To Have Page 3

  Jimmy hung his head and left with a small, “Sure,” on his way out, closing the door half-heartedly.

  She gave a pitying look towards the door, which quickly morphed into a frown when she saw I was still standing there.

  “So, this whole ‘no dating co-workers’ rule…” I scratched right below my lower lip, noticing how her angry eyes followed the movement of my finger as I drug it carefully across the outer rim. “I don’t recall seeing it in the handbook last night.”

  She pursed her lips, which I’m sure was supposed to make her look more serious. It only made me want to kiss the fuck out of them once again. “It’s more of an unspoken rule. You know, to make sure no one gets the wrong idea—or tries something that might get them fired.” The cocked eyebrow was I’m sure supposed to be a stern warning, but short of apocalyptic catastrophe, there wasn’t a warning that existed to keep me away from her now.

  “Of course. You don’t want anyone to think they can have something that already belongs to someone else.” I challenged, seeing just how far her breaking point was now. I ignored the twinge in my heart that reminded me I would already know the answer to that if I had stuck around, done things differently.

  “Right. Good thing I only belong to myself.” She crossed her arms in defiance and lifted her chin. “Which is why the rule exists: no one employed by Kasen Construction will date me. Ever.”

  I don’t know when little Charlotte had grown claws, but I was starting to like this newfound feistiness. She was eternally sweet, but I liked this backbone I’m seeing from her—really liked it. I grinned and leaned closer to her, lowering my voice to somewhere between a growl and a whisper. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sunshine.”

  Without sparing another glance, I turned towards the door and left the cool office and my girl in the rearview. I closed the door, knowing I had left her with the perfect parting words to inch their way under her skin and take root there. Although, the sound of glass breaking against the metal office wall sounded like Charlotte hadn’t had her fill to say. We’ll have our time, Sunshine. Don’t you worry.

  Chapter Four

  Charlotte

  Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sunshine. I hated that he still used that nickname. I hated that hearing him say it still affected me. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sunshine. Well, Mr. Devereaux: unlike you, I keep my promises.

  I texted Grey immediately after Deacon left, telling him to get his butt back to the trailer. About 30 minutes later, he walked in, shedding his sunglasses again and taking in the few glass shards I still had to clean up from my empty coffee mug “accidentally” hitting the wall. “Need something?”

  I righted the broom and began sweeping up the shards of my favorite coffee mug. “Yeah. A word.”

  “Have anything to do with the death of that poor coffee mug?” Grey questioned as he took in the pieces of ceramic strewn across the floor.

  “I’m gonna head out, but I’ll stop back by with the cases of water for the men.”

  “Bless you, child.” He swiped his lucky bandana across his forehead. “It’s 110 out there today.”

  “It’s 89, you big baby. It’s just the humidity. Considering what you pulled on me this morning, a little extra sweat is far less than what you deserve.”

  “Not a happy reunion?”

  “Were you expecting one?”

  “What happened between you two that made you hate him so much?”

  He tricked me into thinking he wanted me, then rejected and humiliated me. Again. “I have too much to do and no desire to answer your question. Deacon is a non-issue so long as you keep him busy on the construction sites and away from this office. Don’t forget: you gave me your word.” I reminded him as I grabbed my keys off the edge of my desk and my crossbody wallet hidden in the lower desk drawer. “I’ve got classes this afternoon and evening, so I’m gonna head out to Elsie’s after I drop the supplies off.”

  “How’s my favorite cougar doing?”

  “You say that like you don’t talk to her on the daily. And she’s still ninety-five while you’re barely twenty-two,” I smiled, rolling my eyes at him. “Y’all have the weirdest relationship.”

  “Nah. Elsie knows how to cut up—unlike some people.”

  The remaining shards of my mug scraped across the linoleum, and the scratching sounds mixed with the whirring of the older air conditioner. “I’m going to assume you’re not talking to me.”

