†
THE WHISKEY MIKE GAVE me didn’t last long. After a long day’s work of fixing old Betty Crisp’s back porch, I could practically taste the amber liquid on my tongue as I rode home. The warning light on the motorcycle’s fuel gauge was blinking vigorously, telling me to refill, but I was thirsty and not for water.
Getting home, I sat in front of the TV and finished the bottle in a lot less time than I thought I would. I was too tired to get up and find something more to drink. I fell asleep on the couch, an old comedy still playing in the background.
The following morning, I woke up with a crick in my neck and a hunger in my belly. Cereal wasn’t going to cut it, though and, no matter what anyone says, don’t ever believe that booze and milk are a good mix. I needed something else, and there was only one place to go.
My jeans and shirt were still covered in paint stains from the work the day before, but I certainly didn’t care. I had nobody to impress.
Outside the apartment, I tried to kick-start the motorcycle a couple of times, but it wouldn’t fire up. The thought of walking the mile and a half into town didn’t appeal too much to me. I looked at the fuel gauge. Of course. I’d forfeited going to the gas station last night.
Fuck!
Then I remembered the wreck of Bill Reid’s car left outside my workshop and I practically saw the lightbulb flicker above my head. I quickly walked the short distance through the woods to the shed. There, I got a length of hose, pushed it down into the car’s gas tank and, with a couple of short breaths, I sucked on the one end. As soon as the gas hit my tongue, I spat it out and drained the rest of the contents into a can.
Once the bike was filled up, she roared into life instantly. My dream of breakfast was soon to become a reality. I took the long, winding bends of Maple Road with just enough care to not fall off the bike. There’s nothing like the wind blowing through your hair at seventy miles an hour first thing in the morning to help clear away the cobwebs, that’s for damn sure. It was a little before eight so there weren’t many people on the road yet.
The parking lot at the diner was surprisingly full, though. There were truckers passing through on their way to and from Canada to the north, and they all wanted strong coffee and a hot breakfast. They had the same idea as I had. I pushed the glass door and it swung open, the familiar ring of the doorbell signaling my arrival.
Cheyenne was rushing around with a coffee pot in her hand, moving swiftly from one table to the other and not even bothering to ask if people wanted refills. That went without saying.
I looked longingly at some of the plates coming from the kitchen. I was so hungry by then that I could have eaten a small child. I also didn’t bother looking at the menu as I knew exactly what I wanted.
A stack of piping hot, good old American pancakes, with some crispy bacon and a gooey dippy egg on the side, smothered in some of Canada’s finest maple syrup with some freshly brewed coffee to top it all off.
I took a seat at the sit-down counter. There was no need to take up a booth when it was only me. As soon as I sat down, I felt a hand on my back. It was Cheyenne. She leaned over my shoulder and poured me some coffee. “Good night?” she asked.
“Nothing special,” I said. “You?”
“I was in bed by eight,” my sister said. “I’ve been up since four.”
“Why so early?” I asked.
“Miss,” the male voice sounded from one of the booths behind us.
“I took Mom and Dad to the airport,” she shouted over her shoulder as she walked away to refill yet another empty mug.
Of course. Their vacation. I’d forgotten all about it. Their 30th wedding anniversary. I don’t think either of them was as excited about it as they pretended to be, but getting away and going on a cruise was a hell of a lot better than the alternative, which was a good old Vergennes hoedown. I don’t blame them for hightailing it out of here before one of their good-intended friends started with planning the shindig.
From behind the counter, Molly Shore sidled up to me, smiling. She wheezed a little as she walked so that the spittle in the gap between her teeth flickered. “What can I get you, handsome?” she asked.
I grinned at her. “Molly, my beautiful savior,” I said. “Your words are music to my ears. I’m thinking a good old East Griddlin’ special with…
“I know… an egg on the side, right?”
“You got it. And, don’t be shy with the maple syrup,” I said, giving her a wink.
“I’d have thought you were sweet enough, sugar,” she flirted. She turned and shouted towards the kitchen. “A stack of Vermont with grunt and a soft chick on the side with extra machine oil! And give it wings!”
