“Whereas fruit bonnets are the very soul of practicality,” Angela cut in.
“Harvest.Crown.” Janice narrowed her eyes at Angela. “Anyway, at first, I was abitput out with Delaney. I mean, that’s not the way we’ve ever done things at the Council. But… well, then Hardison’s had a sale on craft notions, and I thought, ‘Why not live a little, Janice? You didn’t know you liked fig jam until Chris Sunday moved to town and put it on a charcuterie board.’” She gave Reed a knowing wink. “So here I am.”
“Here you are,” Hen agreed.
“And I’ve had no less thanthirteen peopleapproach me this morning to ask about our event!”
I nodded politely, though I was confident that hadn’t been why they’d initially approached her.
“I’m sure Chris would be honored that his charcuterie played a role in this transformation,” Reed said solemnly. “In fact, I can’t wait to get home and tell him.”
“Aw,” Janice sighed. “You’re such a delight, Reed Sunday.”
“I’m gonna tell Christhat, too. Can you believe he once thought I was a grumpy bastard?” Reed grinned. “Speaking of which, I’d better get going before my beloved sends out a search party.” He picked up his purchases and slapped my shoulder. “Hey, Brew, you should come with us to the Hive tonight. There’s a local alt-country band playing. You’re a country fan, right?”
I blinked. I wasn’t sure where he’d gotten that idea since I was actually a lot more Lin-Manuel Miranda than Luke Bryan, but it didn’t bother me, really. People made assumptions about me all the time—look how they’d explained to themselves why I chose to live so far out of town—and it was easier to just nod along and let it ride. No need to make people uncomfortable by explaining they were wrong.
If I got really introspective about it, I knew I let them believe what they wanted because it made things simpler for me, too. Because if they didn’t really know the real me, they couldn’t judge the real me, and I got to kinda coast along.
The truth was, though I liked Reed and most Coppertians a lot, I didn’t feel close enough to any of them for it to matter whether theytrulyknew me or not. At some point, they might get something so wrong I’d need to correct them, but that hadn’t happened yet.
“I like lots of things,” I agreed, which wasn’t a lie.
“So come out with us,” Reed said. “Chris and I are going. And Jasper and Watt. You probably need to blow off steam after everything with your camper.” He grimaced sympathetically.
Whatever he’d heard through town gossip, Reed didn’t know the half of it. Losing the camper had been bad enough. Living with Delaney meant I was losing my mind, too.
Still, even if the original Broadway cast ofRenthad been in town, it would have been a hard sell to get me to go out in a crowd with loud music playing. What I needed right now was peace, quiet, and solitude.
Not that I was likely to get any of those things when I was just a few feet from Delaney.
“I don’t think so. If Hen’s knee is right and that storm’s coming…” I shrugged.
Reed smiled easily. “Well, we’ll be there if you change your mind.”
Since I was officially done with small talk for the day, I simply nodded. Then, waving a goodbye to the ladies, I met Hen’s eyes and followed him to the back room to collect Delaney’s cabinets and get back to the work I loved.
Four cabinet doors, sixteen screws, and countless muttered profanities later, I was about ready to sayfuck itto home renovation and see if the Foreign Legion was taking new recruits.
I stared at the metal cabinets leaning against Delaney’s kitchen wall and tried to tamp down my frustration.
For three hours, I’d been wrestling with them—measuring, leveling, remeasuring, and cursing under my breath—and I’d managed to get a few of them hung… sort of. But the gap between the cabinet and the ancient wall was uneven—nearly an inch in some places—and would need to be caulked to hell and back. Even with shims, I couldn’t get them perfectly level because on a house this old, the floors and walls weren’t square.
I’d promised Delaney I’d give him exactly what he wanted, though—that I’d be the perfect, opinion-free contractor—so I kept fucking going.
I was tightening a particularly stubborn screw when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Startled, my hand slipped, and the screwdriver jammed into my palm.
“Son of abitch!” I shook out my hand, a bruise already forming at the base of my thumb.
From the hallway came the faint sound of Delaney typing furiously on his laptop. He’d been holed up in his office all day with his headphones on—not that I was keeping track—working on his article or avoiding me. Probably both. But he didn’t seem to have heard my outburst, at least.
I pulled out my phone to find a text from my cousin.
Hayes
Dinner and drinks tonight? You, me, Kel?
My first instinct was to refuse. I was tired, sore, and in a foul mood, and the last thing I wanted was to hang around with my much younger cousin and his frat-bro bestie.
