Page 75 of By Your Side
Piper: You okay?
Paige: Nope.
Piper: I’ll be there momentarily with reinforcements!!!
Paige: Do me a favor and don’t tell Hunter. I’ll tell you everything later. Please.
Piper: Anything you need.
I wanted to talk to Hunter without the broken cooler in the middle. I wanted him for more than his handyman/hero thing, and I didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness anymore.
I watched the message thread blink out, then slumped against the counter. The hum of the deep freeze was the only sound left in the kitchen—a brittle, anxious noise that reminded me that it might also be on its last legs. Hunter had repaired it, but it was old; who knows how long it would last?
Outside, dusk pressed against the windows; the air was heavy with that lingering, sour smell, no matter how wide I opened the door. I thought about Piper and her promise of reinforcements, wondered who she’d bring, and worried a little about the parade of sympathy that might march into my cramped little world.
I wiped my hands on a towel and tried to push back the rising panic. The cooler was just an appliance, I told myself. But the stakes felt bigger: the inventory, the money wasted, the reputation I’d fought to build from nothing. It was all me now. I was no longer behind the scenes, as I had been when I was married.
I closed my eyes, drew in a shaky breath, and forced myself to remember everything I’d already survived—messier breakages, bigger disappointments, my freaking divorce. This was just a cooler, just a day. I could handle it.
“Come on, Paige. You can do this,” I muttered, pressing the towel to my chest like it might soak up the panic knotting there.
I dragged out the old box fan from behind the mop sink, its cord knotted and its blades dusty from last summer. Setting it in the doorway, I cranked it up to high, letting the noisy gust scatter the heavy air toward the street. It wasn’t much, but it made the space feel a little less stifling.
Jasper poked his head in from the back, sleeves rolled. “Need a hand up here?” he asked, the hint of a smile undercutting the worry in his eyes. Without waiting for my answer, he moved to open the side windows. Then together, we worked silently—him wiping down the bar and tables with heavily scented lemon cleaner and me going to work on the floor.
Little by little, the smell dissipated, and I felt better about tonight.
Chapter 23
Hunter
Spencer was elbow-deep in a box of tools when I walked into the shop. The familiar smell of grease and metal was grounding, but I knew by the look on his face that whatever came out of his mouth next wasn’t going to sit right.
“The cooler at Paige’s place is dead,” he said, not even looking up. “Piper called Lucy, Lucy told me. It was a game of “Darlington Sister Telephone.” Thought you should know. I’m going over there to take a look.”
The wrench slipped in my hand. “She didn’t call me.”
“Nope.” He cracked open a soda and leaned back on the workbench. “You’ve been keeping your distance, huh? I mean, that’s what I heard.”
I didn’t answer. Not right away. I tried to ignore the way my chest tightened at Spencer’s words. I didn’t need reminders—every hour, every moment I spent alone, Paige’s absence filled my life like static. I kept my head down, sorted my tools into a bag, and pretended the conversation was strictly about broken appliances.
Spencer shrugged, the kind of gesture that didn’t need translation. “She’ll reach out when she’s ready.”
I wanted to believe him. But it felt like there was a wall between me and Paige, built out of all the things unsaid and the space she’d asked for.
Still, when Spencer grabbed his keys and gave me that look—the one that said,Don’t be an idiot—I found myself falling in behind him like always. The drive over was silent except for the clink of tools in the back seat, the unspoken worry about how Paige was holding up.
The tavern was quiet when we drove up, not yet open for business. I knew she was here. I saw her car in the lot when we drove around to the back to park. I hesitated, fighting the urge to go see her. Instead, I focused on the task—hopping out of Spencer’s truck, gathering our tools, anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off the ache I carried in her absence.
Spencer gave me a long look. “You think staying away from her is going to make your feelings any less obvious?”
My jaw tightened. “I’m not staying away. I’m just giving her what she asked for. Privacy. Space. Every time I walk into that bar, I feel like everyone in there can read me. She doesn’t want that right now, so I’m trying to respect it.”
He shot me a look like he was calling bullshit. “Fine. But come with me anyway. We’ll get the cooler running before she loses any more of her inventory.”
I followed him. Because staying away was one thing—but knowing she was hurting and not doing anything about it was something I couldn’t live with.
When we slipped in through the rear door, luckily, the smell was contained to the trash. Inside, there was nothing but the faint traces of cleaner and the familiar echo of quiet before opening.
