“I don’t see him that way at all.”
“I shouldn’t say that, but Travis and I worry about him. He’s easily sucked in by anything he thinks could make him money. He’s been selling some random brand’s vitamins and protein powders as a side gig.”
“That sounds harmless. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, and, more importantly, a good heart.”
“He does, and it’s the good heart thing that worries me. I don’t want someone taking advantage of his kind nature.”
“What’s the age difference between you two?”
“Three years.”
“So he’s thirty-two?”
He nods. “Yep.”
“He’s a grown man, Jordan. Maybe it’s time you give him the benefit of the doubt and see where he ends up. I’m thirty-four, and it took me until last year to open this place. Not everyone wants or needs to settle into a lifelong career right after college. He just needs to know what he wants to do for now. The rest will happen organically.”
He remains silent for a moment and then nods before he resumes his sweeping. “You’re right. He’ll find his way like the rest of us did.”
Standing, I clear the table, tossing our empty cups in the trash and placing the crumb-dusted plate in the sink. I grab a takeout box and fill it with various kinds of muffins—chocolate chip, blueberry, cranberry, maple pecan—and carry it over to where Jordan is still sweeping everything into a neat pile.
“Here.” I hold the box out with one hand and reach for the broom handle with the other. “Let me take this.” He resists, tugging playfully, but after a brief tug of war, he lets go with a grin.
“What’s this?” he asks, shifting the box under one arm.
“Those are thank-you muffins.”
His eyebrows lift, then drop just as quickly. “Awesome. You can thank me with your baked goods any time you want.”
I laugh. “It’s not nearly enough. You’ve helped me so much.”
He brushes my reply away with a wave of his hand. “No need to thank me again. I’m glad you’re happy with how the shelves turned out. If there’s anything else you need, all you have to do is ask.”
There’s a quiet sincerity to his words. I’m so used to Jordan the jokester that I’m caught off guard, and all I manage is a nod.
“I guess I’ll see you Thursday night,” he adds as he heads toward the door.
“Actually, you’ll see me a little earlier than that. Your parents invited my grandfather and me over for Thanksgiving dinner.”
He pauses and turns around. His lips slowly spread into a wide smile. “Seriously? That’s great.”
I shrug, suddenly feeling shy. “Your mom insisted.”
“She has surefire methods for getting her way,” he says. “But now I’ll have a reason to look forward to it.”
“Me too,” I say quietly.
He opens the door and hesitates, allowing the cold air in. I smell woodsmoke and salty air. “You never told me the weed brownies story.”
“I guess we’ll have to save it for Thursday night. Drive safely.”
He lifts his hand in a wave. “Always.” Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stand there for a moment, broom still in my grasp, and take in the quiet of the shop. The shelves are up, and the work is done, but it feels as though he sucked all the energy out of the room when he left.
CHAPTER 4
JORDAN
