Autumn Night Whiskey Page 4

  “What are you laughing at?” I ask as we walk down the sidewalk, the sun shining and the breeze carrying that hint of salt I love so much. The weather and this town are straight from the pages of a storybook, but there’s not a single thing that could brighten my disposition after this morning.

  He finishes his text, nearly tripping on a worn tan brick that’s sticking out from the paved sidewalk, and then turns his broad smile toward me. There’s a ball of anxiousness that won’t quit churning in my stomach, and Griffin knows. He’s doing his damnedest to lighten the mood. With my throat going tight at the thought, I ball up the tape and toss it into the nearest trash can on our walk.

  “Just something Renee said.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” His grin stays in place although he drops his phone to his side. I have to admit, he’s more at ease with Renee than I’ve ever seen him with a woman.

  The thought of Renee inherently reminds me of my own dilemma.

  That incessant insecurity stirs in my chest at his answer. I imagine they’re talking about us. About Mags, me, Bridget … and unfortunately, Robert. I won’t be all right until I get the results back from the blood test. Two to seven business days. That’s two to seven days too long, if you ask me.

  “What’s going on with you two?” The question leaves me as we reach the front entrance of our bar. I can’t help the faint smile on my face, even if my nerves are eating me from the inside out. It’s all coming together faster than I thought. Griffin wasn’t lying when he said as soon as the paperwork was done that we’d be ready to go within weeks.

  “Nothing.” Griffin sobers up slightly at my questioning, slipping his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “Yet,” he adds and tilts his head, gesturing to the sign that’s ready to be placed front and center of the building: Iron Brewery. It’s wrought iron with a rustic feel and we’re only waiting for a guy named Asher to come down and install it. According to the town, he’s the one with the equipment to do any of this.

  “Nothing?” I shoot him a grin at the ridiculousness of that statement. Running his hand through his hair, Griffin clears his throat and doubles down. “I’m telling you. There’s nothing going on.”

  I stare him down, from his work boots that match mine, bought after the unfortunate incident of Griffin stepping on a rogue nail in his flip-flops, all the way up his faded blue jeans to his simple tee before meeting his gaze. “Yeah, okay.” My response drips with sarcasm.

  His only response is to shrug before opening the doors to our joint business.

  “Shouldn’t lie to your business partner,” I mock scold him.

  “I swear to you, nothing’s going on,” he repeats and I shake it off. There’s chemistry between them and if he doesn’t see it, he’s blind.

  Judging by his smile and how fast he reaches for his phone when it goes off again, so fast the door nearly closes and smacks him in the face, he’s not blind at all. Catching the door before it can deliver him the karma he has coming for fibbing, I stare at his phone with my brows raised, the question not needing to be spoken when he finally looks up from whatever she’s sent him.

  His expression is hilarious, like a kid caught with his whole arm in a cookie jar, sitting on the floor with crumbs scattered about his face. “I just think she’s a cool chick.”

  I don’t buy that response for a second, but whatever he wants to tell me is just fine. I have my own shit to worry about. Shrugging like he did and wearing a hint of a smile, I let it go. The second I do, though … I’m brought back to that gut-wrenching pull. All I can think every single time there’s a second that passes without my mind being occupied is that I might be a father. That cute little girl with curly hair … she might be mine.

  I could be a father. Right now. To a child I’ve never even met.

  My stomach drops again and so do all of the positive feelings that should come to me as I take in the bar. The flooring’s in place, the lights are being hung and the smell of fresh paint lingers in the air. All that can be heard are the intermittent sounds of power tools mingling with the country music the crew has playing in the background. The old radio with a swipe of paint across it is covered in a fine layer of sawdust.

  I expect Griffin to go through the rundown of our checklists like he’s done every morning. Every day we do a hundred things, and yet the to-do list has been longer and longer the closer we get to the opening.

  That’s not what he asks, though. “Did Mags answer you?”

