Page 83 of Here & There

I look between father and son, both of them watching me with an intensity that crowds my chest in the best possible way. Growing up, my parents were rarely home. Dinners were cold and quiet, the walls stark. As an adult, my condo in Vancouver is comfortable. But it’s only me there. I’ve never lived in a place where my heart jumps when the door opens. No place has been filled with laughter and amazing food. Nobody there has left a bell in my room for when I feel scared.

Nobody acts like they’re all tough and unfeeling but then foot-wrestles me under the table.

“No,” I say softly. “I’m not sick of you.”

But I hesitate as I think about Diane and how she said she took the ATV crew because she needed the business.

“They’ve got insurance,” Mac says, reading my mind. “They’ll be okay.”

Relief melts my last reserves. “Okay, then,” I say. I smile. “Thank you, Mac.”

Mac grunts. But when his foot brushes mine again under the table, neither of us moves apart.

Chapter 20

Mac

Aweek later, I head for my bar like it’s my first day of work. I’m freshly showered, though not shaved. God forbid. I was sorely tempted to jerk off but decided today, of all days, I wouldn’t be able to look Shelby in the eye, knowing it’s been a week straight of fucking my hand with her name on my lips.

I change my outfit approximately one thousand times but finally say fuck it and walk out with the first thing I tried on: a button-down shirt, a tie, and a pair of slacks I practically had to dust off it’s been so long since I put on anything other than jeans. I even went without the wool cap I wear all winter long, putting some sticky shit Chris and Lana gave me in my hair to push it back and make it stay out of my face.

Today’s the day Shelby’s going to present her week’s worth of observations to me from shadowing my staff at the bar, after which she says we’re going to do a several-hours-long brainstorming session.

I’m nervous as hell.

We’ve fallen into a routine at home, where I spend half my time trying to coax Nate into conversation and the rest of thetime trying to find ways to ensure I’m in the same room as Shelby.

As it turns out, the easiest way to get to both is by hanging out watching them play video games together. Seeing them trash talk each other one minute and high-five the next makes my chest fill near to bursting. He may still veer the conversation away from anything meaningful I try to ask him, and he still shuts the door in my face when I invite him to hang out with me, but just existing with him is miles better than what we had before.

At work, Shelby and I have slipped into a rhythm too. Mostly I go about my day while Shelby’s a beautiful, voluptuous woman-of-my-dreams fly on the wall.

“What’s with the tie, MacGregor?” Stu hollers as I walk briskly past him on the beach path now.

I was hoping to avoid him since I got up early enough to avoid Shelby too, but this morning, he was setting his easel up before the sun was fully risen.

“Got a meeting with your parole officer?” Stu deadpans.

I get my keys out. “Fuck off, Stu.”

Stu laughs as if he’s made the funniest crack in the world. He’s still laughing when I stomp my way into the bar.

Luckily I get distracted by a note from Chris from last night. She said the fireplace was smoking, so after getting my bread started, I mess around with it for a good hour, cursing and banging around even more than usual. Once I’ve got it fixed, I move onto all my other morning tasks, ignoring Lana when she arrives. That is until she hands me one of those stain remover sticks from her purse.

Now, a few minutes before Shelby’s set to arrive, I lock myself in my office, cursing out loud when I check the little mirror in my bathroom. I’m streaked with soot. And somehow there’s a clump of sourdough on the top of my tie too.

That’s how Shelby finds me when she walks into my office a moment later: my back to her in front of the mirror, my shirt dotted with wet spots from the damn pencil, me yanking the stupid tie off like it’s choking me.

“Dough,” I explain, scrubbing the tie under the faucet. I haven’t turned around yet. My heart’s already ratcheting up just knowing she’s there. “And soot.”

She’s quiet, so I glance up to look at her in the reflection. Her pretty lips are open in a delighted-looking grin.

Please don’t do that. I beg you.

I get the dough off and do my best to dry the damn thing on the hand towel. Then I put it back on wet, flapping it over as I tie it into a Windsor knot that would probably have my dad laughing.

In the mirror, she’s still smiling.

“What?” I grumble.

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