by Ciara Shayee
“Nana’s here!” Jaxson crows as Mom pulls into the parking lot in Dad’s car. We’re trading today—I’ll take his convertible so she can take back her SUV. That way, we won’t have to keep swapping the booster seats over.
I can’t wait until I have my own car and this car-swapping business is a thing of the past.
“All right.” Facing the boys, I give them the look Finley has dubbed the Mom-brow. It strikes fear in even the wildest of kiddos. “You’re going to behave for Nana today, right?”
“Right,” they chime in unison, each drawing an imaginary halo around their head as they don impish smiles.
I don’t believe them for a second, but they’re Mom’s problem today.
“Okay, I’ll see you later. Momma loves you all.”
“Love you, Momma,” they sing, blowing me kisses.
Mom offers me a reassuring smile and a tight hug as soon as I step out of the car. “You’ll be fine, honey. I can see you’re nervous, but you’ve no need to be. You’ve got this.”
“That’s what Jax said,” I laugh—a little nervously.
Mom’s expression softens. “If the worst happens and you absolutely hate it, you know we could find something for you at the hotel—”
“All right, I’d better get going, Mom. Thanks for having the boys!”
She takes my interruption with the good humor it was intended, laughing all the way to her car as she tosses me the keys to Dad’s and climbs in to join the boys. With them in safe hands, I’ve got no other option than to bite the bullet and head into Vaughn’s.
*
Hanging my jacket on the hook in the hall with a heavy sigh, I push the stress of the day out of my mind.
As it turns out, this new job? Not the start of good things. Or even okay things, to be honest.
Paulette Vaughn is still the laziest, most self-centered person I’ve ever met, and Isaac is such a wet lettuce that he lets her waltz around all day doing whatever she likes, all while barking at me to do her jobs as well as my own.
That said, it all melts away when I walk through the house and end up leaning in the doorway overlooking the back yard. Mom is perched on the end of a lounger beside the pool taking photos as Dad tosses the boys, one by one, into the water by one arm and one leg. After popping up cackling and spluttering, they scramble to climb out and line up for another go.
It’s a picture-worthy moment, for sure.
Only after snapping a few photos and a short video do I announce my presence with a cough and a grin when they all turn to look at me—well, all except Finley, who gets a brief glimpse of me before he hits the water. When he breaks the surface, he offers me a wave with one hand while brushing his wet hair back with the other.
“Hey, Momma!”
“Hey, honey,” Mom says, jumping up to loop an arm around my waist. “How was it?”
Glancing back over at the boys, who have forgotten I exist, I lead Mom over to the table and sit down heavily with a long sigh. Her sympathetic frown makes me smile. “It wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t good, let’s put it that way.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“It’s okay, it was probably just a fluke. First-day issues, that’s all. Anyway, what I really want to talk about is what you guys all got up to today. How were the boys? How did you all get on?” Distraction is the key with Mom. I learned that early on.
While Mom fills me in on their day, the boys play with Papa Carson in the water, their giggles and squeals balm to this tired momma’s heart. It doesn’t surprise me to hear that Mom and Dad treated them to lunch out at a restaurant, but I’m mildly shocked when Mom admits they didn’t go to Burger Co., instead taking them to a pizzeria on the beach. Apparently, it’s a great new place run by a family who, like ours, has been here for several generations.
“Do you remember the Georges?”
Nodding slowly, I vaguely recall a couple of faces. “Didn’t they have a daughter in Everly’s grade?”
“That’s right, Liv. They bought the old bar on the beach a couple of years back and slowly restored it to its former glory, only now it’s a pizzeria. It’s a really lovely little place.”
“That’s great! We needed some variety around. I bet it takes a bit of the strain off Kellan and Burger Co., too.”
“It does, not that he particularly appreciates it. He prefers to keep busy, you know?”
I can imagine why he likes to keep his mind occupied, so I nod.