It was half the appeal of East Griddlin’ to have the waiting staff talk like they were from the deep south in the forties. I didn’t care what they wanted to call the food, I just knew that I wanted to eat as soon as possible. It took everything I had not to steal the apple pie from the old guy sitting next to me at the counter, slowly making his way through the fruit filled pastry.
Thankfully, the griddle was hot and the kitchen staff was on their game because it was only a couple of minutes before my breakfast was placed in front of me. I tucked in, wolfing down the food and taking large gulps of my second cup of coffee.
The bell chimed to the left of me, signaling someone had walked in, but it barely registered. It was only when I heard a squeal and caught my sister flying past me, that I bothered looking over my shoulder at who’d just come in.
Cheyenne had flung her arms around a woman I didn’t recognize. It must have been someone from school, I thought, and I carried on eating. But, as they spoke, her voice started to sound somewhat familiar and, when I heard them mention Bill Reid’s name, I realized who it was. I looked up again and glanced over to where they were standing just a few feet away from me.
Caitlyn Reid. Well, I’ll be damned.
She was a bit shorter than I remembered with a face cut from the pages of a men’s magazine, wanting you to do a double take. She was stunning and, judging from the looks some of the other guys in the diner gave her, I was sure not the only one to think so. There was a shyness to her, a slight hesitation in the way she moved and a nervousness of someone who wasn’t sure if they still belonged. The black slacks and soft flowy top she wore only made it that more obvious that she was not your regular East Griddlin’s customer.
I thought I caught her eyes flickering toward me for a second, but then she looked away, back at Cheyenne, who was talking nineteen to the dozen. I got up slowly and walked toward them, cursing the fact that I hadn’t showered and changed my clothes that morning. I looped my arm around Cheyenne’s shoulders. “Let the girl get a word in edgewise, for heaven’s sake, Sis,” I said.
Cheyenne grinned, looking up at me. “Can you believe she’s here, at long last?” she cried. “Just look at her!”
I turned my head and looked at Caitlyn, holding her gaze for a second before slowly smiling. “Oh. I am,” I said. She looked back at me shyly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her full mouth.
“Hi, Logan. Nice to see you again,” she said. I leaned forward, taking hold of her arm before giving her a kiss on her cheek. The gentle fragrance of sandalwood and amber filled my nostrils, inviting me to linger, but I pulled away.
“City life’s treating you well, I see.”
She blushed, tucking a stray strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek back behind her ear. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t feel any different, really, but my dad seemed to think I’ve changed.”
“Yeah, I heard about your old man,” I said. It wasn’t the right time to tell her that I’d helped him out two nights earlier when he’d plunged drunkenly into a tree. “I’m really sorry about that. How’s he holding up?”
She shrugged. “He seems pretty fed up,” she said. “He’s still in the hospital and says he can’t walk; it’s too painful. But, at least the doctors confirmed that there’s no damage to the spinal column and most of th
e swelling has gone down now. But Dad insists that he can’t get out of bed so they wanted to keep an eye on him for another night.” I could hear the concern in her voice.
“So how long are you going to stay?” Cheyenne asked, but Molly cut her off by calling out to her from behind the counter. It was too busy for her to be making small talk, even if it was with a friend she hadn’t seen for a long time. Cheyenne mumbled a quick apology and scurried away, leaving Caitlyn standing there, just an arm-length in front of me.
“Come. Join me,” I said, indicating towards the counter. She nodded and walked over to perch herself on top of the vacant stool next to mine. She pointed at my half-eaten breakfast.
“Vergennes’ finest, right,” she said.
“You got it,” I said. “What can I get you?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not hungry,” she declined. “I’ll just have some coffee, thanks.”
“Not hungry? You’ve got to eat something. Don’t you know it’s the most important meal of the day, young lady? How about I get you some scrambled eggs?”
She puckered her lips and scrunched up her nose. “No, just coffee’s fine,” she said. “Black, no sugar.”
