Eat. Put on seven layers of clothes and get warm.
Instead, I stand there and watch Sabrina stroll away, the swing in her hips subtle enough that I only notice because I can’t take my eyes off her ass.
The dog whines one last time, licks my gloved hand, and then trots after her while the little girl on the porch calls his name and holds up a dog treat.
“Aspen?” a woman calls from around the corner.
“I’ve got her, Marley,” Sabrina calls back. “She wanted to say hi to Jitter.”
Zen’s watching me with the front door propped open. They’ve already gathered the luggage and shoved it inside while I was busy staring at a woman I shouldn’t want and will not have. “She’s already figured out you’re changing things?”
“She’s a gossip.”
“And you like her.”
I don’t answer.
They’re right.
I still like her. Despite not trusting her, despite planning on doing exactly what she doesn’t want me to do, despite not wanting to like her, I do.
Zen sighs. “Uncle Grey, you ever consider that vengeance doesn’t suit you?”
I’ve disliked that word more with every passing minute, and not just for the knot that’s been growing in my stomach all day. Could I open a kombucha bar somewhere else?
Yep.
But it wouldn’t hurt Chandler Sullivan if I did that, now would it? “Or maybe being Super Vengeance Man isn’t supposed to be easy.”
They crack up. “Inside with you. Time for a shower, clean clothes, and food. And then I’ll show you the super cool puzzle I got you with my credit card last month.”
A new puzzle should make me happy. I’ve given up contemplating new fields of research that might interest me and let my mind engage in puzzles instead since I found out what Vince did, and so far, it’s working.
Tonight though?
Tonight, Zen might be right.
I might not be cut out for vengeance.
Should be a good thing, right? Means I’m not like my family.
Just this once, I wanted to be the badass asshole getting justice.
But as I cast one last glance at Sabrina’s front door, all I can think is that this isn’t nearly as straightforward and easy as it should be.
8
Sabrina
I arrive fifteen minutes before my eight a.m. shift is scheduled to begin at Bean & Nugget and use the spare time to sit in the backseat of my car with Jitter and check my text messages while I finish the travel mug of coffee I brought along.
Nothing from Emma. For once, I don’t know what to say to start a conversation.
If she’d broken up with anyone else, under any other circumstances, I would’ve camped out at her house with wine and chocolate and sourdough from the bakery at the other end of Main Street. Laney would’ve been there with a custom dartboard printed with Emma’s new ex’s face.
Instead, I’m staring at a text from Laney telling me that Emma’s back and camping out at Theo’s old place on their dad’s property just outside of town, and that she’s requested that she not have company.
Any company.
Or that anyone else is told where she is.
Laney adds that it’s because she’s feeling super vulnerable after being the subject of a massive viral video at such a horrible time, but naturally, paranoia, guilt, and anxiety make me wonder if that’s all it is.
And how much she might blame me for the video having to happen at all.
I’d still bring wine and chocolates and bread, even if she wanted to yell at me and cry, if it meant we could work it out.
I move on to the next text message thread. I need something else to concentrate on if I’m going to successfully get through today. The Mercedes isn’t in the parking lot, but that means virtually nothing considering I watched Zen take it out solo last evening after we had all retreated to our respective townhomes.
Decker apparently hasn’t slept since we all left Silver Horn early last evening. I have a string of texts from him at various intervals all night indicating he was diving deep into everything he could find on Greyson Cartwright.
Decker probably does have writer’s block if that’s what he was doing all night.
Poor guy. I should send him some Writer’s Tears whiskey.
But his brothers have likely beat me to it.
During his all-nighter, he dug up some new information.
Like that Grey’s divorced, and it was ugly.
Accusations of cheating on both sides. Arguments over who broke which part of the prenup. A whole series of videos his ex-wife posted on social media about how to love a man who ignores you regularly. Grey’s sister going public, taking her sister-in-law’s side and calling him cold and uncaring.
Grey’s public defense going radio silent after that.
Cold and uncaring sticks with me.
That doesn’t jive with the man I met in Hawaii.
The man I met in Hawaii was funny and kind and all-in with doing good deeds with me.
And then there was an utterly killer text in the string of texts from Decker. Look at this dog. He had a dog. It’s fucking adorable. And his ex got it in the divorce. I’d be a cranky-ass bastard too if someone took this dog from me.
I clicked the last link to Instagram and instantly wished I hadn’t.
It’s a picture of Grey in sweatpants, jogging on a path with the most adorable chocolate lab, his tongue hanging out crooked, his legs all akimbo while he ran too, looking like a total goofball who would be so easy to love.
The dog, I mean.
Grey just looks hot.
The fucking nerve. I prefer men that I’ve slept with who are now unexpectedly my boss—which has never happened and I hope will never happen again—aren’t hot when I’m remembering that they were kind and funny and generous while I’m simultaneously being told there is a story behind his divorce.
But the biggest kicker?
The dog’s name.
Duke.
He told me his name was his dog’s name.
And now my heart is melting a little more.
My phone lights up with a text as I’m staring at the picture.
Final thing, Decker says. Turns out Grandpa was at Carnegie Mellon the same time as both of GC’s grandparents. Guess Chandler and GC were both legacy admissions. Wonder if they knew that? And now I’m off to boycott all cereal and crackers that use the magic self-sealing bags. And to nap so I can write some words later.
I wish him luck and thank him for the info, then check the messages from Lucky.
Didn’t expect much, and that’s what I get. It’s just three GIFs of people falling asleep along with a message that he’d ask around his friend circle to see if anyone’s up on the gossip once he’s had enough rest to fully process the information he’s getting, and also that he’s pissed we went to Silver Horn without him.
And now I’m done with my text messages, and I have exactly one minute and thirty seconds to walk through the back door.
Time to get to it.
“C’mon, Jitter,” I say. “Let’s go shake it out and get inside.”
Yes, he should go to doggy daycare.
Yes, I’m shamelessly using him to continue winning over Zen and Grey.
No, I won’t apologize for it. Not when my family’s café is on the line.
My pup whines with excitement while we get out of the car, shakes himself off, does his business, and gets it all done in time for me to get to work right on time, down to the second.
I’m bracing myself as I go in through the back entrance, prepared for whatever today might throw at me, when I spot Zen where I’m half expecting their uncle to be standing.
If Zen’s here and the car is not, I assume Mr. Mood Swing is also absent.
“Morning,” they say, sliding a glance at Jitter. “Can you work the counter today?”
“I’d love to, but I can’t,” I chirp happily while I steer Jitter to his house, and honestly, I’m annoying myself here. I hate being fake happy. “I have this gossip problem that I’m trying to give up to make me a better employee, and if I work up front, people will tell me things, and then I’ll repeat them, and it’ll cause the equivalent of an international crisis here in the Tooth. But I have a little welcome to Snaggletooth Creek present for the boss-man. He around?”