The six of us spend the evening out on the patio courting the sunset before heading inside for dinner. After feeding the boys and taking pictures of them falling asleep in their food, I wrangle them into pajamas and bed, tucking them all in with smooches to their sun-kissed cheeks and a warmth in my chest that tells me we might just be okay here, crappy new job be damned.
Besides, working at Vaughn’s can only get better, surely.
*
By day three working at Vaughn’s, I’ve lost all hope of it ever improving.
Having me there seems to give Paulette the impression she’s not needed except to rule over the store, shouting orders from her spot in the office where she stinks the place out changing her nail polish every other day. If she’s not painting her talons, she’s speaking noisily on the phone. The business phone, might I add. I hate to imagine the bill on that thing.
Arriving for my first late shift on Wednesday, I’m just in time to see Paulette flouncing out of the stock room with her cell in one hand and a big bag of groceries I bet she didn’t pay for in the other.
“Oh, there you are! It’s about time.”
Glancing at my watch, I frown. “I’m fifteen minutes early.”
Mom is taking the boys to the beach with Gianna and Danny, so I figured I’d earn some brownie points and head to work a little early. I wish I hadn’t bothered now.
Paulette is the sort of woman who wears too much makeup and not enough clothes. The uniform code is pretty casual here, but it definitely doesn’t allow the mini skirt and crop top she’s wearing. Not the way I read it, anyway.
As she scowls at me, her eyes narrow and she shifts impatiently in her heels. “I’ve got plans, Piper. Not all of us want to sit around here all day.”
I refrain from pointing out that I don’t get to sit down at all. Instead, I bite my tongue and force a smile. Sometimes it’s easier just to placate her, even if I’m not sorry at all. “I’m very sorry.”
“Good.” She breezes past me, the smell of perfume around her so strong that I sneeze three times before Paulette leaves the store with a disgusted look thrown over her shoulder.
“What a fucking hag—”
“Oh, and another thing!”
Biting my lip hard, I turn and find her hovering in the doorway.
“The delivery arrived, so you need to get that sorted.”
With that, she’s gone. Actually gone, this time, thank the lord.
After locking my purse in the cupboard under the counter, I take a chance and dart out the back to see what I’m dealing with.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Before I left yesterday, I made sure everything was neat and tidy. I put out the overs from the previous day and sorted the delivery. All Paulette needed to do was restock the gaps on the shelves, yet the room is a complete and utter mess and I noticed at least a few empty shelves on my way back here. Boxes are strewn over the floor and today’s delivery is mixed up with all the older stock.
There goes my chances of getting out of here on time, I realize with a scream I muffle into my hands.
“Hello? Is anybody here?”
Shutting the door on the mess to think about later, I somehow manage to plaster what I’m sure is an unconvincing smile on my face. It’s Mr. Walters, from the laundromat down the street. His unceasing ability to talk absolute nonsense distracts me temporarily, but there’s no escape from the shitstorm behind the stock room door and it taunts me whenever I look in that directio
n.
*
Throughout the afternoon and evening, whenever I get a lull, I try to sort bits and pieces so I won’t have to do it all later on. The mixed-up stock is the killer. It’s the most time-consuming and the most frustrating. Some of the products, like the fresh stuff, have short dates anyway and should have been put out this morning.
Between serving customers, tidying the store, and re-organizing the shitshow of a stock room, it all takes way too long.
By the time I sign for the—thankfully small—delivery and put that where it needs to go, it’s nearly ten. Then I have to move on to the cleaning and cashing up part of my shift. Turning the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ never felt so good.
Thanks to my menial tasks, my mind wanders. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help but compare our life in England to our new reality here. It’s still new, still fresh and early days. I need to give it a chance. Even so, it’s frustrating that it’s not as perfect as I foolishly hoped it would be. At least right now, right off the bat. It’s not all bad, not by a long shot, but there are downsides. This job, for one, although I could probably deal with the job. It’s the Vaughns I can’t stand. I can only hope things improve because job opportunities here in Jackson Bay are scarce.
