by Piper Rayne
I assume he was on the wrong end of those statistics too, because I know he and Marla have a blended family.
“Unfortunately, she passed.” He glances at his boys again. “Cade was only twelve. Adam six. I blame myself for letting Adam marry Lucy. They were too young. I think he wanted to repeat what his mother and I had. He’s always idealized our relationship. Not that he doesn’t love Marla, but it’s complicated.” He glances at them again. “Neither of my boys would be happy that I’m sharing all this with you, but you’ll find out eventually anyway. Maybe I feel bad because my stepdaughter is spreading all the news about your life on her radio show. Tit for tat and all that.” He smiles, and jeez, Cade is such a mini-me, even down to the smile.
“It’s okay. It’s no different in Connecticut. It’s nice to actually know what they’re saying about me instead of it all being behind my back.”
“Well.” Hank sits on the windowsill. “I’m pretty sure I speak for the town when I say we’re glad you’re here and that this bookstore will be a great addition.”
So he voted yes then. It has to be Cade. A handyman wouldn’t care about my bookstore—hell, I’m giving him business. Trent Lawson will make money on legal fees with me setting up my business. And the fifth person is that woman who I think owns the knickknack store. Maybe she didn’t want me here, but she stopped me the other day and asked if I’d have romance novels. It could have been George I suppose but I’d put money on it being Cade who voted no.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Greene.”
He stands. “Any time. You look like you’re ready to start now. Let me get a quote going…”
“Oh, I can cut you a check.”
He waves me off. “Just hold off on that. I’ll grab you the quote first.”
“I’m really anxious to get this going.” I’m not going to divulge that I need to get this store open so I can actually make some money.
He chuckles. “Okay, well, we can start the drywall repair and paint tomorrow.” He presses some numbers on his calculator and gives me a figure that I write him a check for. “I gave you a discount on account of you having to deal with my mother trying to push you and Cade together. She’s a meddler and her friend Dori isn’t any different.”
I laugh. “It’s okay. I actually have a whole box of spools of thread and fabric. I’m not sure if they’d want it, but Midge helped herself to three spools the other day.”
His shoulders deflate and he shakes his head. “I’m not surprised.”
I wave off his concern. “Dori paid for it, not that I wanted any money.”
“I think they’d love it.” He turns away from me. “Cade.”
Cade walks over and Adam follows. “Yeah?”
“Presley has a box of thread and fabric that needs to go to Northern Lights. You know your grandma is in that sewing club. They could use it.”
“Oh no.” I shake my head. “I can do it. I’m staying in Lake Starlight. I can just stop there on my way home.”
Hank tucks his clipboard under his arm and holds up his hands. “Now, I’m not meaning you’re not strong enough when I say this, because if I were, Marla would be over here and smacking me on the back of the head in an instant. But let Cade do it. Where are you staying in Lake Starlight?”
“Um. Glacier Point.”
“Fancy,” Adam says under his breath.
My cheeks redden in embarrassment. “I’m looking to stay someplace else. I didn’t know where to stay when I first came. It’s just a lot of things in Sunrise Bay are houses for rent and they’re all looking for long-term leases. I’m not ready for that kind of commitment just yet.”
“I have a place,” Hank says and turns to his sons as if he’s getting their opinion. Adam raises his eyebrows as though his dad is crazy and Cade’s eyes slowly shut. “The boys live in my old house. Above the garage, there’s a small apartment. We used it for guests back in the day. You’re welcome to stay there.”
“Oh no. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I shake my head, eyes wide.
“Why not? You’re a client and I treat my clients like family. I haven’t been up there in a while, so I’ll have the boys clear it out. But I can’t imagine how hard it is for you to upheave your entire life to come here. You’ll have to get a car and this place is costing a small fortune. Think of it as a welcome wagon gift.”
