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The four of us work nonstop for two hours, while Emmett sits his ass down on his stool, surveying. Bishop comes back and is all excited about the extra tips he’s earned, not bringing up the fact I’m also paying him double his salary at the bar for the weekend.
Emmett leaves with him, and Brady comes behind the bar. “You need to stop giving those tours.” He glares at his sister, who shrugs. “When I do those tours, they leave. You do them and they all think they can be your best friend.”
“It’s not my fault.” She laughs and then looks at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I have to go home this weekend,” I explain and her face suddenly changes. “Have to check out a couple of things.” Lie three today.
“Oh.” That’s all she says, grabbing the rag and wiping down the bar.
“Come with me?” I ask and look at Brady, who shares a quick glance with me.
“I can’t leave,” she replies.
“Yes, you can, and she is going with you,” Brady declares. “It’ll be a holiday not having you here.”
She glares at him. “Who is going to help you?”
“Bishop, kid is good and he’s looking for extra work,” Brady cuts in. “Can’t do many weekdays since he works for this one.” He points at me. “But he said he can do Friday and Saturday since he’s off on the weekend.”
I walk to her and put my hand around her waist and pull her to me. “Come home with me,” I urge as she looks up at me. “I don’t want to be without you.”
She looks at me, then at Brady, who puts his hands together. “Please leave.” He even closes his eyes, and if I would be able to give this guy an Oscar, I would.
“You’re a dick,” she tells Brady, then turns to me. “I have to be back by Sunday night. I have a meeting on Monday morning with vendors.”
I nod. “We can do that.” I will agree to anything to take her away and I was even okay with kidnapping her, but this is much better. “Let’s get you home and packed.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Autumn
“I don’t know about this,” I mutter from beside him, my feet up on the dash as I move them side to side, looking out the window at the trees zooming by. I’ve been like this for the past three hours of the drive, and we have an hour left. “Like, isn’t it going to be weird?” I ask again for I think the hundredth time.
He reaches out his hand to put on my leg, the heat from his hand warming me. “It’s only weird if we make it weird.”
My head flies to look at him, shocked he would say it was weird. “But it’s weird.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. He’s sitting there wearing a white T-shirt, his biceps making my mouth water. His hair is pushed back from the shower he took this morning before we left my house. After work, I went to his house while he packed his bag, and then we went to my house, where I packed. We left this morning when we woke up, stopping along the way for coffee and donuts.
“It’s not weird,” he corrects himself, “and if you feel weird, we can always leave.”
I gasp, putting my hand on his and linking our fingers on my leg. “Not only am I going to be the weird one, then I’m going to have you leave, so now I’m a bitch.”
“Baby,” he soothes, bringing our hands to his lips and kissing my fingers. “Everything will be fine. It’s not going to be weird. It’s going to be fine, and it’s going to be great.” He looks at the road, and then his voice goes lower. “Baby,” he calls me, and I look over at him, “I need to tell you something.”
“I knew it,” I say, making him laugh. “It’s weird, right?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Not that.” He tightens his fingers with mine. “I lied to you.” My feet fall off the dash as I sit up straight. “Not really lied to you. That was the wrong word.” My heart beats so fast I can’t even say anything. “I don’t have to go home for work.” I wait, knowing there is more. “Yesterday morning, I caught that reporter guy sneaking around your place.” My mouth opens in a gasp. “I went out to confront him. He’s not a reporter.”
“What is he?” I ask, my head spinning at this information.
“I think he’s a private investigator, but he was hired by the Cartwrights.” The minute he says that, I feel like I’m going to get sick. I pull my hand from his, putting both of my hands on my stomach. “He was trying to find information about you being involved with the accident.” I can’t help but snort out at that part.
“How?” I shake my head. “Like, how would I be involved? I was sitting in the back, and he was literally crushed to the steering wheel. How did they think I could spin this?” I look at him, and he looks like he’s hiding something else. “What else?”
“He might have alluded to us being an item back then, which is why Waylon was drinking.”
“Oh my God,” I snarl, looking up at the roof of the cab, “are they insane?” I go from feeling sick to my stomach to angry. “Forget I asked if they are insane, one hundred and fifty percent fucking insane to think that we were hooking up before. They are so delusional that they can’t see the only one to blame was fucking Waylon, and obviously them for enabling his bratty fucking behavior.” I shake my head. “How did you find all this out?”
“I may have threatened to beat the shit out of him and have him arrested for stealing your mail.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I called my grandfather, and he said that we should maybe not be home this weekend.”
