Page 34 of Take This Heart
And unfortunately, I still haven’t talked to him about my uncle. He either doesn’t know I’m related to his archrival or he doesn’t care, and since I don’t care that he’s a Whitman, I’m going with the latter. Now, the longer it’s gone unsaid, the more nervous I am to find out.
Bruce said I was spineless, and I would’ve never believed him until now. It eats away at me, but I’ve been so busy and so preoccupied with Goldie. And Everett gets weaker and weaker. I’m ashamed to say I still haven’t made it right.
Goldie’s twin, Tully, shows up the next weekend and I’d expected him to give me the same shit she does, but he surprises me.
“You still driving my sister nuts?” Tully grins as he offers me a handshake that nearly dislocates my shoulder. “Respect.”
Goldie glares at him. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Too late,” I say. “We’re already planning our fantasyhockey league.” I point at him. “You’re my number one, by the way.”
“Oh, I am absolutely not letting you two bond over this,” she mutters.
But we do. Within minutes, Tully and I are shoulder-to-shoulder on the back deck, trash-talking teams like we’ve known each other for years.
My eyes flick to where Goldie is pacing the yard with a clipboard and what appears to be an extensive collection of paint swatches.
“I take it you’re a glutton for punishment,” Tully says when he catches me watching his sister.
“I must be. Every conversation feels like I’m failing a test.”
He laughs, but then his voice softens. “Honestly, I’ve never seen her like this. I expected you to be a real asswipe.”
“Glad to know I failed expectations,” I say dryly.
The next weekend, it’s Noah who shows up carrying a toolbox and Grayson with the dimples. Grayson is three and loves worms, pine cones, and throwing rocks into the lake. He also decides he loves me, which is both heartwarming and inconvenient, because he wants me to go on worm hunts with him when I should be finalizing elevations.
“Can we keep Milo?” Grayson asks his dad as I hoist him over a puddle.
“I don’t think he’s the domesticated type,” Noah replies with a grin.
“No, he’s not,” Goldie says firmly, arms crossed as she watches from the deck.
I can tell she’s annoyed that her family likes me. Tully’s already texted to invite me to a game. Noah asked for my opinion on renovating a client’s lake house. And Everett? He handed me a bourbon last night and called meson.
Goldie’s eye twitched when she heard that one.
It’s become a game. A slow-burn game of chicken. She pushes. I push back. And in between, there are these tiny, electric moments—when her eyes catch mine and hold a beat too long, when her laughter is so genuine it knocks the breath out of me, when I forget to be annoyed because she’s said something brilliant and I want to tell her she’s brilliant, but I make fun of her instead.
The truth is, I like the chaos she brings. I like her sassy mouth, the way she stares into space when she stirs her coffee or tea, and the way she draws trees like they’re living things with secrets. I like how she knows the name of every plant on the property and how she can tell when her dad’s having a rough day just by the way he sets his coffee mug down. I like how fiercely she defends this place, even when she’s being completely unreasonable. I like the way she looks at me when her guard is down, and the way her eyes fire up when she’s annoyed by something I’ve said.
I like her. A lot more than I should.
Everett’s first chemo treatment leaves him pale and weak. The man who usually stands with such quiet authority now slumps slightly in the oversized leather chair, his skin a shade too gray, his movements a beat too slow.
And Goldie?
She’s the perfect combination of attentive and calm.
Her brothers have made frequent visits. They’re all trying to figure out how to navigate this transition with their careers. I don’t envy them. But Everett made Goldie swear she wouldn’t tell them the date of his chemo treatments, and shehated that, argued until she cried, but then agreed to do what he wanted.
I hover awkwardly by the doorway at first, unsure if I should even be here, but I’ve grown to really care about Everett and want to make sure he’s okay. Goldie doesn’t miss a beat. One glance and she waves me in, her expression wiped clean of the usual fire. Then she turns back to her dad, adjusting the blanket on his lap.
“Want ginger tea or ginger ale?” she asks him gently, already walking to the kitchen before he fully gets the words out.
“She doesn’t give you time to argue,” I murmur, stepping closer.
“She never did,” Everett chuckles, hoarse but smiling. “She used to boss her brothers around when she was a tiny thing. She could convince them to play tea party with her.” He laughs again. “Now she bosses me around with ginger and electrolytes.”
