“Is he one of the ones from that logging crew you served earlier?” I asked.
“Yeah, the one I kissed on the lips.” She laughed. “That whole group comes in all the time. Damn near propped this place up in the last week Carrie was here. She ran a lot of people off with her changes.”
“I’m noticing,” I said, gesturing to a bunch of paper on my desk. “So, you’re all tied up in those mountain boys then?”
“Yeah,” she said. “They are a handful sometimes, but I love them. Sweet men. A little rough around the edges but sweet.”
“I bet,” I said.
I didn’t have time for men. I hadn’t since culinary school. At least I told myself that every night when I climbed into an empty bed.
A week went by in a flash. As much as I missed Chicago and the life I left, there was certainly a lot to do in Ashford. My days and evenings at the diner were as busy as any time I could ever remember in the windy city, and I went back home exhausted and sweaty every night. Slowly, I was coming to accept that while it might not be a Michelin-starred restaurant in my favorite city, it was home. I could grow to love it again.
It didn’t hurt that all the eye candy kept coming in whenever Rebecca was there. All the boys seemed to want to support her specifically and would come in during her shift and order big meals together. It seemed impossible that a group of that many good-looking men would come in at one time in such a small town without there being a broken-down bus of fashion models somewhere on the interstate nearby. But there they were, on the regular, in the same booth.
3
EVERETT
Over the last few months, Sundays had become sort of an unofficial family bonfire night. Carter and Lauren, Deacon and Rebecca, and our friends Brett, Harleigh, Aiden, and Desiree would come by and bring their kids with them. Some of the more regular crew from the logging company came too, and those with kids brought them.
In most of my life, bonfires were more of an adult activity, involving shots and keg stands and general revelry. Now, they were a glorified cookout, though one with a big-ass fire in the middle of the yard that rose higher and higher until it seemed like it could light up the whole town and gave warmth all the way up to the porch of the house that I used to live in.
This weekend’s bonfire was at Deacon and Rebecca’s.
It was just a little weird to see my old porch and know my room wasn’t behind it. No longer was it a place where I might pass out after a particularly hard partying night, turning instead into a place where Rebecca and Deacon would soon bring their baby out to sing them good-morning songs under a bright new day.
They were turning the place into a love nest. A place where they could be together uninterrupted in their own world of silly inside jokes and mushy cuddling. As much as I might rag on him for it, I had to admit feeling a little jealous sometimes. Deacon was a good man, and he deserved to have a partner who he not only loved but also someone who brought him so much joy. He was going to make a hell of a father.
Still, it was weird when I walked in the open back door in the middle of the hall that didn’t used to be there and entered the kitchen where I once stored all my whiskey in a top cabinet. Now, there were child locks on everything below the sink and the fridge had a ton of vegetables and healthy snacks for Rebecca. Deacon kept some sodas in there, which was what I was tasked with getting. The cooler ran out and the designated drivers of the group were getting thirsty.
I opened my beer with the bottle opener that was attached to the side of one of the counters and grabbed the pack of sodas before turning to head back out to the back deck. No longer was it two porches separated by a wall. Now it was one big, long deck with steps leading down into the yard. As soon as I made it to the deck, Harleigh was there at the top step and grabbed the sodas from me with a smile.
“Thanks, Everett,” she said.
“No problem, Harleigh,” I said. “How’s that book coming along?”
“Slowly,” she said. “Doing a bunch of research for it first. Who knew ranch hands had such complex jobs?”
“Certainly not me,” I said. “I’ve never been on a horse in my life. Not that I wouldn’t, mind you.”
“Of course, you would,” she said. “You and Brett would try anything.”