  “Charlotte, when’s the last time you smiled because you wanted to? Not because you had to, not because you were trying to be nice. I mean, really smiled? Or laughed so hard, you cried?”

  I stood the broom back up on its handle—superstitious, but we need all the good luck we can get right now—and thought about his question. When was the last time I laughed until I cried, or even just smiled because my heart was full of joy?

  “See? You don’t even know, do you?”

  “I smile all the time. See?”—I pointed a nude-tipped fingernail towards my maniacal grin—“Smiling’s my favorite.”

  “If you have to rip off Buddy the Elf quotes and give me that evil version of what I assume is a smile, there’s a good chance you’re overdue for some fun.”

  “I have lots of fun,” I bit back. “When’s the last time you took anything serious?”

  The immediate grimace he gave told me I’d struck a nerve. “I have a whole new crew of men to train because Ferris Lord snagged our best workers and a company to keep from going under so Dad doesn’t lose everything he and Papa Ree built together. Believe me, Charlotte. It’d be easy just to throw my hands in the air and say, ‘To Hell with it all.’” I opened my mouth, but a raised hand stopped me from continuing. “And spare me your lecture. I don’t have time to deal with unnecessary crap today, either.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that…” I patted my hands on his shoulders. “You’re doing a good job, Grey. Really. Daddy would be proud.”

  A slight nod gave me his gratitude. He opened his arms wide. “Hug it out?”

  “I love you, but I don’t want to smell like a grown man’s armpits when I teach tonight. I don’t have time to scrub off the funk before then.”

  “Shake on it.”

  “Shake on it.”

  He unlatched his hand from mine and headed back to the door. “Call me when you get close, and I’ll have a couple of the guys come and get those cases.”

  I immediately went on alert. “Not—”

  “Not Deacon. I promise.”

  I breathed a small sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’d hate for you to have to find another worker.”

  “Why would I need another one?”

  I grinned an evil grin. “You send him out to help, and I’ll make sure he gets familiar with my tire tread pattern.”

  True to his word, Grey had a couple of the newbies waiting on me when I returned. I didn’t acknowledge that I saw him, but I could feel the familiar burn of being watched on my back. Nearly two years and I’m still going to pieces at first sight of him. You’re better than that, Charlotte Kasen.

  I made quick work of putting away most of the supplies as the guys brought in the water bottles and placed them in the fridge. I left out of there hot on their heels, hoping to get past my brother and Deacon before either of them saw me and tried to strike up a conversation. Grey could call or text if he needed something, and Deacon—holy crap.

  I yanked out my phone and texted Grey as I walked back to my car.

  C: Do NOT under any circumstances give Deacon my #.

  There. Crisis averted.

  G: Did you forget that our #’s are listed on the business card you gave to the new guys all this morning?

  So much for that.

  G: Also, Deacon was the one to hand me my phone and saw the msg. Rude, much?

  The dots continued to bounce, and I didn’t realize I was near my car until I walked into my driver's side door. This was not my day. I clicked the unlock button and scurried in, hopi
ng to get away without any further mishaps.

  G: I think Mom will be so disappointed by your behavior, young lady :( She thinks she raised a proper Southern girl, you know.

  More dots.

  Rolling my eyes, I threw my purse across the console to the passenger’s side and buckled up in a fury. I had just turned the ignition over when a ding sounded from my phone.

  No goodbye hugs for the workers?

  C: How about you give them one? Maybe add in one of those butt slaps you guys can’t seem to get enough of in sports?

  Kinky. But, I don’t swing that way.

  What in the world?

  C: Ewwww! I don’t want to think about any way you swing, sicko.

  To the right. Left feels unnatural ;)

  C: I don’t even want to know what that means. I need to leave, doofus. You’ve got work to do.

  This is fun, though.

  C: Gotta go. You can torture me later.

  Didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.

  C: Quit being weird. See you at the house for dinner.

  It’s a date.

