“Oh, you are too,” Walker sighs, cutting her off. “And I’m sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t feeling good.”
“You seem to be feeling better now,” she points out.
“Yeah, well . . .” He looks at me through the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man. “I’ll be there this week. Promise.”
“You better.” She hands him the picnic basket. “If I’d known you had company, I would’ve brought you extra. Speaking of which, is this your girlfriend?”
“Nana . . .”
“Oh, no,” I say hurriedly, not wanting her to get the wrong impression. “I’m just here to settle up some business.”
“He’ll be fair and he does good work,” she says, smiling proudly at Walker. “He’s a good, good boy.”
Walker’s cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as he switches the basket in his hands. “Let’s get back to the chicken. There’s more you didn’t bring? What are you saving it for?”
“For my grandsons who show up to church,” she winks, heading to the door. “Sienna, make sure he shares with you. I’m not known around these parts for my fried chicken for nothing.”
“Will do. Nice to meet you, Nana.”
“Same here, honey.”
“See ya, Nana,” Walker calls after her.
He sets the basket on the counter. There’s a sudden awkwardness, a void that needs filled and I don’t know with what or how. I can’t decipher the look on his face or the way my stomach is all twisted in knots. Despite not really wanting to leave, it’s the only choice. It’s the responsible choice. It’s the one I don’t want to make but do anyway.
“Let me pay you what I have and I’ll bring the rest by later,” I say.
His brows shoot to the ceiling as he fiddles with the edge of the basket. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course I’m going to worry about it.”
“The damage is done.”
“And I want to fix it,” I insist.
“Are you still arguing over Daisy?” Peck, the light-haired guy from the other night, comes from the garage bay, a huge grin on his face. “Just take her money and give it to me.”
“Fuck off,” Walker laughs.
“Ah, Nana brought you lunch after all,” Peck notes, knocking on the top of the basket. “It’s sickening how favored you are.”
The two of them spar back and forth, neither of them serious but both of them trying to win the argument. Walker fills him in on the Dave and MaryAnn drama and Peck continues to just give him shit about it. It’s hysterical and reminds me a lot of my brothers back home. I didn’t realize how much I missed this feeling of camaraderie, this sensation of family.
“I have an idea,” Peck says, bringing me back to the present. “We have a lot of shit that needs done around here. Since y’all can’t agree on money, why don’t you just stick around and help out some?”
“Because she’s not a fucking maid and that’s what we need,” Walker barks immediately, scowling at his cousin.
“Wait,” I say, looking between the two. Walker isn’t going to let me pay him back and I know he can’t afford to be out that much. I can’t live with costing him that much either. “That’s not a bad idea, really. I mean, I’m not your maid and I’m not cleaning that filthy bathroom.”
“That bathroom hasn’t been cleaned in years,” Peck sighs.
“I can believe that,” I say, scrunching my nose. “But I wouldn’t be averse to sweeping some of this mud up and maybe organizing that desk, because it’s driving me nuts.”
“It’s not necessary,” Walker says.
“It’s totally necessary,” Peck counters. “We were just talking about it before you got here. Well, the cleaning part. Not the you part. Although . . .”
Walker looks at me, the pools of chocolate dragging me in just like they did the other night. I’m not quite sure if he likes me or loathes me, but either way, I can’t look anywhere else.
“I’m technically on vacation for a couple of weeks and am probably going to leave town after that anyway. I’m going to have some time on my hands,” I point out. “I really don’t mind working off what I owe. Heck, it might even be good for me and I know it would be good for you.”
“I want it to be good for me,” Peck deadpans.
Walker rolls his eyes at Peck. “You sure?” he asks me.
“I mean, if you don’t want me . . .”
“We want you,” Peck jumps in, standing between me and Walker. “We. Want. You. I want you, anyway. If he doesn’t, I do. Let’s make that clear.”
Walker shoves Peck’s shoulder, making Peck laugh.
“If you want to, that’s fine,” Walker says, once Peck makes his way back into the shop bay. “But I’ll pay you. You aren’t helping out around here for free.”
“You aren’t paying me,” I toss back. “This is to work off the damage and today’s freebies. What time do we start?”
