankees. To them 'guys' is a gender-neutral term. Send me an email letting me know how much you think your people deserve and how many new hires you think you need, and I'll see what we've got in the budget." He raised his eyebrows. "Anything else?"

  Pete stared at him for a moment, but shook his head.

  He turned to the table at large. "Raises are actually something I wanted to talk to everyone about. I know it's nearly time for the yearly reviews. I am obviously not qualified to rate your job performances this year, the way Walker did. Instead, what I'd like to do is have the department heads handle those reviews and I'll base the raises for the department heads on their department's overall performance. I'd like to have a meeting with the department heads sometime in the next two weeks. I also want to try and implement some incentive programs for quarterly bonuses. Once I am able to hire Jerry a new assistant—"

  "Edna should have never been let go," Pete broke in.

  "Aw, Pete, don't start with that shit again," a voice from further down the table said back. Mike, Chet thought his name was. "She was caught red-handed."