  I checked my rearview mirror and eased my car back in reverse. Another ding shot through before I could put it in drive. Seriously, Grey? I put my car in park again, checking my phone one last time.

  G: Mom & Dad’s for dinner tonight?

  What was his deal with wasting time today?

  C: I just told you I’d see you there.

  G: No, you didn’t.

  I scrunched my brows in confusion as I looked through our text messages and noticed a few were missing.

  C: Yes, I did.

  C: Hugs? Butt slaps? Swinging?

  G: Nope. See?

  G: And WTF, Charlotte?????

  A screenshot came through, showing our last messages with a few omitted. Well, if he wasn’t the one I sent those to, who was… Oh. No. I opened my message log and clicked on the other number with whom I just had engaged in semi-inappropriate banter. Sure enough, there they were: butt slaps, swinging, and all.

  C: Who is this?

  Unknown: Your date tonight.

  C: Hahaha. Seriously.

  Unknown: If you have to ask that, then you probably shouldn’t be flirting with strangers.

  A sun emoji at the end. I groaned not so internally and shot back a final message.

  C: Lose this #

  Unknown: Not a chance, Sunshine ;)

  With a huff, I threw my phone in the seat beside me, put my little red coupe in reverse, and got the heck out of Dodge before he could ruin my day any more than he already had.

  Chapter Five

  Charlotte

  The rest of the drive to Elsie’s was radio silent, thank goodness. As I rounded the last curve of her long driveway that was flanked by fully grown willow trees, I thought about the big willow behind my parents’ home—my magical hiding place. Now and then, the boys would let me in on a game of hide-and-seek. Being a girl and the youngest, I usually had to pout a bit or give Deacon the eyes. Back when we were all friends and I looked up to him as my guardian against my older brothers—and the world.

  The first time he played with us, I ran straight to my beautiful willow tree as fast as my little 5-year-old legs could go, tucking myself in behind the trunk while they counted. Deacon and Aidan had become fast friends, and he was hanging around more and more often, which made me happy because he didn’t look as sad as he did when he was alone in his backyard. I thought they’d find me quickly so I would be out, then they could play together minus an annoying little sister, but they didn’t come right away. After a while, I heard them heading my way. Aidan called my name, and Grey would tease me that they were coming for me. Mason never said a word, but I guarantee his eyes were taking everything in, trying to figure out where I was like he was solving a puzzle in his head. Mom called him the observant one because nothing got past him.

  As they got closer to my hiding place, Deacon spoke up. D-Did you all s-see that? The footprints stopped in their tracks. See what? That was Aidan. T-T-Those bushes moved. I th-think she’s over th-there. Grass crunching from someone shuffling their feet. I think she’s over by that willow tree. It’s her favorite place to hide. Mason. I braced myself for them to come around the trunk and declare the game over. No. I think sh-she’s over th-there. I held my breath, waiting for Aidan to make his choice since he was the ringleader. Let’s go over to the bushes.

  I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. But, Aidan… Mason was usually the one A listened to, so he didn’t sound too happy. We’ll try the bushes first, then come back if she’s not over there. A sharp breath huffed from Mase. Quit being a baby about it, Mason. Grey just had to get in his dig. I'm not a baby. Footsteps stomped harshly in the dry grass. Let’s go. Two more sets of footfalls followed him. I chanced a peek around the big trunk, only to find Deacon staring at me, lifting his finger to his mouth to give me the Shhhh sign. I grinned so big at him and ducked back behind the tree, my heart racing from all the excitement of almost getting caught. I heard Aidan’s distant voice call for Deacon, and the final set of footsteps crunched away from me. I didn’t know if Deacon knew I was behind my tree or not before he pointed them to the bushes, but the thought of him keeping me safe made my heart beat just a little bit faster.

