Page 17 of Fighting for You
We both laugh, and the tension in my chest eases. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”
Chapter Seven
Brooks
The smell of coffee invades my senses as I rummage through my kitchen drawers looking for my spare lighter. The rent on this place is great, but the drawback is living above a damn cafe constantly brewing coffee from five in the morning to two in the afternoon. I’ve always hated the smell of it. Growing up at my parents’ diner is probably the reason why.
Luckily, I’ve been spending most of my time at my parents’ house renovating so I can sell it. Which is where I’m heading as soon as I find my fucking lighter. Just as I pull the next drawer open, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
12/5 10:42 a.m.
Hayes: FYI, I told Margot you’re my handyman when she asked how we know each other.
12/5 10:43 a.m.
Me: You’re fucking kidding me.
Delivered
12/5 10:45 a.m.
Hayes: No? What was I supposed to say?
12/5 10:45 a.m.
Me: Literally anything else, dude.
Delivered
12/5 10:48 a.m.
Hayes: Why does it matter? Just play along if she mentions it.
12/5 10:48 a.m.
Me: I hate you.
Delivered
Great. As if I didn’t already feel like a loser, now Margot has verification I am. Fucking handyman. Out of all the things he could come up with, of course he went with that. So it looks like I did a fucking house job for her by fixing her sink.
I shake my head at the thought, hating that I even care. My spare lighter is nowhere to be found, and I really need a nicotine fix. The drawer slams shut as I fling it closed, rattling everything inside. I’ll have to stop at the gas station on my way to Elsher’s office.
He called me yesterday while I was at Margot’s. I hate talking on the phone, so I wouldn’t have answered anyway, but I had it on silent and never saw the call come through. When I got home, I finally saw the notification. He’d left a voicemail telling me thepapers for the house were ready for me to sign. I knew it was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear.
Initially, I’d been pissed my parents left their house to me in their will; I’d expected to get RED. I thought putting all the time and effort into the place would show them I could handle it, but it didn’t. Instead, I got a house in need of a fuckton of work before I can even consider selling it.Figures.
James Elsher—the executor of their will—is an attorney in Southbury, about thirty minutes west of Indigo Hill. It’s also the town Margot lives in, not that it matters. It’s chilly out today, so I grab a jacket before leaving my apartment.
The moment the door shuts, I hear soft music playing from Grayce’s Cafe just below me. The woman is nice enough, but her taste in music is shit. She doesn’t know me very well, aside from the blend of common knowledge floating around town and the rumors whispered every time I enter a room. She has no idea I designed her branding a few years ago, and she never will. Unless Thea decides to spill, none of them will ever know.
I’m proud of the work I did, it was a good temporary distraction, but it isn’t my passion. I want to tattoo, I just need to land an opportunity at a shop. Maybe I’ll finally leave this shithole town once I sell my parents’ house and move to a city with more studios.
Putting my helmet on, I swing my leg over my bike and bring it to life. The engine revs, and a group passing by on the sidewalk looks over. I throw a wink to the women, along with my signature smirk, as their eyes finally meet mine after scanning me from head to toe. One of them waves, making me chuckle to myself. Margot had me thinking I’d lost my charm, but clearly, I’ve still got it.
“Just sign right here, son,” Mr. Elsher says as he points to the line. His desk is just as messy as it was the last time I was here a little over two weeks ago. I’m no professional, by any means, but I wonder how he conducts any kind of work. He’s constantly looking for things buried under stacks of paper. The guy makes me look put-together.
“You need anything else from me?” I ask, placing the pen back in the holder on his desk.
