Page 22 of Sweet and Salty

“No, Frannie. Laura too, don’t get me wrong. There’s a reason she’s the mama bear, but Frannie’s always been headstrong and too independent.”

That statement reeks of fraternal disapproval, something I only know of by hearsay. “Let me get my tools.”

We work steadilyfor the next two hours, fixing the lopsided steps. Rory tolerates my poor carpentry skills with the patience of a single parent, but it’s pleasant work overall. Hammering and sawing and working with my hands so that it looks better than it did before. Not perfect. The old Jesse would have inwardly fumed about that, but New Jesse can handle it well enough. At least for now.

“I’ve been trying to fix those steps for a week already.” I hand Rory a glass of water. No ice, since the freezer broke the night before.

Rory shakes his head. “You really should consider moving in with my sister until this place is up to code.”

The thought of living that close to her does things to my body no brother should see. “I’m tougher than I look. Is there any way I can repay you?”

Rory sniffs and stares at my T-shirt and jeans, now covered in sawdust and dirt. “Get changed and come to my family’s dinner tonight. I know you’re going to protest, but—”

“You don’t have the time,” I finish. Rory grins broadly and claps me on the shoulder.

It’s okay. I’m tentatively excited, and starving after this afternoon of work. Harbor Stryke told me to make myself comfortable, meet the locals, and whatnot. My grandma always taught me not to leave a debt unpaid. So I’ll do this one dinner, strain my interpersonal resources, and then maybe these kind, good-hearted people will leave me alone to fuck up my life in peace.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Laura

I really wishwe had a different vet in town. Dr. Gustavson came out that morning to check on Cree, and he barely examined her before stating “she’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

But I do worry. Something isn’t right on my little rescue animal farm. Lucretia Borgia’s a stubborn butthead, but lately she’s listless. Why am I being gaslit by our eighty-year-old vet?

Not to mention I now have to go to Sunday dinner. Frannie’s in town, and as much as I love my sister, she changes the dynamic when she’s here.

My phone buzzes on the passenger seat beside me. Ugh. Chris. If I don’t answer, he’ll just keep calling. He’s been leaving me text after text. I swipe the bar to answer. “The benefit of breaking up is that we no longer have to speak.”

“Hey, Laur.” His voice is soft, wheedling. Much the same tone he used whenever he “mentioned” that we were out of salt and vinegar chips. At eleven at night. When the nearest opengrocery store is at least a forty-minute drive away. “How are you? We haven’t talked in a while.”

I grit my back teeth in a way that my dentist will rue later. “We broke up. After you called me clingy. And desperate. And–”

“Ah, Laur, you know I didn’t mean that. You’re amazing.”

W.T.F?

My jaw drops wide open.

“I always liked that you were older and smarter than me,” he continues. There’s only a two-year age gap between us, temporally speaking. In terms of maturity, the gap widens substantially. “I learn so much from you.”

“Yes, our relationship was super one-sided,” I remark drily.

“Don’t be like that,” he says, his voice pleading. “I just want to see you.”

“The feeling is not mutual.”

“I heard that donkey’s a piece of work.” Chris snorts. “That’s you. Always picking up lost causes.”

Yeah, like you. “I have to go.”

“Sunday dinner?” Chris’s voice perks up. “Your mom’s cooking is the best. Apart from yours. I still dream about your brownies.”

“You could visit the bakery and pay for one of them like everyone else.”

“I like the special ones you make, just for me.” He’s wheedling again. “Maybe I could come over? I’d love to see your family, maybe hang out.”

“You never wanted to do that when we were together,” I reply. Seriously. If I clench my jaw any more, I’m not going to be able to open it again. “Every week, you made an excuse.”

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