Molly heard her and went to fetch a freshly brewed pot. I looked at Caitlyn as the owner of the diner filled her mug. “Didn’t you used to take it with cream and sugar?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure you used to have more cream than coffee in there.”
Caitlyn raised her eyebrows. “I can’t believe you remembered,” she said. “I stopped that when I moved to Montpelier. I needed it to be strong to wake me up in the mornings.”
I smiled. My gaze dropped to her mouth. It had a perfect cupid’s bow with the top lip being a little bit thinner than the bottom. Her lips reminded me of cherries, tempting me to take a bite. My eyes trailed lower.
“That’s not the only thing that changed when you moved,” I said, pointing to her pants. “What happened to the jeans? Did you burn them when you left here? And what’s the deal with your hair all tied up like that and all the makeup?” I asked as I turned towards her and propped one elbow up on the counter.
She bit her lip and leaned forward a little, raising one eyebrow as she looked me straight in the eye. “Well, now, when I want fashion advice from someone who didn’t even bother to take the time to shave or shower for that matter, looking like he’s literally been dragged through a hedge backward, I’ll give you a holler,” she said softly. There was a playful challenge in her gaze and her mouth curved into a small smile. It stirred something in me that I haven’t felt for a long time, but I dismissed the feeling as quickly as it came.
“Touché,” I said, grinning. “You got me on that one. This is my famous morning-after-the-night-before look.” We both laughed.
She might have been wearing different clothes, but her wit and sass were still the same. She sipped her coffee and I glared at her teasingly. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, then reached for the cream and sugar and added some to her coffee just to prove a point.
Cheyenne begged Molly for five minutes away from the floor. She allowed her to join us for a quick coffee. Cheyenne, oblivious to our conversation, arrived just as Caitlyn was putting more cream into the mug, and she grinned.
“It seems nothing’s changed,” she said, and Caitlyn and I looked at each other for a second, hiding the smile between us.
The girls talked as quickly as they could, and the old guy finished his apple pie just as fast when he realized that two women chattering excitedly was more than he could handle first thing in the morning. He threw a five-dollar bill onto the counter and left. Cheyenne leaned over and grabbed the note.
“He comes in every morning and has the same thing,” she said. “And it comes to four-ninety, so he leaves me ten whole cents. What a pie-guzzling asshole.”
“Isn’t that the guy who owns the bakery near East Road?” Caitlyn asked. Cheyenne nodded.
“Yeah. Mister Jameson. His son was in the same grade as you, right?” she looked at me.
“I didn’t recognize him,” I said, looking toward the door as the old man left. “Shit. Yeah, that’s Shane’s dad. I’ll be damned. He comes here every day?”
“Yep. Shane comes in too, sometimes, but I think he works out toward Burlington.” She looked at Caitlyn. “Remember that time that we went to the bakery to get Willa’s birthday cake and they messed it up so bad. We ordered a rocket ship cake and it came out looking like a dick!”
They both burst out laughing and I couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“We took one look at that cake and hightailed it out of there so they couldn’t see us laughing our asses off,” Caitlyn said, shaking her head and smiling. “I had to quickly whip up another one before the party started. Luckily, Willa was none the wiser, but she was curious as to why we wanted to bake her another cake and not use the one we had. She was such an innocent,”
“Yes,” Cheyenne giggled. “Remember, Logan, Willa wanted you to explain to her what was wrong with the cake and the only explanation you could come up with was that it was too small!”
It should have been funny, but instead, the words were like a punch to my stomach. The girl’s laughter quickly died down and an awkward silence descended. Caitlyn frowned and gave me a questioning look.
Cheyenne started to say something, but I needed to get out of there. I stood up, gulped down the last bit of my coffee and reached into my pocket for cash to pay for the breakfast. Cheyenne sighed and put her hand on her hip.
“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice clipped.
I didn’t reply.
She narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together. “What, you’re walking out of here because I mentioned her name?” she asked. “God, Logan, you’re so fucking infuriating. It’s like we can’t even talk about her without you running off.”