I know Mom and Dad would help me out and find something for me to do at In The Bay if I asked. Hell, they’d probably love it if I went to work for them.
But I remember working there throughout high school. This job is dull—working there was worse. The only upsides were the people and the hours, really.
There’s also my ridiculous pride that won’t allow me to go back to my high school job, working for my parents. The thought is silly, and I know it, but it’s just the way I feel. I left Florida to better myself, not to return after almost ten years and pick right back up where I left off. It’s bad enough that everyone in town must be talking about the boys’ father and why I’ve come back without him. I don’t want to be gossip fodder for the next decade. Going back to the hotel, I’m sure to have a million questions to answer from the staff there.
Here in Jackson Bay, jobs are life-long—for the most part, anyway. The same people I worked with back then still work there. It was one of the things Dad used to try and entice me back.
Tucking the mop and bucket back into the corner of the small cleaning cupboard, I shake off my thoughts and stifle an eye-watering yawn. It’s thirty minutes past midnight and I was supposed to finish at eleven-thirty. I’m relieved I thought to text Mom earlier to warn her I’d be late; she and Dad would have worried otherwise.
I may be an adult, but they still like to baby me. Mom, in particular, is making up for lost time. I didn’t realize how much I missed her easy affection, though.
“Come on, Fitzgerald. Just the trash to go and then you’re home free,” I tell myself, wrestling the bag from the can to head out into the alley behind the store. On my way out, I murmur a quiet prayer that I’ll be alone out there. I really don’t fancy company.
It seems that nobody is listening at this time of night though, because no sooner has the door to the store slammed shut behind me does another door fly open along the alley and a broad, obviously agitated silhouette step out into the dark. I can’t control the squeak that escapes me, but my panicked heart gets a break as my eyes start to adjust.
I recognize the broad, obviously agitated, silhouette.
On second thought, maybe some company out here isn’t the worst thing…
Five
Kellan
“Fuckin’ buffoons,” I mutter, fishing my light from my pocket and pushing through the fire door with my shoulder. A wall of dry heat slams into me full force; a sharp squeak as the door bangs shut tells me I’m not as alone as I hoped I’d be. Cursing, I fumble with my phone to find the flashlight. We very occasionally get homeless people trying to bed down out here at night and I’m not in the mood for putting my friendly face on tonight. When I finally find the right button to illuminate the alley, I can’t believe my eyes.
“Piper? What the hell are you doin’ out here at…shit, is that the time?”
Her smile is rueful as she shields her eyes, murmuring “thanks” when I lower my cell and quit blinding her. “I’m on the late shift, so I have the unenviable task of taking out the trash and locking up the store.”
Well, that’s not fuckin’ right. “It’s almost one in the morning. You shouldn’t be here on your own.”
With a petulant huff, she tosses the trash bag in her hand into the dumpster, then walks over to lean against the wall a few feet away. In the muted light of the moon, her gray eyes seem especially striking. If it weren’t for the darkness-dulled magenta of her hair and the swath of red painted over her scowl, it would feel like a black and white movie.
“You sound like Dad,” she finally admits, picking at her nails as I light up.
My eyes slide closed, a groan escaping because fuck, I needed this smoke. It’s been too long. I mean, it’s been a few hours, but hell—those yahoos inside drive me crazy sometimes. Tonight being one of those times.
“If he said the same as me, he’s right.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m the innocent little girl who needs protecting from the big, bad wolf. I’ve heard it at least a thousand times, so you can spare me the lecture.”
I furrow my brows and shake my head before I can stop myself. “I didn’t say that.”
