Page 43 of Hand Picked
“Oh, nothing,” Gage said airily. “Not a thing. Just… noting that someone mentioned Luke Williams’s name, and you didn’t turn green or bust out of your clothes or Hulk-smash the table.”
“Or tell everyone he’snothingto you,” Em said with a judgmental sniff. “Which was very shitty, B-T-W.”
“Seriously,” Hawk agreed.
“It’s a momentous day, indeed. In fact… I think I need to make a proclamation about it.” Drew stood up, grabbed the roll of paper towels from the counter, and began unrolling them like a scroll. He pretended to read, “Whereas Thomas Webb Sunday has managed, for the first time in recent memory, not to stick his size-thirteen boot in his mouth where Luke Williams is concerned, and listen to reason for ten seconds…”
I shook my head impatiently. “Alright, alright, enough. How long can I expect this teasing to continue just so I can plan my meals accordingly?”
“Oh, I’d say a solid week,” Drew said happily.
“I vote a month,” Em countered. “Minimum.”
“Pfft. I’m planning to mix up ‘whereas’ jokes with randomly bursting into ‘Sweet Caroline’ until the end of my days.” Knox leaned back in his chair and draped an arm over Gage’s shoulders.
“That’s gonna be sooner than you expect if you keep this up,” I informed him. But then I sighed. “Look, I admit that Luke is… nice.” To put it mildly. He was maybe the sweetest man I’d ever met. “I misjudged him. I’m the asshole.”
“Finally. I’ve been telling you that for years,” Knox agreed.
“Well, Jesus,” Marco interrupted. “Don’t be all dramatic about it, kiddo. You’ll be nicer from now on.”
“I will. I definitely will.” The legacy I wanted to leave for Aiden was about more than orchards full of apples; it was about being a decent person. Living your life the right way. Showing up for the people who needed you.
“Hey, Drew?” I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Does Norm’s brother-in-law still have a roofing business?”
“Yeah. Jerry Walcott. Walcott Roofing. Why?”
“Like I said, I was at old Ben’s place today.” To Em, I added, “Apologizing for what I said at the diner earlier.”
“Good,” she said with a firm nod. “And you should find a way to make it right, too.”
“I’m trying. The house needs some major work. It—” I hesitated. Luke had been so proud of the work he’d done, and he’d seemed so embarrassed about how much was left to do. I wasn’t sure how much to share about the actual condition of the place. “I thought it would be good to get him the name of a roofer he can trust.”
More like, I was thinking about calling Jerry myself and having him go out to quote the job. I knew Luke couldn’t pay, but I also remembered that Jerry had a thing for refurbishing old farm equipment, and I just happened to have a rare model 1913 Case tractor in one of the outbuildings that I’d been thinking to fix up at some point.
Luke’s roof was more important.
Making up for the way I’d treated him formonthswas more important.
“Well, I think that’s great,” Hawk said, his brown eyes misty. “I think, when a person’s been an asshole, it’s important to own up to it. People are more important than money or things.” He swallowed hard and choked out, “Excuse me,” before fleeing the table.
“Uh.” I looked at Drew and then at Knox. “What’s his deal?”
“Not a clue,” Knox said.
“I just got here.” Porter held up his hands.
“He’s upset at Jack,” Gage said. “Clearly.”
“Jack? My best friend Jack?” I demanded.
“His boss Jack, the owner of Panini Jack’s Jack. Yes, that Jack.” Gage leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “I was over helping Helena Fortnum update the guest booking system at the Apple of My Eye when Mary Duarte from the Hair Lair came in—because, you know, Mary and Helena are in the same knitting group, and they go way back—”
“Baby, you terrify me,” Knox interrupted. “How the fuck do you know this shit?”
“I love you, too.” Gage patted his leg distractedly. “Anyway. I overheard Helena telling Mary that Hawk and Jack had a fight at the diner earlier. I guess Helena was trying to get people to sign a petition against the development, and she got up on the table and started singing ‘Do You Hear the People Sing,’ you know?”
“FromLes Mis?” Marco demanded.
