Page 18 of Highball Rush
But I didn’t say anything to Jenny. I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to tell anyone I’d seen her. If Maya was Callie, she hadn’t wanted me to know. That stung. But I didn’t want to talk about that either.
I slid the pictures back across the table and put them in my wallet. “Thanks. I guess… I just wanted to make sure it was really her.”
“Of course you did,” she said. “Tell you what, honey, let me buy you breakfast.”
“Thanks, but I have a lot of work to do.”
I stood and she followed. Before I could turn and head for the door, she wrapped me in a hug. I was so startled, I just stood there for a second, not sure what to do. Then I put my arms around her and patted her on the back before she let go and stepped back. Great, now I had two women in my family forcing hugs on me.
“Have a good day, Gibson,” she said with a smile.
I cleared my throat and gave her a short nod. “You too.”
Ignoring the whispers of the other diners, I left and drove home. I knew people were talking, but fuck ’em. They could say what they wanted.
I hadn’t been lying; I did have work to do. My workshop was in a metal pole building I’d constructed next to my house. It smelled of sawdust and wood stain. Granny Louisa was finally replacing her kitchen cabinets. Devlin had hired Scarlett to do a lot of work on Granny Louisa’s outdated house already, but they were just now tackling the kitchen. They’d chosen a nice maple, the design simple and classic.
My stomach growled while I worked. I probably should have taken Jenny up on that offer of breakfast or grabbed something on the way home. But I had too much on my mind. I felt on edge, like a rubber band pulled too tight.
I worked until lunch, then took a break. By the time I got back to it in the early afternoon, I’d buried most of my feelings in sawdust and sweat. If Maya was Callie, at least I’d gotten a glimpse of her. She was alive, and there was relief in that.
And why did it matter? She wasn’t an ex-girlfriend—not the one who got away. She’d been my friend for a couple of summers when we were both young. Whether or not I had the chance to see her again didn’t impact my life. I didn’t know why I was so bent out of shape about it.
I put the sander down and took off my goggles. The cabinets were coming along nicely. I brushed the sawdust off my hands—some of it, anyway—and shook out my shirt. I needed some water.
There were two reasons I’d become a custom cabinetmaker. One, I could be my own boss. I’d discovered early on that me and authority didn’t get on so well, and I was smart enough to realize I needed a way to make a living where I didn’t have to answer to someone else. Just my apprenticeship had nearly killed me.
Two, I could work alone, in a workshop at my house. Work with my hands, only have to leave to do client installations, and no boss to answer to? Dream job.
I went inside the house and got some water. While I was there, I checked my phone. I had a text from Scarlett telling me—not asking—to come to breakfast at Moonshine in the morning. I didn’t bother replying. I’d go if I felt like it.
A faint sound came from outside, a car pulling up my driveway. I groaned. Now what? I really needed to put a gate at the entrance to my property. With a lock.
I debated whether or not to answer. The engine stopped. Car door closed. Whoever it was, they’d be knocking in a few seconds. It might be a reporter wanting the dirt on my visit to the sheriff’s office. Or another one of those record company dipshits. I had nothing to say to either of them.
But no one knocked.
I put my empty glass down and glowered at the door. What were they doing out there? Wandering around my property? Maybe it was a nosy reporter. They might be walking around, taking pictures. I hadn’t locked my workshop. Damn it, were they over there? I didn’t like people in my space, especially people I hadn’t invited.
In a few strides, I was at the front door. I threw it open, ready to rush outside and kick the nosy son of a bitch off my land.
It wasn’t a reporter.
The woman from last night—Maya—stood on the step, her eyes wide. Her multicolored hair was wild around her face, blowing in the breeze.
We stood for a long moment, staring at each other, like we were frozen in place.
Without warning, she hurled herself at me, jumping up and throwing her arms around my neck. “Gibson.”
The air rushed from my lungs and a lump rose in my throat. She dangled against me, her feet lifted off the ground, so I wrapped my arms around her to hold her up.
I knew it. Deep down, I’d known it was her. I spoke low into her ear. “Hey, Callie.”
Her body shuddered, but I had no idea if she was laughing or crying. Felt like both. Closing my eyes, I held her while she laughed, then sobbed, then laughed again. I didn’t give a crap what she did. She was here. She was alive.
Oh god, I never wanted to let go.
Eventually, she seemed to calm. I let her slide down until her feet touched the ground, then reluctantly dropped my arms.
