Page 2 of Signed With Love

I understand why Casper drew my parents to it. It’s the vibe it creates to lure tourists like the Klondike Gold Rush of the 1890s. The town promises you’ll find some hidden treasure within its depths. As treasures go, you can search a lifetime for them and still come up empty-handed. But it’s an adventure, nonetheless.

The final few blocks to my parents’ home goes by, and I tug my worn handbag higher on my shoulder. With a glance to the left, I spot Jamison jumping out of his Jeep. I always see him at least once on my trip. His cabin isn’t but a few yards from my parents’, and Dad always needs me to drop the rent check off. Sometimes I end up just paying it myself if I think their bank account is looking tight.

My feet have me quickening my pace in the opposite direction when I catch a glimpse of his large body. Jamison is built, wide and sturdy, and he always seems to fill up whatever room he’s in. I keep our interactions short, and he does the same.

There’s a flash of his hand in my peripheral, so I give a quick wave back over my shoulder. I shouldn’t be rude, I just hate the way my heart picks up so many extra beats when I’m near him. It’s like I’m running a marathon up Mount Thor. It’s hard for me to breathe despite the fact I should have no problems getting the oxygen into my lungs.

Finally, enough distance is behind me that I slip through the front door of my parents’ home and catch my breath. The creaking vibrations of the wood floor has me glancing up. My mother catches my eye with a flick of her wrist, a bright smile on her face. Her light gray hair is still cropped in close, styled perfectly every morning. She has an aging face, one I believe I’ll wear one day. One Maddie should have worn too.

Why are you breathing hard? she signs, her hands moving smoothly.

My hand drops from my chest as I reply. Walking here.

Her brows rise in question, not entirely buying my response, but she doesn’t add more. Probably because I don’t tire easily since I run miles every day, but I also glanced away to end the conversation.

My handbag lands on the entryway table. The table is stacked with her random collection of objects. She finds all kinds of trinkets, which is why their bank accounts are dwindling. The old money from Dad’s one real treasure find and Mom’s disability doesn't go as far as I’d like.

My eyes sweep the living room, and I grab some of the old newspapers lying about on my way to the kitchen to recycle. I note their small home is tidier than usual, even though it’s been three weeks since my last visit. My parents like baubles, what Dad and Mom think are lost or hidden gems. I think it’s plain old junk.

I step into the kitchen to find Dad sitting at the old dining table, his overalls a bit too worn for my liking, but he loves them. They have pockets for his lures, not that he goes fishing much anymore. His graying hair is long overdue for a haircut, which I’ll take care of while I’m in town too. His steely blue gaze, one that matches my own, locks on me.

Come have lunch. Then take this to Jamison, please.

He lifts a signed check with a flourish of his hand. His bank register is far from my sight. I shake my head but grab the check and stuff it into the back pocket of my faded blue jeans. His smile blooms across his face, a weathered face that’s seen many days on the fishing boats. He’s been a fisherman for as many years as I can recall, the life of an adventurer deeply rooted in his bones. He’s sailed the seas, searched for treasures, and ended up back home, saying this is where his true prize lies—his girls.

There are a few piles of magazines, some old papers, and maps alongside a journal with notes covering the kitchen table when I sit down. There’s so much stuff, I can’t see the wooden table below it. I gather things in my arms until my father’s hand enters my line of sight telling me he wants to sign something.

I shift my gaze to him.

Stop cleaning. Eat. I know you’re hungry.

I am, so I drop the papers and sign, Where did this come from? I sweep my hand across the table, noting the junk that’s gathering. There’s so much. It’s going to take me forever to sort through, and I just want to relax. Sneak out for a run later tonight, then curl up with a movie.

My father doesn’t respond for a moment, and my brow rises higher. Even the smell of smoked salmon chowder from the kitchen that I love so much doesn't soften my look. This is utterly ridiculous.

Jamison. He brings me stuff.

My eyes roll. Seriously? My parents have enough junk in this place. Why in the world does Jamison think he can add more to it?

With a shake of my head, I return to collecting the odds and ends so we can eat. I set the maps aside after the note on the journal catches my attention. A masculine jotted script says, Good luck finding these treasures, old man. A smile lifts the corner of my mouth. I release a breath and close my eyes.

Jamison is hanging out with my dad, spending time enjoying something my father finds passion in. He’s brought him some old treasure-hunting research. It’s not like I can even be upset now.

With the table having free space for me to eat, Mom brings the plates over, and we gather around. The entire time, I stare deep into the chowder and let the rent check in my pocket remind me that the minutes are counting down until I see Jamison on this trip. I’ll have to thank him for what he’s done for my father if I can work up the courage to say it.

Chapter Two

Jamison

I lean over the rail and tap my beer bottle against the wood. The sun is setting behind the snow-capped mountains, but there’s still at least two more hours of daylight left since we are edging further into spring now.

“Yo, Jamison, why the fuck are we hanging out on your porch like old ladies drinking tea?” Chadwick asks. “Let’s go play some cards.” Even twenty-three years of friendship doesn’t make me not want to punch him sometimes when he opens his mouth.

“We have one of the best fucking views in the world, and you want to hang out inside my cabin?” I return, and my jaw tightens. I shift to my other foot, my hiking boot sliding between the wood slats of my railing, my knee bouncing.

Claire hadn’t even spared me a second glance when I saw her earlier. That gorgeous blonde hair of hers was whipping in the wind as she made a sharp left, heading toward her parents’ home and away from me. It was a smart move, turning away. I won’t pursue Claire because my life’s a mess, but I want to know her. I want to communicate with the woman who has stolen my thoughts lately.

“I get better views than this every time I take off. Tonight I want to take Finn for all he’s worth,” Chadwick states, humor lacing his words.

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