  When we played, Deacon would find me under the willow and take me around the yard a different way each time from the boys, holding my hand, and would present me to my brothers when we caught up to them. Aidan was always impressed. Mason was disappointed because he lost again and told Deacon to stop holding my hand. And Grey? He’d poke fun at Deacon because girls were gross. He’d take the ribbing with stride because anything was better than being in that house with his dad. I never realized until I was much older how a simple game of hide-and-seek must have been a way for him to hide from the pain that awaited him at home. A sweet boy that lived with a monster.

  Not so sweet anymore, is he, Charlotte?

  I shook the memory from my head as I parked my car and put my phone on vibrate. I didn’t want my visit with Elsie disturbed, but with Daddy on the mend, I had to keep it on me in case Mom needed something for him, with everything else ignored until I made arrived at the studio. The Beaumont estate had lots of property around it, and the spacious white Victorian with elaborate gingerbreading on the wrap-around porches was the picture of old-school grandeur. Houses like these were a relic of yesteryear, a prime example of painstaking craftsmanship that used to exist in droves, now increasingly rare and expensive. Made of the stoutest woods, these houses were built to be handed down through the generations, but few survived the push of modern-day commerce and capital gains.

  Properties like this with its expansive boundary lines were a prime investment for real estate developers who were always looking for lots of room to pack in suburbs on the outskirts of a population-dense city or to begin city planning for the next new hotbed of urban development. Elsie had had her share of offers, but she always turned them down, citing that “a family was meant to live here, not a garish group of cookie-cutter monstrosities.” Much like my dad, she had her ideas of what constituted a proper neighborhood. Houses should be as unique as the individuals who fill them, Charlotte.

  Daddy had done some work at the Beaumont house when I was around 4, and when he showed her his worn leather wallet full of pictures, she talked him into bringing us along so she could meet us in person. It was love at first sight for boys, and I adored how she made over each one of them, especially Mason and Grey. Being twins sometimes meant a lumped identity for the boys, but not with Elsie. Even when Deacon became part of our family, she always made sure he received special attention too. Daddy would take us with him nearly every time he’d go over the years, each of us heading to our favorite destination once we greeted her. While the boys loved the enormous stream-fed pond stocked with fish and the big meadow that was perfect for a game of baseball, I enjoyed hanging out with the lady of the house. She always made me feel welcome in every part of her home. We’d s
pend hours making cookies and cranberry-orange scones in her bright white kitchen accented in lemon yellow, having a proper cup of tea in the large dining room, and playing in her makeup and perfumes at her beautiful dressing table. She always insisted that he bring us along, telling him it was refreshing to hear children laughing in her home again.

  Her daughter Anne had passed away about a decade ago, and the only living relative she had left was her son Carrington, who at 72 had no plans of settling down after a long life of bachelorhood, much to Elsie’s chagrin. Anne was married for many years but had no children, so Carrington, the last of the Beaumonts, was the heir to everything Elsie would leave behind when she passed away. I hated that Elsie has no other family, even though we had adopted her as our surrogate grandmother. Both of my grandfathers had passed away before Aidan was born, and both of my grandmothers were gone before I turned four, so having her in our lives was a blessing of the highest magnitude.

  As I pitter-pattered my ballet flats on the old creaking steps—a change from the heavy metatarsals Daddy insisted I wear on site—I took in the way the double entry doors adorned with beveled glass and copper fixtures. I once had asked her why there were two doors instead of just one. Her response was typical Elsie: “Why sugar, it’s so you can greet twice as many people into your home.” I’m sure it was something more mundane like it was easier to get furniture moved into the house, but her colorful answers were always better than anything reality could dish out.

  I knocked twice and opened the unlocked door, a perk of living in a secluded neighborhood with kind neighbors who looked after each other. “Anyone home?”

  “In here, sugar!”

  I rounded the beautiful grand staircase and saw her sitting at the dining room table, all dolled up like she was expecting someone special. “Sorry I’m so late. I had some errands to run while I was getting supplies for the site.”

  “Nonsense. You’re right on time.” She carefully poured the tea in our favorite cups and placed two sugar cubes on each saucer.