Page 14 of Major Love

“Throw them in my order,” I tell him, grabbing my wallet from the back of my utility pants.

He frowns across at me, holding the basket firmer in his grip. “No.”

I breathe out a laugh, shaking my head, and wait for Tripp to ring up my bill.

“What’re you making?” Tripp asks as I tap my card against the reader.

I pocket my wallet and keep it vague.

“Filling a hole.”

Because aside from my set schedule with Coleson Construction and the voluntary calls for search-and-rescue, the less regimented winter season also allows me the time to take up personal jobs – just a couple favours here and there that might make someone’s day a little brighter.

And seeing as my buddy Casey isn’t even at home right now, it’s the perfect time to work on something that he’s always wanted but is too humble to ask for.

So it’s a subtle way of giving back to a fellow brother-in-arms.

Tripp gives me a smirk as he passes me my receipt, and then I widen my stance as I haul the bags off the counter. I clamp two in each hand, holding them by the roll-tops so they don’t split, and my biceps feel the familiar burn of bearing two hundred pounds in each fist.

Mitch carefully sets his paints on the desk, eyeing them cautiously as Tripp starts scanning them.

“If you need help with the excavation, just give me a call,” Mitch says. He pulls a couple notes from his wallet as he works out how much his order will be.

“Already excavated it,” I tell him.

“Backhoe?”

“Bare hands.”

He nods once. “Nice.”

Casey’s yard is big enough for the machinery, but a backhoe doesn’t get the kind of precision you have with a shovel. Plus, the ground isn’t iced over yet, and I like getting in as much manual work as I can.

“And you and Harper need some alone-time with your paint,” I add, making him huff out a laugh.

I kick his boot with mine and he shakes his head, hiding his smirk.

“That’s eighteen dollars,” Tripp says, grabbing a brown paper bag from beside the till.

He takes the twenty that my brother hands him and, before he can ring up any change, Mitch holds up his palm, silently letting him know that he can keep it.

He takes the paints and after a salute from Tripp we head out of the store.

“When are you going to start laying this down?” Mitch asks, and I grunt quietly as I drop the last sack into the bed of my truck.

I pull the lid down over the back and say, “I’ll head to Casey’s tomorrow morning. Before that other thing we have to do in town.”

“Shit, I almost forgot about that,” Mitch replies, raking his hand back through his hair.

As I’m the owner of Coleson Construction and my brother is the owner of Coleson Joinery, we tend to work different aspectsof the same jobs, especially when they’re based close to our hometown.

I round the side of my truck and call out, “Tell me which paint y’all end up picking.”

He smirks at me as I get in the vehicle and I smirk right back at him.

Both of us already know which paint they’ll be picking.

I give him a jerk of my chin and pull out of the lot with a smile.

---