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Wade rolled his eyes. “Not my fault if they can’t handle me.”
In the back of the room, Rob raised his hand. “I might know of someone, Cameron.”
Cameron lifted his chin. “Yeah? Who is it?”
“My buddy, Trevor. College isn’t his thing, you know? Real smart, though. He’s like …deep. Hates sitting around doing nothing. He’s been trying to find some work and hasn’t had any luck yet.”
Wade eyed Rob skeptically. “Your friend anything like you?”
I gave Wade a look. “He did say he was deep, Wade.”
Rob laughed. “Nope, nothing like me, old man.”
Wade grunted. “Good.”
Cameron chuckled under his breath. “All right, give him my email address, I’ll set up an interview.” My friend nodded his chin toward the door, gesturing for me to follow. When we cleared the doorway, he crossed his arms, studying my face. “You gonna come to dinner?”
Discomfort must have been rolling off me in waves because I didn’t say a word, and Cameron sighed, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck.
“It’s just dinner, Jax.”
I glanced sideways. “Is it?”
My disbelieving tone had him chuckling. “What else would it be?”
“A Wilder family firing squad aimed right at my balls, maybe.”
His smile faded. “Fuck, Jax, I shouldn’t have said I hated it was you,” he murmured, staring off down the street. “I was upset. At you. At Poppy. Wishing my dad was here to keep us all steadied out. It’s like we’re all still trying to figure out how to navigate big shit like this without him.” His eyes met mine. “But I shouldn’t have said that. Or told you to leave.” Cameron extended his arm. “I’m sorry.”
I clasped his outstretched hand in mine and shook it. “Forgiven. Honestly, if this had happened to her by anyone else, I would’ve been saying the same shit.”
The words came out unthinkingly, and I kept my face even.
Cameron didn’t answer, simply hummed quietly, then gave me one last look before he descended the front steps. “No pressure or anything, but you’ll break my mom’s heart if you don’t come.”
I flipped him off, then, to the sound of his laughter, I sighed, tapped out a quick reply to Sheila Wilder and headed back in to work.
By the time I was done, had gone home, and showered, I found myself driving toward the Wilder House, anxiety building by the second.
Was I supposed to bring something?
A dish to pass or something?
Wine.
Maybe I could bring her a bottle of wine. Or some flowers.
My stomach went ice cold. Anytime I thought about standing in front of that cheery fucking display, buckets overflowing with flowers, I wanted to break something. No. No flowers.
But I could pick a bottle of wine.
Turning the truck into the parking lot of the grocery store, I sat forward when I noticed Poppy walk inside, her dark hair swinging from a high ponytail, and her legs bare underneath a swishy blue skirt that stopped above her knees. An elderly couple stopped her just before she went into the store, Poppy smiled easily with a hand resting on the top of her small bump. They talked for a minute before she waved and headed inside.
I leaned my head back against the seat rest after she disappeared.
The cheery awning over the vet’s office across the street caught my eye, and I fought a scowl.
I thought about seeing her again in front of her family, and I wasn’t sure it was any easier than seeing her like this—when she wasn’t expecting me.
