Page 11 of Rhett

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that, but thank you.” He pushes his wallet back into his pocket and grabs his coat from the seat beside him. “Do you mind if I go tell Meadow goodbye?”

My pulse stumbles at his question. Nothing means more to me than someone being good to my daughter. He could have told me to tell her goodbye or just not done it, but the fact that Rhett thought about her at all means the world to me. It tells me everything I need to know about his character.

“You should come to Meadow’s party. She likes you, and I figure since you like apple crisp with vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce, I like you too. It would mean a lot to us if you were there. I get it if you have plans, but I wanted to make sure you know that we both extend the invite.”

He stares at me for a moment, like those two parts inside him are battling for dominance, and while I wish I could, it’s not a decision I can help him with.

Finally, he says, “I’ll check my schedule,” and it’s hard for me to hide my smile.

“Good.”

He gives me a quick nod, and then I watch as he walks into the general store and approaches Meadow. The two of them speak for a moment, and then Rhett Swift is gone.

The waiter approaches our table, and I get a box for Meadow’s food and pay before joining her in the store again.

“Time to head out, kiddo.”

“Okay.” She slides her coat, gloves, and hat on.

When we’re in the truck heading back to Birchbark, I ask, “You like Mr. Rhett, huh?”

“I do. I think he’s sad. Easton was sad too, but it’s getting better now that he’s with Uncle Archer.”

She’s always talked about people that way, like she knows more about them than the rest of us, like she can feel their pain. It’s not always easy on her, which means it’s not easy on me. I never would have believed in that kind of thing until my daughter, and maybe I can chalk it up to her being an old soul or more in touch with her emotions. She knows herself so damn well, better than most people triple her age, and maybe that helps her see so much in others.

“Maybe he’s okay,” I tell her.

“Yeah, maybe…but I don’t think so. I think he’s lonely.”

The thing is, I think he’s lonely too. And maybe a part of me is lonely as well.

“I love you, Meadow-bug.”

I don’t have to look at her to know she rolls her eyes. “I love you too, Dad.”

CHAPTER THREE

Rhett

Iwish myshop were bigger. I live in town and don’t have the land or space for anything more, but I have it set up as best as I can. It’s temperature-controlled so none of my projects or supplies get ruined. I’ve been slowly buying things over the years—a saw here, a table there—for no reason at all, really, at least not in the beginning. It wasn’t as if I ever expected to be able to do anything with my passion. Not as Rhett Gregory Swift, the son who lived his life how his father demanded it.

But ever since last summer, I’ve been spending most of my time out here. I’ve made more things than I know what to do with. I’ve started taking tables, shelves, and other items to donate to shelters and programs for those in need. I’ve even listed some of it for free and just take it out to people when they want it. Not in Birchbark, of course, but in other towns in our county. If it were local, people would ask questions I don’t know how to answer. They would wonder what I was doing. Former attorney turned woodworker? Even the thought is ridiculous.

Outside what I’ve donated and given away, it’s all piled up out here, or furnishing my house and Morgan’s bar. He opened Gracie’s recently—which was our sister’s middle name—and I fucking sneaked barstools into his bar in the middle of the night like some creep. He doesn’t know whom they’re from, and I prefer it that way.

At some point, I need to figure out what in the hell I’m doing with my life, but today isn’t that day.

I lose myself in my current project. Working with my hands has always cleared my mind, grounded me. I used to sneak around to do it, find spare moments, before I stopped completely. Dad was right. It had been a waste of my time—at least, back then. Maybe it still is now, but I don’t care because I enjoy it. Building is probably the only thing in my life that brings me joy.

I stay out here for hours, trying not to let all the shit in my head pile up, but I keep thinking about Tripp and Meadow. What did Tripp mean when he said they would both like me there? It sounds self-explanatory, but…Tripp and I have never been friends. He’s never invited me anywhere before, and first we had the snowball fight, then dinner, and now this. Is it because he feels sorry for me? Does he know about my family’s problems from Archer? Is he sitting around pitying me because I’m my father’s son and I’ve spent my life being a shitty brother to Morgan and East?

The thought makes my nape prickle with heat. Fuck pity. I don’t want or deserve it from anyone.

Still, the party’s approaching. Meadow said the end of the month but didn’t tell me the date or time. How in the hell am I supposed to go if I don’t have the info? Did he not say because he doesn’t really want me to go? But then, why would he have mentioned it again, specifically said he wanted to extend the invite, after Meadow left to play games?

“Fuck.” I set down the piece of wood and rub a hand over my face before I realize I’m getting sawdust everywhere. I’m a fucking mess. I don’t know why I’m thinking about this so much, why it matters to me at all. Tripp probably forgot they even invited me.

But Meadow might not. I think about the kind girl with the butterflies on her pants. She probably doesn’t know that her dad only mentioned it because he feels sorry for me, and then what ifI don’t show? I can look up Tripp’s carpentry business and call, but that feels weird.

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