Page 17 of Hold the Line

“I think highly of her too,” I replied, unsure why this woman thought I mattered enough to tell me anything about herself, let alone find some way to relate to me.

“Don’t you think that means a whole hell of a lot more than what some idiot who can’t hold his drink thinks?” She raised her glass to her lips and winked. “I know I do.”

“Wish you weren’t the only one who thought so.” I tipped my chin. “Have a good night, Mrs. Kelly.”

“You too, Mr. Slater.”

I’d never had many friends. I’d stopped trying early on since most bailed when their parents found out who my folks were.

Chris had never cared about that. Rough as they came but loyal to the end. Besides my aunt, he’d been the only one who’d visited me in prison then had gotten me a job with his dad’s construction company when I got out. It wasn’t my dream, but it paid more than I’d ever expected and allowed me to breathe easy. With a felony on my record, landing any job was a feat, let alone one with security and benefits.

The thing about having a friend like Chris was he knew me well. When I did something out of character, he noticed.

“What’s that you’re making?” he asked, roaming his shed where he’d let me set up a carpentry workshop. The space offered me the opportunity to restart my side business, building custom furniture. And work was trickling in—enough to keep me busy when I wasn’t on a jobsite.

I kept my eyes on the pieces of wood clamped in a vise. “Planters.”

“Planters? Last I knew, you were working on a storage piece. Is this a new commission?”

I sighed, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, then leveled my gaze on the hairy, sloppy bastard. Chris and razors didn’t mix. His beard reached his chest, and his hair was a scraggly mess on his shoulders. When he wasn’t wearing work clothes, he had on sweats that had seen better days years ago. It was a wonder his wife Tilly had given him a chance, but he’d managed to charm her. Tilly was always neat as a pin, while I’d never known him to dress up or make any kind of effort with his appearance.

They said opposites attract, and it seemed that was true. I didn’t know a lot about healthy relationships, but it was clear as day the two of them loved the hell out of each other.

“They’re not a commission.”

Chris stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket. “You making them for yourself? Never knew you were so domestic, Deke.”

“They’re a gift.”

“A gift? Hope not for Tills. Love the woman, but she kills every plant she touches. Makes her sad every time.”

I couldn’t stop my grin. “That’s cute.”

“Cute? Sure. Toyou. Me? I’ve banned her from buying more. Can’t take it when she gets herself all heartbroken over a fern.”

“Well, don’t worry. They’re not for Tilly.” Since he wasn’t going to let it go, I continued, preparing myself for his onslaught of questions. “They’re for my downstairs neighbor. I broke her pots when I was moving in. She won’t take cash to replace them, so I’m making her new ones.”

His brows popped the way I’d known they would. “Your neighbor is a woman? Is she, by any chance, a pretty woman?”

“That has nothing to do with why I’m making her planters.”

“Mmmhmm. You not saying she’s pretty is answer enough. I like her.”

I frowned. “You don’t know anything about her.”

“I know she wouldn't take your money. That tells me a lot about her character.” He ran a hand down his beard and tugged on the end of it. “This neighbor have a name?”

Chris and Tilly lived in town, and Tilly worked on Sugar Brush River Ranch, so they were well aware of the Kelly family. Besides that, he and I had gone to school together, so he knew exactly who Phoebe was. If I thought I could have gotten away without answering him, I would have.

“Phoebe,” I grunted.

“The only Phoebe I know is…oh, damn. You’re tellin’ me Phoebe Kelly’s your neighbor? And you're building her some planters?” His laugh sounded like a witch’s cackle. “What are the chances?”

“It’s a small town,” I answered wryly.

“True, true.” He managed to contain his laughter, but mirth danced in his eyes. “Remember our senior year when you—”

“I remember.” I didn’t need him walking me down memory lane. The moment Phoebe knocked on my door, every interaction with her had come rushing back to the forefront. “Not a dumb kid anymore. I’m just being a nice neighbor and making up for breaking her pots. Nothing more.”

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