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I can count my only friends in this town on two fingers (middle fingers, which I’m holding up to the rest of the people parading around as my close personal confidants—the ones who only call to get the inside scoop).
I do my best to avoid social media, entertainment news, and any online articles about Brett and me. But I still know my name is being dragged through the mud by his people. And all they’ve got is me kissing Digger. How they feel that’s on par with the Manson murders is beyond me.
The clock is ticking because school starts in a few weeks, and I know once the kids go back, there will be no hiding the truth from them. They’ll be surrounded by classmates whose parents want the gory details. They’ll be prodded, questioned, and they’ll hear far too much. At after-school pick-ups, I will be barraged with a slew of inquiries about Brett, Justine, me,andDigger.
I’m going to have to tell the kids just enough, so I don’t break their trust, but not so much that their view of love and marriage is forever tarnished. It’s a tightrope I’m not sure I can cross. But if I fall, the consequences will last a lifetime.
On top of all of that, I ache for Digger. The look on his face the last time I saw him, the pain and disappointment. All I want to do is pack our things and rush back up to Gamble to be with him. The kids were happy there. I was happy there. And it was because of him. I’ve never felt so safe or adored in my entire life than I did when I was with him. Everything was better with him.
Not being able to contact him until the divorce proceedings are final is killing me. I want him to know the truth. That I’m in love with him, and even though I don’t know how to make it work, I want to find a way.
Chapter36
Digger
Summer is finally drawing to a close. The night skies are starting to make an appearance every evening around nine p.m. They bring cool air and the promise of change. Winter means that Evie, Grandpa Jack, and I get a well-earned break from being run off our feet.
Thanks to the whole world hoping to catch sight of Harper, the lodge has never been busier. It’s by far been our most profitable season yet. A season that, according to our upcoming bookings, is uncharacteristically carrying over into the fall. I’m saving up to build a large gazebo for hosting special events, which should help draw even more business.
I’m also back to my preferred state of being alone. No romantic entanglements for this guy. The only problem is nothing feels normal, like it did before. And all because I was fool enough to let myself fall for someone I had no business falling for.
Having said that, Harper is the reason we can afford the gazebo. We’ve been booked solid every night and the restaurant has become a tourist destination for those who want to “sit where Harper sat.” The chaos of it all is exactly what I’ve needed to get through the last few weeks, but the constant stream of people asking me about Harper hasn’t exactly made it possible to forget about her and move on.
Every night when I flop into bed, I find myself looking her up online. I pretend I’m just checking to make sure nothing bad has happened to the kids, but of course, that’s just a load of crap. As pathetic as it is, I’m really hoping to see some sort of sign that she’s thinking about me (even though she’s not) and that she’s changed her mind and is coming back (which she won’t).
Neither of us have tried to contact each other since she left. But the truth is, she’s the one who left, so it’s really up to her to make the next move. If there is a next move to make, that is.
Today is Grandpa Jack’s seventy-ninth birthday, so we’re at Moira’s for some whiskey and cake (his preferred way to celebrate). We’ve already sung the song, Jack opened his gifts (the same thing he asks for every year—wool socks, a new plaid shirt, and a three-pack of Hanes white cotton T-shirts), and we’ve had cake and ice cream. He and Moira are sitting in her kitchen visiting while I read the twins a bedtime story.
I’ve just closed the book and my eyelids are growing heavy. I’d like nothing more than to drift off to sleep right here so I can avoid …
“Uncle Digger,” Ash says, waking me up. “You’re snoring real loud.”
“Sorry, buddy,” I tell him, rolling off his bed and standing up.
“That’s okay,” he says, grinning up at me. “But, man, you are a loud sleeper. It’s like a chainsaw was going off.”
I ruffle his hair, drop a kiss on his forehead, and wish him a good night’s sleep. Turning to Colton’s bed, I see he’s already out cold, so I tuck his blanket up under his chin and sneak out of the room. When I get to the kitchen, Grandpa is on his second drink (at least I hope it’s only his second one) and Moira is standing by the kettle, waiting for it to boil.
“Would you like some herbal tea?” she asks.
“No, thanks,” I say. “We should probably get going. I’m beat.”
“Sit down,” Jack tells me. “I only have a few more birthdays left in me.”
I do as he says, but not before I point out that he’s been saying that since I was a teenager.
“And every year I get closer to being right,” he says with a gleam in his eye. “Now, what are we going to do about you?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know what he means.
“Well, from where I’m sitting, you’re miserable, and I don’t see it getting better unless you do something about it.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, looking over at Moira for support.
She joins us at the table, but instead of taking my side, she reaches out and puts her hand on mine, patting it like she does the boys’. “You’re anything but fine.”
“Don’t start,” I tell them angrily.