Cade chokes but recovers before his dad notices. The whole welcome wagon discussion from before rings in my head.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
“Okay, I don’t want to force it on you,” Hank says. “But just a disclaimer, it’s out of the boys’ area. It has its own bathroom and kitchen, so you’d never have to see their mugs unless you wanted to do laundry in the main. I’ll install black-out curtains myself, so they don’t act like peeping toms.”
“Dad!” Cade screeches.
I giggle at how he turned into a thirteen-year-old boy at his dad’s remark.
“I better get to my next appointment. I can’t go getting bad Yelp reviews.” Hank laughs all the way out the door, stopping short when he sees the boxes. “Cade, don’t forget these boxes.”
“I won’t.”
Adam and Hank both leave.
Cade eyes me for a moment, his gaze fixated on the metal clasp of my overalls. “You should think about it.”
“And have you or Jed kill me in my sleep? No thank you.” I cross my arms.
He groans as if I’m torturing him. “At least let me take you home since I’m driving to Lake Starlight anyway.”
“I can take the boxes. Your dad wouldn’t be the wiser.”
He grabs a box. “You don’t understand how things work in the Greene family. Let’s go.”
So I grab my purse and follow because I have yet to rent a car—mostly because I didn’t want to waste the funds if I wouldn’t be setting up shop. But now that I am, I really need to figure out the logistics of a car and a place to live. As good as the apartment sounds, there’s no way I can live that close to Cade. My life grew infinitely more complicated when I came here, and getting involved with him would only make it worse.
As we hop in the truck and head toward Lake Starlight, I have to say, I’m a bit afraid of seeing Ethel and Dori again. They apparently tend to get people caught up in things they wouldn’t normally do—and Cade is very much one of those things. But I can’t deny that the attraction between us is growing no matter how much I try to convince myself I don’t like the man.
I might as well just add up all the people who are in on trying to get me together with Presley Knight. My dad must be one of them since he’s offering up the apartment over the garage.
Nikki tried to stay there when she first returned from college, but quickly moved in with the girls. She didn’t like being alone in the apartment since our house is set deep in the woods.
“We get in and we get out,” I tell Presley when we pull into the Northern Lights parking lot.
I never should’ve touched the metal clasp on her overalls, but the visual of them falling to the floor and me finding out what color her panties are was nearly unbearable. I expected her to smack my hand away, but she didn’t. The entire ride from Sunrise Bay to Lake Starlight, all I could think about was what it means that she let my hand stay on that metal clasp.
“Sounds like a plan.” She gets out of the truck.
I pick up a box of fabric and she picks up the spools of thread.
“You’re pretty strong for a girl,” I joke. My sisters would kick me in the nuts for saying that, but it’s clear from everything else that comes out of my mouth in front of Presley, I like to antagonize her, just like I do them. Although there’s nothing sisterly about my thoughts when it comes to Presley.
“Say it again and see if you have any balls left.” She laughs and walks in front of me, torturing me with the view of her ass.
“Noted.”
We enter the retirement community and I realize our first mistake. It’s game night and they’re all set u
p in the main area. Even if we put the boxes in front of our faces, there’s no dodging everyone. I once got stuck here on Mahjong night and I embarrassingly lost four times to a little Asian grandma who pointed at me after it was over and said, “Suck that.”
“Dodge left,” I say, and duck down a hallway.
But Presley’s not fast enough. Mostly because she probably doesn’t think she has to try to outrun these elderly people, but she underestimates how fast they are in the walkers with tennis balls on the bottom. They just slide on by you.
“Presley!”
I close my eyes, crouching behind the wall, when I hear my grandma’s voice. Presley, still in the open, looks at me with wide eyes.
“Hank told me you and Cade were going to be dropping off some things. Come and play,” Grandma calls.
Presley’s smart though and she stays in place.
“Where’s Cade?” My grandma’s voice grows closer. It’s a lost cause. She’s going to find me.
