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“Have you ever thought of hiring somebody?” he asked as he pulled down the tree topper and placed it carefully in the cart.
I nodded my head. “Yeah, but I can’t afford to pay them. Paying them also includes me paying for their health insurance and 401k… which I’m not sure I can handle doing for an employee right now.”
“Have you considered just selling your house?” he asked.
I sighed and pulled down some wire to help attach the ribbon to the tree.
“Yes,” I sighed. “But nobody wants a shit ton of acreage with a house the size of mine. Ask me how I know.”
His eyes focused on mine. “I’m assuming you tried to sell it?”
I gritted my teeth. “Yep. Quite a few times, actually. I’ve put it on the market, and then taken it off, then put it back on about five times now. I put it on, then my father-in-law convinces me to take it off.”
“Why?” he wondered.
“He’s paying the mortgage for me,” I admitted. “I can’t afford to pay it on my own now.”
“Do you get along with your father-in-law?” he asked.
I nodded my head. “Actually, Malloy and I get along famously. It’s his son and me who don’t.”
He winced. “Malloy is a really cool guy. And you’re right, his son was the douche, not him.”
I scrunched up my nose in derision.
“I’m not sure where I went wrong, to be honest,” I admitted. “It’s just… at first he was a really, really great guy. But over time? He turned. Changed into somebody I’d never met before. I thought I was getting a younger version of Malloy, and it turns out I was getting a knock-off version. One that gives you the shits and makes you fat at the same time.”
There was a low, thunderous roar that had my eyes slicing away from the Christmas ornaments and ribbon to the man beside me.
My mouth fell open when he openly guffawed. “Ahhh, fuck.”
I tried to fight the smile but couldn’t quite manage it.
“It’s the truth, though,” I admitted. “He really fucked me up. When he used to yell at me for being fat, I only ate more. I’m a stress eater.”
“I think everyone is a stress eater,” he admitted. “When my mom and brothers died…” He hesitated as if he couldn’t believe he’d just said what he’d said, then continued a little more warily. “I was a stick skinny kid, always had been. But when we were taken in by our foster parents, I started eating. A lot. I gained like fifty pounds in about six months. Was known as ‘that fat, new kid’ until I turned eighteen and went into the military. Luckily, I grew into my new weight. There was one point where Banks and I didn’t even look like we were twins, I was that fat.”
I frowned hard. “I’m sure your version of fat really wasn’t that fat.”
He pulled out his phone then and started swiping through pictures, stopping only when he found the one he wanted.
Turning the phone around, he showed me the picture that he’d been searching for.
In it was an enlistment ceremony picture.
In it was Ace, Banks, Callum—or at least who I assumed was Callum—Darby, and Georgia.
Callum and Banks were side by side, smiling wide for the camera.
And yes, Callum was the heaviest person in the picture. He was also quite adorable, even then.
“That’s adorable,” I admitted. “Where’s the graduation one?”
He pulled his phone back and swiped another couple of pictures, turning it back around when he found the one he wanted.
“This one was taken eight weeks later,” he said. “At our graduation ceremony.”
Callum and Banks were side by side, Callum noticeably slimmer than he had been.
The both of them were decked out in their official uniforms and looking sharp as hell.
My eyes automatically strayed to Callum and stayed there.
I admired everything about the man from his shaven jaw all the way down to his polished-within-an-inch-of-their-life shoes.
“You look really good there,” I admitted. “Like you’re finally happy.”
And he did.
There was a significant ‘feel’ to the other picture. Although they’d all been smiling, you could tell that they were definitely sad.
In the second picture, though, you could practically see that the pall had been lifted—at least momentarily.
“I was happy-ish,” he agreed. “For a little bit, anyway.”
It was like he was mirroring my own thoughts.
“How long were you in the military?” I asked as I handed him back his phone.
He took it and shoved it back into his pocket, his eyes taking in the ornaments around him.
“Four years,” he said. “I might’ve stayed in longer had Ace not wanted to come back here and reopen the farm.”
I smiled. “That was nice of you, doing that for him.”
“I didn’t want him to come back here by himself,” he said. “He would have, too. And I’d have felt horrible about it.”