He twists his lips into a hesitant grin. “I have a feeling you’re going to show up whenever you want, so we open at eight. The rest is up to you.”
It would be so easy to stay, to linger beneath his lopsided smile. I could pull up a chair and fix us both plates of Nana’s fried chicken and listen to this gravelly voice tease me, grumble, whatever he likes, all day. Sometimes, though, the right option isn’t the easiest one. Sometimes, it’s the hardest.
“See you then,” I say.
Before he can get in the last word, I head to the door. Without looking back, I tug it open and make myself walk away from Walker Gibson.
PAPERS FLUTTER AGAINST THE cork board, held in place by various thumbtacks, nails, and an occasional toothpick with the foil at the end that Machlan uses in Crave’s famous cheeseburgers. There’s nothing particularly interesting tonight. A coon dog that went missing out by the lake and a carpenter from Merom looking for help. Otherwise, it’s just a bunch of jokes, shift schedules for the factory, and some pictures from when a couple of the Illinois Legends football players were in a while back.
Mach works behind the bar, wiping down the bottles that line the counter below the oversized mirror. He’s the youngest out of us all. He shares my dark hair and a little above average height, but he’s more like our sister in that he can be a hard nut to crack. Things are right or wrong with Machlan, and he’s not above doling out justice when it’s deserved. A time or two this has put him into spots with Kip since he took the position of Sheriff.
As if on cue, Mach leans against the bar across from me. “Blaire called this morning.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to make sure I got my bartender license renewed. Apparently it was on her calendar as a ‘to-do’ item,” he grins. “How does our sister even know when it renews? I mean, I wouldn’t have known if my accountant didn’t remind me last week, but I pay her for that shit.”
“You know Blaire,” I say, peeling at the label of the beer bottle I just finished. “She just likes holding it over our heads that we need her. It’s her way of feeling relevant.”
“I think that fancy corner office in Chicago should make her feel relevant.”
“But to us?” I ask. “If she wasn’t our older sister, would we even give a fuck that she’s a lawyer with some hotshot firm? What do we care about law degrees?”
“Lance cares. He’d love to find some chick who could moan eight-syllable words as she got off.”
Laughing, I lean back in my chair while Machlan heads down the bar to refill a customer. He pauses long enough to have a quick conversation, making the guy I haven’t seen before feel welcome, but doesn’t hover.
No one sits at the far end of the bar to chitchat. They’re not even really there for the beer. They’re there to get away from something, maybe even everything. Then again, maybe the majority of people in a bar are there for that purpose.
I mean, I am.
Crave was my last-ditch effort to rid myself of a certain woman with the most aggravatingly irresistible vibe. A woman I’d love to fuck until she can’t respond with her quick comebacks anymore. Until all she can say is my name.
My phone glows on the bar-top. Swiping it on, I lift it to my ear. “Were your ears burning?”
“Should they have been?” Blaire asks.
“Machlan was saying you called him today and now my phone rings. Are you missing us, big sister?” I tease.
“Hardly,” she scoffs. Despite the gruff, I hear her smile. “Just thought I’d check in with you guys. I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“That’s because you’re too good for us these days.”
“Damn right I am,” she jokes. “I had a case end today that I thought was going to kill me. I might sleep for a week now.”
“You will not.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I just took on another case this afternoon.” She unloads a slew of put-downs in a very ladylike fashion, the words muffled as a car honks in the distance. “Sorry about that,” she says, coming back to the line. “Some asshole didn’t understand how crosswalks work. So what are you doing?”
“Drinking a beer.”
“Do you ever do anything fun?”
“All the time,” I deadpan.
“You’re a liar.”
“Don’t start on me, Blaire,” I warn, resting my elbows against the counter. “I don’t want to hear your shit.”
“You have to hear it from someone, and Lord knows neither of our brothers is going to give you sage advice.”
“Who said I needed advice?”
“You did when you just told me you’re drinking a beer on a Monday night,” she sighs. “Look, Walker, you need prodded along. I know you’re all ‘I’m fine,’” she says, mocking me, “but you’re not. You’re bored as hell. You’re grumpy. You’re stuck in a cycle that—”