  My brow lifts at his decision to use Robert’s nickname to refer to Magnolia. I know damn well he calls her that. “You calling her Mags now?”

  “Better than Rose,” he jokes back and that sickening apprehension in the pit of my stomach churns again.

  “Real funny.” The memory of that prick sitting across from me, threatening to take her away like he had that power, still pisses me off. Rolling back my shoulders, I try to get out any of the tension; it doesn’t work, though.

  “So he was her first love. And he might think he has some claim to her, but she told him no,” Griffin reminds me.

  “Right,” I answer him and inhale a deep breath. It’s cut short by the door swinging open behind us.

  “Hey now.” A voice I haven’t heard before that has a slight twang to it comes from behind us. I greet the man, who looks to be about our age and wearing a black shirt, board shorts and a worn pair of flip-flops, with a nod. His smile is contagious, though, as he reaches out for a handshake, meeting my gaze and then Griffin’s.

  “Finally get to meet the newcomers in town,” he comments and then answers my unspoken question. “I’m Asher.”

  “Oh, perfect.” Griffin claps once. “You’ve got everything you need to hang it?”

  Asher nods, and before he can answer someone calls out his name behind us and he waves. Glancing over my shoulder, a few guys call out a greeting to the town handyman.

  “Went to school together,” Asher explains, leaning forward.

  “Seems like everyone went to school together around here,” I joke.

  “Well, there is only one high school.” His answer is deadpan.

  “Right, right.”

  “I just wanted to come in and let you guys know me and my buddy are going to come ’round tonight and get that sign up. Shouldn’t be too late, maybe around five at the latest.”

  Resisting the urge to check my phone, I’m almost certain it’s not even ten yet.

  “That works for us,” I tell him. “Whenever is good for you.”

  “You guys be around then?” he asks and Griffin takes over the conversation. As I’m slipping my hands into my pockets, letting the fact sink in that this is really happening, that this dream we thought up together years ago is finally coming to fruition, another crew member walks in. I know him decently now since he and his brother Ben are talkers. Tom gives Asher a manly slap on his shoulder as he walks by, interrupting the conversation.

  Asher returns the friendly smile and asks how Tom’s sister is doing.

  It’s an easy, natural exchange for only a moment, but it’s so much more than that. The realization dawns on me that this could be my life. A small town where everyone knows everyone. Where life is seemingly easy and simple, yet tangled in the social aspects.

  It’s different from the suburbs I came from and where I grew up. It’s hard to describe the feeling that brews inside of me. Shuffling my feet, I can only half listen to the rest of the conversation, my mind occupied with thoughts of a little girl everyone here knows better than I do.

  And the woman who raised her on her own. I didn’t think that I cared what anyone had to say, but a protective part of me has its hackles raised and wants to know everything that’s ever been whispered in this town about both of them.

  Including the parts that contain information about Robert.

  This could be my new life … or not. For a moment, a thought wriggles into the crevices of my mind: What if it doesn’t work out with Magnolia? The
permanence of it all steals my complete attention and I don’t even realize Asher’s gone until Griffin tells me to snap out of it.

  “Shit.” The word is muttered under my breath. Running a hand down my face, I apologize.

  “It’s fine. You’ve got a lot on your mind.”

  Taking in a deep breath and forcing myself to exhale slowly, I stare at the front doors to the bar before agreeing with him.

  My gaze is snapped back to him when he asks, “Did you tell your mom?”

  “And give her a heart attack?” Is he fucking crazy? “No I did not.”

  My reaction only makes Griffin’s smile broader. “Probably best to wait.”

  “Yeah,” I say and it’s the only word I can give him.

  “When do you find out again?”

  “Up to seven days.” That’s the third time I’ve told him so far today. I bite back the thought that nearly slipped out unbidden: I hope she’s mine. I don’t know where it came from, and the thought is scary as hell.

  “I’ll wait to know for sure before I tell her anything,” I tell Griffin and he nods agreeably.

