CHAPTER TWELVE

Wyatt opened his refrigerator door, took one sniff, and shut it. He really should do something about the smell in the icebox, but not tonight.

Exhaustion wasn’t going to allow him the chore of cleaning out the fuzz growing in the vegetable drawer or the unmentionables tucked in rubber containers.

Hunger drove him to his pantry, which wasn’t better than an oversize cupboard with canned and boxed food. The standby go-to box of mac and cheese sat beside a jar of peanut butter.

He reached for the peanut butter and made sure there wasn’t any green growing on the bread sitting on the counter before making himself a quick sandwich. He wasn’t halfway through the first one and he was making a second.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and hummed.

Nothing better than a PB&J.

The past week had been a blur. Between the drama at Miss Gina’s and the week of reunion chaos . . . and Melanie, Wyatt was beat.

It didn’t help that when he finally closed his eyes at night, his thoughts of Melanie kept him tossing and turning. And if he was honest with himself, he’d acknowledge the soreness in his shoulders after climbing up after her and Hope in the tree.

He might climb on a house a couple of times a week, but tree climbing used a few muscles his body forgot he had.

Wyatt took his second half-eaten sandwich into his living room and sank into his couch.

The coffee table was nothing more than two milk crates holding up a piece of glass, but it worked to suit his needs. He’d started the remodel on his own house the minute he’d moved into the place five years before. Once each room was completely redone he would go through the effort of furnishing it before moving on to the next. To date he had his bedroom and master bathroom along with the kitchen completed. The living room was still a shell that needed masonry work around the fireplace, completed flooring—hardwood was his preference—and new lighting throughout. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a big screen hung on a half-finished wall and a couch . . . but he drew the line at tables and occasional chairs. The only real visitors he had were friends like Luke, and they couldn’t give two shits about the decor in his home. They would continue to crack jokes about the plumber’s faucet leaking . . . or in his case, his half-finished house when he could fix just about anything.

Problem was, he’d been working continually since he moved to River Bend. Between the odd-end jobs and handyman needs of the widowed and divorced . . . and the full-time needs of the businesses in town, Gibson Construction was booming. On occasion he would hire a few men to help with bigger jobs, like the one Miss Gina wanted him to do. There was no way he was going to be able to do that solo with the timeline she’d measured out. Why the woman wanted a guest house when the inn sat half full at best most of the year was the question. He wondered if Melanie had given her the excuse to go into an early retirement. The woman had always been eccentric and outspoken, but she was like a comet lighting up the northern sky since the reunion.

He flipped through the channels and kicked his feet up on his hillbilly coffee table and managed maybe three deep breaths before his phone rang. Thankfully the handset was sitting next to his feet and he didn’t need to pick his sore ass up off the couch to answer it.

“Yeah,” he said without checking the number.

Loud voices and music in the background met his ear, which prompted Wyatt to turn the volume down on his TV.

“Wyatt!”

One word was all it took to know Luke was toasted. “Luke, that you?”

“I-I’m gonna need a ride, buddy.”

“Where are you?”

“Jo would kill m-me if I drove. Probably toss the key in the high school time capsule.”

Wyatt switched off the set. No use pretending there’d be any stationary time in front of it with his friend slurring his words.

“Luke, it’s not even eight.” And it wasn’t like his friend to get cooked, let alone midweek.

“And bring your truck so I can get my bike back home.”

“All I own is a truck,” Wyatt reminded him.

“R-right! Thanks, Wyatt. I owe ya.” And then he hung up.

Good thing there was only one real bar in town. The beer and wine served at Sam’s wouldn’t do the bang-up job Luke had apparently managed.

For an early Thursday night, R&B’s was tight with people. Sure enough, Luke’s motorcycle sat parked in the lot along with several others.

Wyatt shoved his keys in the front pocket of his jeans as he walked inside.

The jukebox was pumping out a seriously heavy metal tune with an ear-piercing volume, and patrons were overly loud and intoxicated for such an early hour.

Apparently the post-reunion party wasn’t over yet.

Luke caught sight of him from across the room and waved him over.

“Is this place crazy or what?” Luke asked.

“I thought it would thin out after everyone left.”

Luke held his glass of amber liquid and waved it around. “Not everyone left. Some people actually like it here.” There was bitterness in Luke’s tone.

Josie slid by their table and nodded toward Wyatt. “You driving this one home?”

“That’s the plan.”

Josie patted her hand on the table. “Then I guess I can get you another drink.”

From the glossy eyes and less than steady hand, Wyatt considered suggesting Luke switch to coffee, but he held in his words. There was only one thing that drove a man to this level of drunkenness.

Women.

He wasn’t sure if he should bring up the elephant in the room or leave the fact that Zoe had flown out the day before unsaid.