“Right here.” I come out of hiding around the corner and step up behind Presley. “I hope you like board games,” I whisper to her.
“Huh?” she says, but she’ll find out soon enough.
“Come, you two, let’s get those boxes in the sewing room, then you can join us for a few rounds.” Grandma waves us down a small hallway.
“I don’t know if I have time for a game,” Presley says, looking to me for help I think, I tried to warn her.
“Hot date?” I ask. Yes, for my own knowledge.
“Yeah, with my bathtub.”
Jesus. Did she do that on purpose to make me think of her naked in hot water and bubbles? Her smirk says she did.
“Just put them in here.” Grandma opens the door and flicks on the lights for the sewing room.
It looks pretty unused with no scraps of fabric anywhere, no half-done projects hanging out around a sewing machine. In fact, I don’t even see spools of thread on top of the sewing machines.
As we set down our boxes, I ask, “Grandma, do you guys use this room?”
“Yes. We just know how to clean up after ourselves. Come on, you two.” She waves us out.
I raise my eyebrows at Presley like we just uncovered a scheme, and she rolls her eyes. I lean in close to her as Grandma shuts off the lights and closes the door. “They aren’t making baby blankets in there.”
“What do you think they’re doing? Playing strip poker?”
My entire body jolts at the thought. “Don’t play dirty.”
She laughs and I stop for a moment in the middle of the hall and stare at her. That might be the first time she’s laughed in my presence since the first time I met her at the wake.
She tugs on my sleeve. “Come on. We need to win fast and get out.”
“At least we’re on the same side this time.”
Grandma walks us back into the room. Everyone is in groups of four, but once we step in, the woman who works here and seems to be leading things claps.
“Okay, now that Edith is back, let’s all finish our games and switch it up a little,” the employee says cheerfully.
“I really should get back,” Presley says to Grandma, but she pats Presley’s hand with a smile and ignores her comment.
It’s Grandma’s way of pretending she can’t hear her. Just like the Asian grandma who pretended she didn’t speak English until she told me to suck it. Sometimes they use their age as a weapon.
Presley and I wait, not really patiently since we’re both huffing and groaning as the games end and the lady who works here directs everyone to open up a big area, moving chairs and what-not around one large group game.
Oh shit. This is not a good sign.
“Grandma,” I say, but she walks away from me. “She’s trying to manipulate us again,” I murmur to Presley.
“Maybe she didn’t hear you. You mumbled,” she says.
“Okay then.” I lean back on the table and cross my arms. “Prepare yourself. You’re about to be slingshotted out of your comfort zone.”
“What?”
When the organizer—Leann, according to her name tag—claps again because as they all move around, there are a lot of grunts and get out of my ways and ouches.
“Charades everyone!” Leann holds up a basket full of folded up notes.
The group sighs.
“I can’t get up,” one man says.
“My hip,” a woman says.
“You expect me to stand?” another man in a wheelchair asks.
“Sweetie, I know you’re new, but we don’t do charades or Pictionary!” a woman yells.
Leann’s cheeks redden.
“Where did she get her degree?” a man loudly whispers to another. “We’re old, half of us are in wheelchairs, and the other half are on their way.”
Presley’s hand lands on my forearm as her other hand covers her mouth. “I feel horrible. We need to do something.”
“Um… like what?”
If she thinks we’re gonna come up with some new game, she’s mistaken. I played broom soccer one time and got hit in the balls so many times, I’m still worried I can’t have kids.
“Hey!” Presley raises her hand, but she looks sheepish as she ducks her head as though she’s sorry for interrupting. “I have an idea.”
“Please.” Leann places the bucket on a stool she set up and steps aside, happy to give the spotlight to Presley.
Presley glances at me, her eyes widening as though she’s communicating that she wants me to follow her.
I hold up my hands. “This is your show.”
She walks back to me, fists my shirt, and yanks me forward. “It’s your grandma,” she whispers.
