Page 60 of Fairy Tale Lies
“True. My family’s close. Again. Yet it’s nothing compared to when my mom was alive.” A sad smile flickered across Will’s lips.
He surprised her. Will was more open with his past than Jacob.
Greta stopped drying and leaned against the counter to peer at Will. “Sounds wonderful.”
He nodded. “Too bad I didn’t appreciate it at the time. Anyway, we’re surviving, now, even thriving. It also helps I like cooking. It’s like a part of her is still here with me.”
“Your mother taught you?”
“As kids, she said we had to eat, and therefore we had to learn to cook. She considered it her job to teach us since Dad can barely make an edible sandwich. She taught both Jacob and me the basics. Jacob tolerated the lessons. I, on the other hand, wanted to know everything. Like Mom, I enjoy creating something everyone needs and also brings people together. I’d even started taking culinary classes after high school…only to drop out. I was too busy ruining my life. Wasted too many years.” Will pulled the plug in the sink and kept his gaze on the water running down the drain before turning to face Greta. “Tell me, do you like to cook? Your mom or dad teach you any good recipes you’re willing to share?”
He clearly wanted to shift the topic, and Greta let him. Even if the subject embarrassed her a bit. “I honestly don’t know. Never tried.”
“Never tried? Not even eggs or rice? Your parents never left you to fend for yourself?” Will’s eyes were wide as the saucer plates he’d just washed.
“Oh, they were gone a lot of the time…um…we had a cook. When my sister and I were younger, the cook never wanted us under foot, bothering her. Eventually, we lost interest and stopped asking her to teach us.”
“Your own cook, huh?” Will leaned back and eyed her. “That’s right. Your father owns Swift. I forgot you come from money. You don’t act like it.”
She bristled a little. His words were factual. The way he said them was rude. He sounded like Jacob when they first met, and he’d insulted her upbringing. “Why do you sound affronted? You act like I told you I was raised in a brothel by a madam.”
“Jacob might like that.” Will chuckled, moving from the counter to the worn, well-made kitchen table. Before he sat, he offered a chair to Greta. She accepted, albeit with some irritation.
Will held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Let me explain. A while back he dated a woman from a super wealthy family. I’m almost positive she lives in the same city as you. Petite Bois, right?”
Greta nodded, wondering if she was friends with the woman. “I don’t live there now. I was raised there.”
“Anyway, it ended badly. Ever since, he’s warned me to stay away from rich bitch—um, ladies. He says they’re vapid and empty-headed.”
It explained Jacob’s attitude when they’d first met.
She found it a bit harsh and unfair to judge a whole social class because of one snob. However, she understood why he had. Blake had left her with plenty of invisible emotional scars.
“Jacob doesn’t think you’re this way. He’s crazy about you,” Will finished.
His last words halted Greta’s growing annoyance.
She quirked an eyebrow. “You sure, or are you saying this because you hope it’ll help remove the taste of foot from your mouth?”
He smacked his lips together. “Nope. I can still taste it. Though, in all seriousness, Jacob’s enamored. I cannot remember the last time he brought a lady home. I worried the responsibility thrown on his shoulders after our mom died destroyed his softer side. It’s nice seeing him happy.”
Greta recalled the sad conversation she had with Jacob at Belle Isle. His father’s drinking and Will’s partying. “I can’t imagine the pain you and your family had to bear after the death of your mother. How it changed each of you. I’m sorry.”
“So am I. My dad and I didn’t handle it well. We left Jacob to clean our messes.”
“What do you mean?”
When it came to his past, Jacob was closed-mouthed. She sensed Will wanted to tell his story.
He ran a finger along a gouge, keeping his gaze trained on his fingers. “Without him, we wouldn’t have this house, hell, I might not have my life. Or not much of one. I had no insurance or money, only loads of trouble and a taste for drugs. When I finally understood the mess I’d made of my life, Jacob was there to help. He paid for my long-term treatment, and after, he gave me a place to live.”
The dam holding back her curiosity broke, and a tidal wave of questions flew at her. She grabbed at the first few. “What do you mean, you would have lost this house? Is it not your father’s?”
Will shook his head. “Not anymore. Mom got sick, and they had to remortgage the house to cover her medical bills. After my dad lost his job, he couldn’t pay the loan agreement. The house went into foreclosure. Jacob took care of it. He paid off the mortgage debt, and took over the rest of the payments.” Will gave a sad chuckle. “He tells me he did it because he’s lazy and didn’t want to pack his stuff to move.”
Greta was speechless. She went from a million questions to her brain going into lockdown. Her mind raced, and pieces of conversations at work fell in place. Jacob’s evasiveness, when asked why he waited to expand his business became evident. He hadn’t been lazy or afraid to take the next step with Rework. He’d been busy taking care of his family, helping them survive.
Laughter drifted down the hall, and, seconds later, a door slammed shut. The rumbling timbre of Jacob’s voice carried to her as he stopped, somewhere nearby, talking with his father.
