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“In your dreams, Turt.”
Leo laughed at the use of the childhood nickname. Leonardo had become Turtle, which became Turt, and even though I’d used it to insult him, he thought it was funny. Asshole.
“Whatever, Jax-Man,” Leo said. My nickname wasn’t as impressive or well-thought-out as Turt was, but at least no one in the family called me Annie, the name I’d been given at school, courtesy of my red hair and freckles. “And, all joking aside, promise me you won’t wallow in the bad news for now?”
“I won’t.” I had enough to worry about after messing up with Arlo to worry about something else I had no control over.
“Remember to ask Arlo to dinner.”
“I’ll be there, and I’ll ask Arlo,” I said with a resigned sigh, but smiling. Bickering with Leo had pushed aside the disappointment for a moment, and he must have understood that I needed him to pull my head out of my ass. It was another nine days until the dinner, which meant I would have plenty of time to get over Arlo dating.
Arlo ambled over to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder, and offering me a reassuring smile. I wished I felt like smiling back.
“Ask Arlo what?” he said, having caught the tail end of the conversation.
“Dinner at Mama and Papa’s place, Sunday of next week.”
“Count me in.” He patted his belly—his sweet, soft belly.
Stop thinking about his freaking belly. He’s dating. He’s going to karaoke, and he’s meeting Wilting or Winston or whatever, and his belly is, therefore, off limits to his boss, who shouldn’t even be looking in the first place.
The hits keep coming.First the date, and now Zach? I sighed with added drama, and he jumped on that.
“Is everything okay?”
A familiar determination swept through me as I nodded. I could handle Arlo dating, and I had to stay hopeful the Zach thing was just another bump in the road, and that, one day, I’d find him. “Zach’s not in Vancouver.” I didn’t need to say anything else because Arlo had been here before, seeing hastily rearranged travel or the frustration of a lead that didn’t pan out.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Jax,” he murmured, and I shrugged as if it didn’t matter at all. “Do you want to talk about it?” He sounded so hesitant, but then, he’d witnessed a couple of times when frustration had won over patience, and he’d seen me despairing that I’d never finding my twin.
I shook my head, trying to loosen the dread in my chest, attempting to focus on the lighter parts of Leo’s call—the teasing about Arlo, the nicknames—and I shrugged. “Nah, talking won’t fix it, so tell me how the sign off went.”
“Completed paperwork for you.” He handed me the signed sheets, taking a seat on the wall and stretching out his long legs and checking his phone before he pocketed it again.
“Is that Wilting?”
“I don’t know; I didn’t look,” he said, “and it’s Wilton. Anyway, what’s on the schedule for the rest of the day?”
It was two p.m., but while, normally, I might call a meeting to talk about the next project, it was Friday, we were done, and I’d imagined Arlo and I could take the rest of the day off and start our Friday cool-down early. Still, Arlo deserved the rest of the day off.To get ready for his date.
I massaged my temples—I was done with today. A cool shower, a cold beer, and chilling in the shade were in my near future. Only with thedate,it would be me on my own wondering why Zach’s lead hadn’t panned out, and worse, worrying what Arlo was doing.
“You okay?” Arlo asked, glancing my way, wearing a frown. “You’ve been poking at your head all day.”
“Bad night is all,” I explained, taking a deep breath, the scent of Arlo filling my lungs—citrus and wood and warmth. My low-level headache was going to turn into something more if I didn’t take some Tylenol soon. “Thinking about the next job, y’know,” I lied. “We may as well call it a day, then you can get ready to meet Winston.”
“Wilton.”
“Yeah, him.” I tossed him the keys, which he caught deftly, because he did everything without breaking a sweat and looked so damn sexy doing it. “You drive if that’s okay.”
“Sure, boss.”
In silence, we headed through afternoon traffic to my house, where he could swap the company truck for his old Chevy C10. We’d driven to the site together this morning, given it was just sign-off, and as he lived twenty miles out of the city, it was easier for him to drive to me, then we’d share the ride. Irritation curled in my chest, a slight pain that I rubbed, and then, an intense grief washed over me, and I couldn’t pin down what it was caused by—not finding my twin or the fact Arlo had a date. Either way, whatever I was feeling was hard, and frustrating, and I didn’t want to be in the car much longer. Even when we neared the gorgeous Craftsman I’d restored, my pride and joy—my home—the tightness in my chest didn’t here. Arlo passed a large black SUV with tinted windows parked on the road and turned onto my driveway to parallel park his truck. He didn’t get out, instead he turned in his seat toward me.
“Jax?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re really quiet. If you want to talk about Zach…”