Point taken. I let her pull me, and once she sees my feet moving, Presley releases me. We walk in front of the group.
“How about we act them out?” Presley waggles her finger between her and me.
“What?” I whisper-shout and start to walk away, but she grabs me by the back of the shirt, yanking me back. She’s a lot stronger than I thought.
“Yes, we can pick the words and we’ll separate you into two teams. You guys just have to guess. This way all the work Leann did won’t go to waste.”
They all kind of just sit there, not one smile.
Tough crowd.
And now Presley looks defeated.
Fucking hell.
“Listen, you’re all more than capable of coming up here. This is a nice thing that Presley is offering. I suggest you take her up on it,” I say in a stern voice.
There are a few murmured conversations. When no one says anything to agree and one man stands with his cane to leave, Grandma is the one who stands.
“We’re all doing this. Now sit down, Isaac. That’s my grandson and we’re interrupting their evening, so let’s play.”
Dori woots with her fist in the air.
Presley giggles and looks at me as if she loves my grandma. I mean, the woman is awesome, but she’s a little too involved for my liking. I thought all grandparents moved to Florida or Arizona when they got older?
“Okay, great. I’ll pick the first one.” Presley digs her hand in the bin. She reads it and cringes. She holds up a finger to signal that it’s one word.
The elderly people all say one out loud. Thankfully they’re playing along.
Presley stands with her legs pressed to one another, her hands together in prayer and her head bowed.
“Praying,” one lady says.
Presley shakes her head and thinks for a moment, looking at the timer Leann flipped over. Presley sits on the floor, crosses her legs, rests her arms on her legs with her palms facing up. She closes her eyes.
“Buddha?” a man yells.
“Is she bald with a big belly?” a woman asks.
“Let’s be nice,” Leann says, trying to keep them in line.
Presley shakes her head, looks at me, then holds up her finger to signify for them to give her a second. She stands and bends forward, her palms on the floor and her ass up in the air, g
iving all the men a show. Some of their eyes bug out and literal drool falls from the corner of their mouths.
“Doggie style?” one man calls.
Presley looks up in disbelief, mouth dropped open. I bite my lip and my inner cheek. Hell, I’m about to rip out a section of the hair on my arm, trying not to laugh.
“You’re such a dirty old man,” a woman calls.
“You weren’t complaining the other night,” he says back.
Presley stands, and I admit I was about to throw my coat over her ass so she’s not the visual these men have tonight in bed.
“Downward dog.” A woman stands and holds up her phone. “Yoga?”
“We shouldn’t use our cell phones to find the answers, but you’re correct.” Leann puts a mark under Presley’s team on the whiteboard.
Though this isn’t what I want to be doing, seeing the smile that hasn’t left Presley’s face makes it worth it. I like her a lot better this way than when she’s angry at me.
“Greene,” she says, walking by me with a cocky gait.
I pick a piece of paper from the bowl and open it.
Sewing
“How easy is this?” I whisper to Presley.
Pulling a chair over in front of a table, I pretend to cut up fabric and press my foot down on the invisible pedal and run the fabric through a machine. I was in home economics once upon a time. I remember how it works. But everyone sits there and doesn’t say a word, so I pretend to unroll a spool of thread and run it through the machine down to the needle.
“Oh, I know this one,” a woman shouts.
“Then say it,” a man yells back at her.
“Give me a minute.” Her eyes scrunch as I rack my brain for a way to communicate it better. “Oh.” Her arm flies up.
“You’re not in school, Olive, just spit it out,” the man who I think is her husband snips. I hope I’m not a cranky old man when I’m older.
“Strip poker!” the woman yells.
I freeze. The entire room falls silent and almost everyone looks in the direction of the woman. I look at Presley and we both crack up. Now I’m really wondering if the sewing room is a cover for them playing strip poker. Do they pretend to undress in order to do measurements if a nurse comes in? God, I need to stop my mind from running away with this.