Page 46 of Higher Ground
Tucker pushed off the bench and sat opposite Byron. His elbows propped onto the table, and he swung the near-empty beer between his fingers.
“You know,” he started, his eyebrow cocked as he smirked up at Byron, “the thing about living with a chick is that they talk. A lot. And they get emotional.”
Byron had a feeling he knew where this was going. He’d been under no illusion that Emory wouldn’t have told her best friend about … well, everything. Her degree, definitely. The fact they’d finally given in to the temptation they’d both apparently been holding back for a while now? Probably. At least it seemed that way after the conversation he’d overheard the end of.
He didn’t respond to Tucker’s jest. Figured he’d call on his right to remain silent.
“You want to know what has her so worked up, she ends up crying most days?”
Well, that was unexpected. Byron downed the last dregs of his beer and got up to pull a second from the fridge. He grabbed one for Tucker without asking, dropping it onto the table before sitting back down.
“Emory’s thinking of leaving.”
Ouch. Byron knew that was on the cards for her, but he also knew that what they had wassomething.
“According to Mya, Jaxon is kicking Emory out of the cottage. She said there’s no point finding a new rental when she might move to the city in a few months anyway. As soon as the flood’s down, Emory is going to start looking at somewhere to go.”
Byron rolled his shoulders forward and slouched into his chair. He dropped his head against the table, no longer caring if Tucker saw just how deeply this cut him. All this time, he’d been wondering if she would stay here once Jaxon kicked her out, and she’d been planning her exit. He should have done something sooner, made sure she knew just how much he cared for her long before she even thought about leaving.
“She can’t leave.” He meant to say more, he wanted to say more, but the grating sound of the back door sliding open cut him off.
Emory carried Clayton inside, kicking her shoes into the bucket before pulling Clayton’s off. Byron jolted upright in his seat and took a long swig of his beer. The frothy liquid did nothing to ease the lump in his throat, but he was starting to suspect it was becoming permanent.
Clayton ran for Tucker as soon as Emory let him on the ground and climbed into his uncle’s open arms. When he reached for Tucker’s beer, Emory moved it to the centre of the table and dropped a red water bottle in its place.
“There’s a bag of stuff for you on the counter,” Tucker told her. “Smells fruity and fresh. Mya said you’d appreciate them?”
“My candles,” Emory squealed. She dropped her nose into the bag sitting on the bench, inhaling deeply with her eyes closed. “Ever since I finished the one Byron bought, I’ve been dying to try the other scents. Please tell her thank you.”
Tucker’s eyes widened, and he kicked Byron under the table. Byron gave his head a sharp shake and kicked him back.
“So …” Oblivious to their silent berating, Emory moved back to the table with a grin. She shoved her hip against Tucker’s arm when he didn’t respond. Byron watched as she tried to get Tucker’s attention, poking his arm and humming loudly.
“Ugh.” She gave up, dropping into the seat next to him. “How’s Mya?”
Tucker ignored the inflection in her question. “She’s fine. Didn’t you just talk to her last night?”
“Yes, but I want to know whatyouthink.”
This, Byron realised, was one of the many things he loved about Emory. The friendly banter she could get in with just about anybody. He loved it most when it was directed at him, but Tucker was a close second. There was nothing romantic or lustful about how Emory and Tucker got along. They were family, that was all. He watched her jab at his arm, waiting for him to give in. His chest pulled toward her, but the reality of what Tucker had said began to sink into his bones.
He loved her, but she was thinking about leaving town.
There was no time to dwell, though, not while Tucker was still here at least. Because his own troubles aside, Byron was curious how things were going with Mya and Tucker. He hadn’t even known Tucker liked the reserved librarian, let alone that they were close enough for her to move in during the flood.
“Okay, okay. Fuck, stop. I mean, fudge.” Tucker cowered behind Clayton, hiding from Emory’s persistent poking. He covered Clayton’s ears, as though that could stop the boy from hearing what he’d said a minute ago.
Byron felt the weight in his shoulders easing a fraction. “Clayton, why don’t you go build a racetrack for the trucks? We’ll play once Tuck heads home?”
Wriggling in Tucker’s lap, Clayton refused. His mop of sandy hair fell to his face, but he blew it away with a sloppy exhale.
“I go on the boat?” he asked.
Tucker and Byron looked to Emory, who glared between them. “I should have known he would ask that.” She sighed as she settled her gaze on Tucker. “I have his swim vest packed somewhere. Do you think it would be safe enough?”
“If you’re comfortable with it, sure. We can stay close.”
Emory nodded and reached out to tuck Clayton’s hair back off his face. He looked up at his mother with soft eyes, and his lower lip poked out.