  “Fair enough.” Then he adds, “You never did answer my question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Did Mags text you back?”

  I ignore the hairs raised at the back of my neck by hearing her nickname … the one Robert used. I can’t hear it without thinking about him as he sat across from me at the table.

  “Yeah,” I say then pull out my phone from my back pocket and bring up the text messages. Me to her: I’d like to meet her if that’s okay. Her response was immediate, leading me to believe she’d already thought a lot about it: Come by tomorrow night.

  “You want to come with me tomorrow?” I ask him and Griffin lets out a laugh.

  “Renee already invited me.”

  It takes great effort not to shake my head at his response.

  “What if I am her dad?” I ask because I just can’t help it. It’s all I can think about.

  Griffin’s response is far too lighthearted for my frustration and impatience in wanting to know the truth. “Well then you lucked out in a way, missing the dirty diapers.”

  “I didn’t plan on this and I’m dying inside not knowing.”

  “Imagine how she felt.” His comment is the most serious tone he’s taken today.

  “What?”

  “You’re feeling all sorts of ways right now. Imagine how Magnolia felt. Not knowing but having to do it all on her own. You can suck it up for a week.”

  “Well damn.”

  His hands go up in defense as a crease settles between my brow. “Don’t be mad at me,” he adds.

  “I’m not mad, I’m just lost.”

  “You’ll know soon enough.”

  If I’m not the father and Robert is … there’s no way I have a chance with her. Scolding myself for sounding like a damn child, I attempt to shut up the voice in the back of my head that keeps thinking: it’s not fair.

  None of this is supposed to happen this way.

  Magnolia

  “Your worthiness is never on the table,” I whisper beneath my breath, my eyes closed and my head tilted back. It’s a mantra from some self-help audiobook I listened to years ago. “Your worthiness is never on the table.” I think it came from The Power of Vulnerability by Brené Brown. I need to search my history and listen to it again. The only thing I took away from it was the saying: Your worthiness is never on the table. Promotions and other degrees of success may be, but my worthiness of love, including self-love, never is.

  Blowing out a deep breath I open my eyes and state, “My worthiness is never on the table … even if I’m scared.” The last bit is whispered as I look back down to Brody’s text message where a single line stares back at me. I’ll be there.

  Ignoring the swell of emotions, I take another sip of bottled water and look around the room. With all of these packages coming in for the event this weekend, the gallery is in chaos. Lord help me. With my fingers playing with the ends of my hair, I let out an uneasy sigh at the sight of boxes piled high into tall stacks on either side of the doorway. Martin, a.k.a. my hero on days like these, needs to get in here and manhandle these cardboard suckers to the back. My pathetic semblance of upper body strength has already lost this war and I know we’re expecting another dozen or so shipments today and tomorrow.

  Everything from the upcycled plates and artsy champagne glasses, to spotlights for the featured artists is packed in those boxes. Every little detail has been carefully considered and for the first time ever, I didn’t need approval for these purchases. Typically we have a budget and I make the arrangements, but every bit is cleared by Mandy before I can spend a cent and reserve a darn thing.

  “This is all you,” Mandy told me with a nod of approval I’ve been after for years. She has plans to attend as a guest with “fresh eyes,” so everything needs to be perfect. It will be. I’m doing everything I can possibly think of to highlight the old, while also celebrating the new and the colorful future ahead. Color is the theme and I’m bringing it in spades.

  Checking my phone as it dings in my hand, I receive an alert that a package is delayed. A puff of air leaves me and tousles the strand of hair in front of my face. It’s only until tomorrow, according to the update. My anxiousness revs up and I shudder before texting Martin if he knows what time he’ll be in so I can figure out my own schedule. Technically it’s his day off; he’s only coming in to help because I asked. Yet another reason he’s my hero.

  Before I can hit send, the chime at the front door goes off and I spin around, my dress twirling as I do, already filled with gratitude that he came in early. The greeting of “thank goodness” vanishes at the sight of Robert in faded jeans and a simple black tee.

