Page 34 of Worth the Wait

I knew he was talking about the last time he’d seen me. But I’d done what he’d suggested all those months ago and buried myself in work the same way he’d told me that he was doing.

Jeremiah used to stop by all the time when I first started building the home I lived in, his brown eyes always misting over at the sight of it. He knew exactly who I’d built the house for, even if neither one of us ever said it out loud. Eventually, he’d stopped coming by. I never held it against him. Only dug my heels in harder when it came to work and my trying to get through the days.

The wedding barn at the resort was so close to being completed that we were actually on schedule for our spring opening. And the chalets my brothers and I had convinced my dad to build on the property, instead of adding another hotel building, were all in various stages of being framed and built out. The Sugar Mountain Resort was going to be even more beautiful, if it was possible.

There had been a handful of times when I wanted to call Jeremiah and show him what I’d done, but I always stopped myself from reopening that door, like a fool.

I’d needed him. He’d needed me. And we’d both abandoned each other for reasons we pretended were more important. Being around him now reinforced that.

“Do you need to sign discharge papers or anything?” I asked as we walked slowly down the hall.

“Already done,” he responded.

We walked in silence through the waiting room and past the check-in station, where I tore off my visitor sticker and dumped it into the trash, ignoring the looks from the nurses gathered there. When we got outside, I pointed at my truck in the distance.

“I’ll go get it and bring it to you,” I said.

He huffed out an annoyed sound. “I can walk. Been doing it for a lot of years.”

Stubborn old man.

“Stubborn ass,” I breathed out, and he lifted up a crutch and swatted me on the back of the legs with it. “That hurt, dammit.”

“Good.”

When we got to my truck, I’d almost forgotten that Jasper was inside. He started wagging his tail and barking excitedly at the passenger window, where both Jeremiah and I were standing.

“Who’s this?”

“That’s Jasper.”

“You got a dog?” he asked, like it was a crazy notion somehow.

“He kind of got me,” I said, as if that explained anything when it literally explained nothing.

“Seems like a good boy.” Jeremiah didn’t ask for clarification, just opened the passenger door. “Can you scoot over so I can get in, buddy?”

Jasper was too busy wagging his tail and sniffing at Jeremiah instead of moving. I wondered if I was going to have to put him in the bed of the truck, but I really didn’t want to. It was cold out, and I’d never thrown him back there before. What if he hopped out at a stoplight—or worse, while I was moving?

“Let’s throw your crutches in the bed and get Jasper to sit between us. Sorry. He’s not used to having anyone else in the truck,” I explained.

Jeremiah handed me his crutches before using the handle above the seat to pull himself inside.

“It’s okay. I think we can manage sharing the space for five whole minutes,” he said before petting Jasper, and my dog instantly sat down and laid his head on Jeremiah’s lap.

I walked around to the driver’s side, tossing the crutches in the bed before opening the door, and hopping in, rubbing my hands together. “It’s damn cold out,” I said as I revved the engine and turned on the heater.

“Can’t believe you’re still driving this thing.” Jeremiah ran his fingers across the pink nail-polish stain on the glove box.

Addi had spilled it one time when she was painting her toes. I never had the heart to remove it. Never wanted to really. It had always made her smile whenever she saw that it was still there. It used to make me smile too.

“It still runs. No reason not to.” I shrugged.

“And when it stops running, you’ll bring it to me to fix,” he said, his tone dead serious.

Jeremiah ran the largest repair shop in town, like his dad before him. He had a shop filled with mechanics who were good at their jobs. He never overcharged and worked hard. There were other shops in Sugar Mountain, but Whitman’s Garage was by far the best and the most reputable. You only went somewhere else if they couldn’t fit you in.

“Rebuilt anything good lately?” I asked because his favorite thing to do was rebuild old cars.

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