I may be eleven years her senior and the man whose pool she once admitted to peeing in, but I’m still a man with eyes in his head. The only thing she got right was the ‘little’ part. She’s a short little thing, barely five feet tall if I had to guess. Compared to my six-four, she’s basically a dwarf. Everything else, though…
The blouse she’s wearing struggles to contain her breasts and her blue jeans hug her hips. Don’t even get me started on what they do for her ass—and there I go again. Objectifying my best friend’s not-so-babyish baby girl. Goddammit.
“Can I have one?”
Blinking hard, I refocus—on her face, this time. “You smoke?”
She shrugs, accepting the pack I hesitantly extend toward her. “Sometimes. Not at home, obviously.”
Right, I nod. Because of her kids. I still can’t believe she has sons, plural. I mean, I knew about them, of course. Their children and grandchildren are just about all Carson and Bethany talk about, but it’s still a mindfuck to hear Piper talk about them. I swear it was only yesterday she was running around in floaties and a princess crown. Now she’s a mom to three boys.
“So, rough night? You look wiped.”
I won’t admit I was looking for solitude out here. That’d just make things uncomfortable. Instead, I stare up at the stars as I exhale, smoke curling up into the sky. “Busy night,” I correct, changing a glance at her between inhales. “We had a server call in sick and my chef’s wife went into labor.”
Piper’s eyes light up. “Ashley’s having the baby? That’s great!”
“I forgot you know Ash.” I frown, rubbing my beard. It’s in need of a trim, to be honest.
“Sure I do. She’s been around at Burger Co. forever, and besides, she goes to Mom’s crochet club. I saw her last week when it was Mom’s turn to host. She said she was ready for it to be over, so I bet she’s pleased she’s hit the home stretch.”
I’ve heard that, too. My head chef, Brayden—also Ashley’s husband—has been careful not to talk about the upcoming baby all that much, but I overhear conversations sometimes when the guys think I’m not listening. Ashley has been struggling for weeks now, so I’d wager that Piper is right and she’s ready to have that baby. Wistfulness spreads through my veins, but I cut that shit off at the source before it can take hold. I’ve been a melancholy fucker the last few days; it’s annoying even me at this point. There’s no point letting myself fall any further down that hole.
“How’s things, anyway? I haven’t seen you at brunch.”
Eyeing her, I al
most smile. She’s just as chatty as she was as a kid. There are no prolonged silences with her. She never used to shut up; it’s oddly nice to see that some things don’t change.
“My brother, Lucas, was in town last week with his wife and my nephew. He doesn’t get a lot of downtime from work, so we took a trip into the city for the weekend. The Saturday before that, I was here working on the new menu.”
“Ooh, a new menu, huh? I might have to come try out some stuff. What would you recommend?”
Thinking on it for a second, I figure she’d enjoy the new veggie option. “The Kale Mary’s pretty good.”
I don’t expect the sudden laughter that bursts out of her, but it makes me grin. “Kale Mary? Like ‘Hail Mary?’” Piper snorts, her eyes crinkled with her smile. “Okay, what else?”
“The Tennessee is a firm favorite with most people—”
“What about you? What’s your favorite, Kellan?”
The soft yet firm way she says my name makes me pause. No one calls me ‘Kellan’ these days. Most people just call me ‘KP.’ My own mother rarely calls me by my given name. Well, she rarely calls me, period. Then there’s the fact that it was Piper herself who gave me the nickname ‘KP,’ yet she seems to be the one person who consistently calls me anything but that.
It’s…I don’t know, strangely pleasant hearing my name in her British-American accent. The years she’s spent living in England have given her some sort of hybrid way of dancing between the two.
“Why do you call me ‘Kellan’ now?” I ask before I can second-guess myself.
She frowns, her soft exhale sending a swirling spiral of smoke into the night sky. “I guess…it feels silly, calling you the nickname I used when I was a kid.”
That makes sense, I suppose, except that everyone else still calls me it.
Rubbing my beard, I drop my smoke in the can left out here for exactly that purpose. “The Flamethrower,” I finally tell her.