  “Hey,” I say then breathe out, and my entire body heats. Partially because he knows that’s my favorite look on him. The top bit of his hair is a little messy, completing the good ole boy look he’s got today. When he’s not in a suit, and laid back like this, it reminds me of when we were younger.

  The other part of me is riddled with nerves, and that piece of me has my hands hiding in my dress pockets and my teeth biting down on my bottom lip. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since the proposal and paternity test text, respectively. With my heart fluttering I ask, “What are you doing here?”

  The second he smiles, everything eases inside of me. His presence is calming, but my heart still races, not wanting comfort and wanting something else instead. Maybe it’s a desire for forgiveness that keeps me choked up.

  As selfish as it may be, a part of me wants him to tell me he’s not upset at all. That everything is all right.

  Ever the charming one, he lets his gaze settle on my dress for a moment then comments, “Don’t you look beautiful?”

  With a hint of warmth rising up my cheeks, I know he made me blush. “Well, thank you,” I respond and tuck my hair behind my ear.

  “What’s all this?” he asks.

  “I’m doing inventory for the gala.” I add in a lowered voice, not hiding my dread, “There’s so much that still has to be done.”

  “You need help?” he asks as if everything’s just fine. As if it’s any other day and the last week didn’t happen at all.

  Staring into Robert’s soft blue gaze, the last thing I can even think about is him helping me. The question escapes before I can help myself. “Are we okay?”

  All I hear in the back of my head is a voice telling me, “No. Of course we aren’t.” All I can see is how the cords in his neck strain when his smile turns tight and his gaze drops. He doesn’t respond for a long moment, and I know it’s because he’s doing everything he can not to get emotional.

  “Robert … I, um …” The word sorry is lost on my lips when he shushes me, like he knows exactly what’s on my mind. “It’s okay,” he starts. His long strides eat up the distance between us but before he can say another word, the chime goes off again.

  I anticipate it being Mart
in and with my mouth open to greet him in thanks, I peer beyond Robert only to have it instantly close again.

  Oh my goodness, I have the worst luck in the entire world.

  “Hey there,” Brody says to me although his gaze moves from my navy dress and matching flats to Robert, who meets his gaze with his once smiling lips now pressed into a firm, straight line.

  “Hey yourself,” I answer with a bit less excitement than I aimed for, although my smile stays in place. My throat’s tight and dry all of a sudden. I can’t imagine why. If we were alone, it would be different … it would be easy. Still scary, though, and full of uncertainty. That’s the realization I’ve come to. I’m scared of letting go of Robert, but I’m also scared of what Brody makes me feel.

  Tingles race down my arms and the back of my neck pricks after seeing both of these men in the same room together. Both of them aware I’ve been with the other one, and both of them having to take a test to see who the father of my child is. Both of them staring at the other with the tension in the room growing.

  “What a morning it is,” I comment half-heartedly and let out an awkward huff of a laugh before clapping my hands in front of me. Awkwardness is apparently my middle name now. To add insult to injury, I don’t think it helped to break the tense mood in the room and now they’re both staring at me. All I’ve got for either of them is a nervous smile.

  “I can come back—” Brody starts to say, gesturing to the door although the look in his puppy dog eyes is at complete odds with his offer.

  Robert’s voice is casual enough as he interrupts Brody. “That’d be great—”

  “You don’t have to,” I say, cutting off Robert without meaning to and then share a look with him before returning my focus to Brody. Speaking over each other only adds to the awkward atmosphere.

  “I’m working,” I say to remind them both and clear my throat, “but I’m happy to see you two.” My nerves rear their ugly heads again and my voice wavers when I tell them, “I wanted to say thank you for going through with …” My hand waves as if there’s a gesture for a paternity test. “Thank you both for the … samples.” If only I could summon a hole in the ground to swallow me up in this moment.