Howler’s face screws up. “She’s got you on a leash already,” he mutters.
“She doesn’t,” Solomon barks, causing his father to busy himself on the other side of the garage.
“Whatever, man.”
He glances at his friend, who looks irritated and antsy. “You don’t like Tess?” he growls, deciding to finally come out and ask it.
Howler chugs his beer, then tosses the can in the trash. “I like Goldilocks fine.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been acting like a jackass since she got here.”
Hesitating, Howler tugs a hand through his dirty-blond hair. Then he opens his mouth. “It’s soon, man. Look, we’re all glad you’re coming out of your shell, but don’t you think it’s a little fast? The restaurant, the girl?” He grimaces. “You don’t owe this chick anything. You knocked her up, and sure, it’s too late to do anything about it—”
Solomon closes his eyes, his heart in a vise at the thought. “Don’t fucking say that.”
“She’s just some girl, man,” Howler says, anger in his tone.
He clenches his hands, the words hitting him dead center. “Tessie’s not just some girl.”
In his periphery, the garage door opens, closes. Jack disappearing into the cold to exit the boiling-point chat.
“She is.” Howler punches a finger. “Admit it. She’s the first girl you fucked after Serena. She’s a goddamn rebound.”
His patience snaps at that, fury igniting in his veins. “Howler, I swear, talk about her like that again, and I will punch you in the fucking teeth.”
Nostrils flaring, Howler slips off his stool, puffs out his chest. “Do it then.”
So he does. He slams his fist into his best friend’s jaw. Swearing, Howler stumbles back into one of the rusted cars. Before Solomon can advance, he’s up, bum-rushing him, dropping his shoulder, ramming it into Solomon’s stomach as he tries to push him over. “Baby steps,” Howler gasps. “You should be taking fucking baby steps.”
“Fuck you,” Solomon grunts. He shoves Howler hard in the chest, sending him sprawling across the floor.
The sight of his best friend on the ground has Solomon stopping. Has him balling his right hand into a fist and cursing under his breath. What the fuck are they doing? Fighting like assholes in his dad’s garage like they’re thirteen all over again. Christ. This isn’t going to solve anything.
Breathing heavily, he rips a hand through his hair. Stares Howler down. “What the fuck’s your problem?” he demands.
“You wanna know what my fucking problem is?” Howler says, pushing himself up to standing. “I’m scared, god damnit. I lost my best fucking friend once, okay? You shut down, man. We all lost you.”
The admission, the pain that comes with it, sucks the wind out of Solomon, has him unclenching his fists. For seven long years, he put his family, his best friend, through hell. Their worry is well founded. He understands where Howler’s coming from, even if it’s not easy to hear.
Grimacing, Howler smears a hand down his face. “It doesn’t work out with this girl, then what? You go back to the cabin? You turn into a fucking hermit again?” A ragged breath shakes out of him. “I just got you back, man. I can’t lose you again. Your ma can’t. Your sisters can’t.”
“You won’t,” he says in a low and steady voice. “I’m here. And Tessie’s here, and that’s how it’s gonna stay.”
“It fucking better.”
Their eyes lock, drop.
Then Howler groans, doubled over. “Christ.” He rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “You punched me in the fucking face, Sol.”
“Wasn’t the first time,” Solomon shoots back. “And you told me to.”
And then they laugh. Big gut-busting laughs that fill the garage and dissipate the tension.
“Listen,” he begins, roughing his hands on the thighs of his jeans. “It’s bad enough I’m fighting with Evelyn about Tess. I don’t want to fight with you too.”
“What’d Evilyn do?”
“She drew up paperwork asking for sole custody.”
Wincing, Howler lets out a pained breath. “Fucked up, man.”
“Yeah.” With a sigh, Solomon shakes his head and sits on a crate. He looks up at his best friend. “Tess is here to stay. She had my heart on a leash the night I met her, and you’re going to have to get used to it. I love her.”
His best friend blinks, jaw slack. “You do?”
“I do.”
“Hell, why didn’t you fucking say that in the first place?”
“Because I haven’t told her yet.” He winces and rubs a hand through his beard. “I’m an idiot.”
“You gonna ask her to marry you or some shit?”
“Yeah. I fucking am.”
Howler sinks beside him, stunned. “Well, shit,” he says, soft and shocked.
Solomon looks at him sharply. “You got a problem with that?”
“No.” He chuckles, a mystified grin spreading over his face. He claps Solomon on the back. “We’re gonna raise a baby in a bar, Sol.”
Solomon grins. They damn sure are.
When Tessie pictured her baby shower, she envisioned eating cake in the bathtub and crying into a bottle of nonalcoholic sparkling wine. Never this. A happy house filled with Solomon’s family, Ash, and a few close family friends of the Wilders, who have long since left. The living room is cozy, thanks to the blasting fireplace. The coffee table is covered in unwrapped gifts and tissue paper. Trays of delicate finger foods, bottles of champagne, and a large bowl of nonalcoholic punch are set out on a sideboard. Baby pictures of Solomon and Tessie are strung on a long piece of eucalyptus garland.
If she had to pick a theme, it’d be vintage chic. And yet, she can’t even turn on her designer critique. Because there’s nothing to critique. It’s perfect.
She never thought she wanted this. The stupid games, the small talk about babies and binkies and Boppies, the opening-presents-in-front-of-everyone schtick, the she’s-currently-wearing-a-necklace-made-of-nothing-but-bottles, but she does. She wants it all, and most importantly, she wants Solomon’s family.
She adores them.
Being around the Wilders has shown her who Solomon truly is. His parents raised him to be a good man. A man who takes care of the people around him. Who loves deeply and whose loyalty is fierce.
Bear has no idea the love that’s coming his way.
Maybe with the exception of his Aunt Evelyn.
Evelyn sits on the loveseat, a permanent scowl on her face. Her posture says she’s here as a favor to her mother and nothing else. Still, the woman hasn’t cramped Tessie’s style. She turned her nerves to ice in the presence of Solomon’s oldest sister. She can be polite, but she doesn’t have to fake it.
“I think that’s a wrap,” Jo declares with a victorious smile.
Melody scoots around the room, collecting gifts, stacking them in a neat pile. Most of the guests have already said their goodbyes, leaving just Tessie, Ash, and the Wilder women.
“It was fabulous.” Smiling, Tessie looks at Grace. “Thank you so much for putting it together for me.”
“It’s our pleasure,” the older woman says.
Needing to stretch, she stands from her chair. She smooths a hand around her stomach, feeling Bear thump and roll as she walks a slow pace around the living room.
Grace gives her a sympathetic smile. “It gets cramped in there, doesn’t it?”
“It does. It is.” She blows out a breath, pausing at the window to watch the snow.
“Round ligament threatening to take you out?” Ash asks, plucking a bow out of her hair.
Tessie grins. “You know it.”
“How many weeks are you again?” asks Melody.
“Almost thirty-three.”
Melody squeals. “So soon!”
As the women chatter, Tessie absentmindedly drifts around the living room, taking in the cozy décor. On the fireplace mantel, five wood-carved bears stand in a row. Photos of Grace and Jack at the Grand Canyon. Beside the fireplace, hanging on the wall, an acoustic guitar.
Smiling, thinking of all the classic country songs she wants to play for Bear on her record player, Tessie runs a finger over a string, pinging it. A mellow hum fills the room.