I frown. No, I didn’t know. “You have a kid?” How did I not know this? I’ve worked with Molly for only a week, albeit on eight-hour shifts, yet it feels like I’m more informed about her as a person and an employee than any of my staff in Denver.
“She’s four.” She digs out her phone and brings up photos of a grinning little girl with wild dark hair.
I look away. It’s not that I don’t want to get to know Molly, but she’s one of my employees. Since when did I want a glimpse into the personal life of someone who worked for me? I don’t know anyone’s private life, and I prefer it that way. I give them the means to take care of themselves and their loved ones, and that’s all the responsibility I care to have.
What an empty fucking existence.
I itch to get out of my skin. It’s like I’ve tried on a new life and it’s chafing. Or I’ve thought about my old one, and that’s what’s bothering me. Ultimately, if the taproom isn’t busy enough that we have time to comb through family pictures, I don’t need to cover for Meredith’s absence. I have to try to talk to her, to tell her…I’m unsure what. I just don’t want to waste my days in town not speaking to her, yet she has no reason to discuss anything more than financials with me.
Fuck it. “I need to head out early. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Have a good night, boss.” Molly doesn’t miss a beat scrolling through her pictures. “And this is her third birthday party. She’s wearing more cake than she ate.”
My brothers shoot me knowing looks but don’t try to stop me. They might feel guilty for what Meredith overheard, but they probably aren’t getting torn up by it. My stomach’s killing me, and I can’t concentrate. I filled two Honey Creek orders with a stout. The customers chalked it up to the funeral, their expressions full of understanding. It’s not Dad’s death that’s thrown me.
On the way home, I go through town and drive past Sawyer’s old farmhouse. Only her old pickup is outside. I head home. The lights are off when I arrive. I haven’t watched the security footage, and after so many pings, I shut off notifications. I almost turned them on as soon as she left, but that’s a little too close to being a stalker. I’ve toed that line enough when it comes to Meredith Winslow.
I let myself into the house and don’t bother with the lights. I know the layout better than I know my place in Denver. I grab my sweats and change right in the living room. Then I grab two bottles of water and tread upstairs, making sure to miss the stairs that creak.
Her door is closed. I knock lightly. She doesn’t answer. I should leave—she can probably guess it’s me—but I tentatively crack the door. All I can make out is the dark lump in the middle of the bed.
“Go away.” Her hoarse, nasally voice stabs right through my heart. She’s been crying, and that guts me.
“I brought you water.” I step in and close the door behind me. Setting one bottle on the end table, I crack the top of the other.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m not buying it.”
The covers rustle, and she sits up. “What, like you know me?”
“I know you work hard. I know you’ve been stuffing your emotions down to get shit done. I bet Uncle Carlos and Sawyer have been able to grieve. I bet you told the sheriff you’d break thenews to Sawyer, Uncle Carlos, and everyone at the brewery so they could hear it from someone who cared.” I wiggle the bottle. “Drink.”
“I’m fine.”
“If you tell me you’re fine one more time, you’re going to find out I’m not an office jockey who cosplays as a cowboy. I’m going to wrestle you down like I’m branding you.”
She snatches the water. “Big talk for a guy who tries to forget all this exists.”
“Crossroads proved impossible to forget. I just kept going regardless.”
She pauses before tipping the bottle to her lips. Her swallows make me feel better.
“Did you eat?” I ask.
“Are you going to force-feed me otherwise?”
There’s enough sarcasm to assuage me. “I promise I’ll find out if you lie, rosy.”
A frustrated huff echoes in the dark. “Why do you care?”
I never intended to hurt this woman, but that’s exactly what I did. She had a right to go off on me at the brewery. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. You said that already.” She thrusts the bottle back, and water sloshes onto my sweats. With a jerk of the covers, she lies down with her back to me. I hear her sniffle.
I put the cap back on and set the bottle by mine. Carefully, I ease myself under the blankets and curl around her. She stiffens, but my body lights up when I touch her. I angle my hips back. She doesn’t need an obnoxious erection pushing into her ass crack.
I wrap an arm around her middle. “It’s okay to cry.”
