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“Better get used to it,” I singsong.
Fisher narrows his eyes the moment he sees me. “Are you still drunk from last night or something?”
Diesel chuckles, shaking his head.
“Nope. Sober as can be. What’s on the agenda today?” I ask before taking a sip of coffee.
“Your dad wants you in the shop to help him cut wood for the horse corral,” he says.
“What? Jackson’s building another one?” I ask because this is news to me.
“Yep. Kiera talked him into adding on.”
I smirk. Of course she did. Aunt Kiera could talk Jackson into almost anything.
“And what about me?” Diesel asks, folding his arms over his chest.
“Regular duties, then I need you to run into town for a pickup,” Fisher explains, looking down at his planner instead of at Diesel.
“Great. Bye.” He’s out the door before I’ve even moved my feet, mainly because he hates being around my cousin.
“You two ever gonna kiss and make up?” I ask Fisher.
“As soon as he pulls that stick out of his ass,” he remarks. “He’s the one with the problem. Not me.”
I roll my eyes. Easy for him to say, I suppose. “Well, you have a few more months here. Might want to find a way to get over your beef.”
“Tell that to your boy.”
“I bet punching you in the face would make him feel better, but hey, that’s just me,” I taunt, walking toward the shop. “See ya.”
Pulling out the cutter and sawhorses, I set up what we’ll need to measure and cut the large pieces for the posts. My dad arrives minutes later with my mom on his heels talking a hundred miles an hour.
Before I can announce I’m here, my dad grabs my mom, cups her face, and kisses her hard. He tilts his head so his hat doesn’t smack her as she wraps her arms around his waist. It’s adorable how they’re still so in love after all these years, and it gives me hope for a long and happy marriage too. However, the second my mother moans, I’m done.
“Excuse me,” I say, clearing my throat obnoxiously loud. “This is how childhood traumatic stories are born.”
They break apart, not in the least embarrassed as they scowl at me. “You’re not a child anymore,” my mother retorts.
My dad shamelessly slides his hand down and cups her ass. “How do you think babies are born? Need a demo?” He waggles his brows, which has my mom laughing.
“Oh God. Y’all are too damn much.” I groan. “You can do this project alone.” I make a big show of ripping off my gloves, but my dad just rolls his eyes.
“And if you do need to know how babies are born, I can give you some pamphlets,” my mom adds.
“I went to fifth grade health class. I’m good.” I put my gloves back on and walk away. “When you two lovebirds are done making me sick, let’s get to work.”
“Hey, I’m your boss. Not the other way around,” my dad quips.
I wave him off over my shoulder. Perhaps I should be happy they’re still together, considering how many of my friends grew up in split households, but I could do without the over-the-top PDA.
My father finally joins me, and we start working. He blasts the radio and starts singing along to the ridiculous country songs. I don’t even have it in me to give him shit for it because Diesel does the same thing.
At five until nine, I tell him I’m taking a break to grab a bite to eat at the B&B. He smirks, knowing I’ll be meeting Zoey. I know he’s still surprised about the marriage, but he understands my situation more than anyone.
I walk into the B&B after cleaning the sawdust off my shirt and jeans, trying not to look like a mess. Zoey’s in one of the lounge chairs reading, so I walk up behind her and press my lips to her ear.
“I just found the prettiest woman here. Care to join me for breakfast?”
The woman jumps, nearly smacking me in the face with her book. I stumble back just as she turns and scowls at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Oh my God. It’s not Zoey. Though she has the same hair color and build as her.
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry.” I press a hand to my chest, mortified. “I thought you were someone else.”
She continues shooting daggers at me, and when I look up, Zoey is standing across the room with an arched brow and a knowing smirk.
“You lost, cowboy?” Zoey saunters toward me as the other woman walks away. I try to apologize to her again before she’s out of sight, but she ignores me. No doubt, Uncle John will hear about it.
“I swear, from the back…” I extend my arm to prove that from the angle and the chair, it really looked like her. Defeated, I give up and slump my shoulders. “Fuck it. She was obviously not you.”