“Your break’s over,” I said curtly. I threw the ten-dollar bill on the counter. “And that includes Caitlyn’s coffee as well.”
Then I left the diner, got back on the motorcycle and roared back home going even faster than I had on the way over.
CHAPTER FIVE
CAITLYN
†
I SAT THERE FEELING guilty. I took another sip of my lukewarm coffee, my hands clenched around the mug. The added cream and sugar made it far too sweet so I set it back down again. The atmosphere in the diner was suddenly heavy and there was an awkward silence between my best friend and me.
When I first saw Cheyenne after nearly two years, my heart leaped with joy. But, as we hugged each other and stood there talking, I caught sight of someone out of the corner of my eye that I hadn’t expected to see that soon after arriving back home and, this time, it wasn’t only my heart that skipped a beat. My whole body reacted.
He looked as beautiful as he ever did, as tall as he ever was and as broad-shouldered as the last time I saw him. Thick, dark curls framed his well-defined jaw and angular cheekbones. The stubble that covered his chin was testament to the fact that he hadn’t bothered to shave for a few days. He was wearing an old gray t-shirt covered in splashes of paint and his jeans sat on his hips; his boots covered by a thin layer of dust.
My mom’s voice rang in my ears as I remember the old saying, “A man thinks all dust stays outdoors’. I heard her say those words every time my dad would come home and his boots would be covered in dirt or grass from chasing down some scoundrel, the one knee of his uniform scuffed with mud where he’d knelt down to handcuff them.
As soon as I caught sight of Logan Steele again, I cursed my body for reacting the way it did, despite his slovenly appearance. My knees buckled a little and a warmth seared through my body. Thank God for Cheyenne chatting away as she did and seemingly not noticing the flush that heated my cheeks.
When he leaned in to kiss me, I felt the roughness of his unshaven beard against my cheek and I was tempted to close my eyes. He smelled of the outdoors, fresh and alive and of something else, a little like gasoline. I wondered i
f he’d been fixing a car.
His gaze was intense, yet his grin was warm and welcoming and, as we sat down at the counter together, it was as though I’d never been away. If it hadn’t been for the way his brow fell into a natural frown or the way his eyes looked as though they were hiding a pain so raw it was palpable, then I could have believed we’d been thrust back ten years earlier.
The last time I’d seen him, his beard was gone, his hair was shorter, and he was wearing a black suit that I could never imagine he’d have owned. His arm was around Cheyenne’s waist, and he kissed her forehead, his eyes red with tears. His gaze had found mine by accident, but he’d simply blinked and looked away again. I couldn’t remember being as heartbroken at my own mother’s funeral and that night I’d returned home to Montpelier again, even though I’d wanted to stay a few more days.
When he teased me about my coffee and commented on my clothes, I wanted to kick myself for blushing yet again, but I gave as good as I got. He grinned at me, and I could have sat there all day with him, the two of us talking, poking fun at each other. But, it wasn’t to be.
Now, sitting next to Cheyenne at the counter, I felt guilty, as though I’d said something I shouldn’t have. I hadn’t been the one to bring up Willa; that was Cheyenne, but I didn’t know that talking about her was off-limits. Cheyenne seemed to read my thoughts and placed her hand over mine, squeezing it softly.
“He’s an asshole,” she said, simply. “I can’t cope with the way he acts whenever I talk about Willa, so don’t feel bad. I can’t live a life where I’m expected to never mention her name when he’s around, for Christ’s sake.”
She was right. We hadn’t done anything wrong and I knew that my best friend had the right to talk about her sister whenever she wanted to. She shouldn’t have to protect anyone’s feelings.
It all seemed so complicated, so frustrating, all this hurt, and I couldn’t do much about any of it. I loved being back home, but it was like being wrapped in a warm comfort blanket that hid a thorn that would occasionally jab me in my side. I think my thoughts were clearly showing on my face as Cheyenne squeezed my hand again and smiled.
FEELING IT_A Best Friend's Brother Romance Page 3
