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Piper ignores my question. “Where did they go?”
“Up to California. Their goddaughter lives in Orange County. They like to go visit a couple of times a year.”
“Wow.” Piper sounds stunned. A little lost, like the rug just got pulled out from under her. “That’s a long way away.”
“It’s closer than New York.”
She plays with her pile of eggs, moving them from left to right on her plate. “No one mentioned they were leaving.”
Piper mumbles the words, but I still catch the hint of hurt in them. Like she’s entitled to an itinerary when it comes to anyone else’s plans but free to show up, unannounced, herself. Had Brayden not found out Empire was sending someone here, I would have been totally caught off guard when she arrived.
“That’s why John and I were discussing the truck last night,” I tell her.
“I didn’t know talking about carburetors for twenty minutes was the Texas equivalent ofsee you when we get back,” Piper says tartly.
Annoyingly, I have to fight the urge to smile at her sarcasm. “Well…now, you know.”
She stabs a forkful of eggs. None of the concern clears from her expression. “They didn’t say goodbye.”
“Take it as a compliment. It means Mabel thinks you’ll still be here when they get back.”
“How is that a compliment?”
“That you’re stubborn enough to stick around despite me telling you to leave.”
Piper scoffs.
And I have to fight the strong urge to do the same thing because I share her irritation. It’s partially why I’ve been awake since four a.m., which is what time John and Mabel left.
We’re at an impasse with no middle ground. We can’t both get what we want.
If Carl Bergman had been brave enough to show up here himself, I’d have no issue sending him packing. But it’s different with Piper. Disappointing her is more collateral damage from my career, and there’s plenty of it already.
I glance at the clock above the stove, realizing I need to get moving.
All John has to do is glance around, and the guys jump into action. I’m not much of an authority figure. They view me as an older brother instead of a boss.
I drain the rest of my mug and then grab the container of blueberry muffins Mabel made yesterday out of the fridge.
“Want one?” I ask.
“I already had two,” Piper confesses, then takes a bite of eggs. After swallowing, she adds, “Thanks.”
I nod and head for the door. Her uncertainty is exacerbating mine. I can literally feel the dynamic between us shifting.
The buffer of Mabel and John is gone. And while neither of them is what I’d call overly communicative, they both talked to Piper a hell of a lot more than I have.
Since her first night here when I found her in the kitchen, we’ve barely spoken.
I was expecting anin your facestrategy, where she refused to leave me alone until I caved on what she was here for.
Passivity has never struck me as Piper’s style, and I hate that I’ve even taken the time to consider what her style is. Hate that I’m wondering why she might be avoiding me when it should be welcome news.
I spin, inches from exiting the kitchen, remembering why Mabel and John’s early departure didn’t wake me up quite as early as it otherwise would have.
“One other thing…you can’t stay in the bunkhouse any longer.”
“What? Why?”
