Page 4

Chapter 4

Jack

The old booth out back had a loose bench seat that lifted, the shriek of the cicadas almost drowning out the squeak of the hinges. I’d stowed my suitcase there the first night I curled up outside the Roadhouse—living mostly from my backpack—but, for the occasion of moving to the apartment upstairs, I hefted the tiny case out as twilight fell on Haven Grove. Once I had the dust and cobwebs brushed off, I gripped the handle of my suitcase and adjusted my backpack.

The flutters in my belly were nothing new, but I took a moment to really feel them. This wasn’t nerves and fear rumbling through me like it had for so many years at home. This was excited anticipation.

I was actually doing this. Staying in Haven Grove. Taking my shot. Making a go of it.

But, if I was being honest, the excitement in my gut shared space with worry, both emotions roiling into a frenzy .

Henry had unknowingly offered me his couch not once, but twice. I had no plans to sleep in the man’s apartment without letting him know I was the person who’d been sleeping on the old booth out back and eating the food he’d been leaving.

How to bring it up was something I still needed to figure out.

But I had to tell him and soon. It wasn’t so much shame, although that feeling tinged the very edges of my being. It was more just that I knew I had to come clean.

I’d been raised for six years to know right from wrong. Then I’d spent the next nineteen being on the bad side of people who didn’t know—or care—about the difference between right and wrong.

Guilt wracked me because I was essentially lying to the man who had done nothing but help me. It would have been one thing if I was leaving town. But I was staying, at least for now, and I didn’t want to start anything with Henry with a lie of omission hanging between us.

Not that I thought anything was starting between us. Not like romantically.

Yeah, he was gorgeous in a big, kinda growly, protective way, but the point of hanging out in his restaurant and sleeping on his couch wasn’t to get in his pants.

I mean, I wasn’t against it, just wasn’t the reason I accepted the offer of his couch.

My brain buzzed with way too many thoughts, a ton of hopeful excitement, and a mess of emotions as I rounded the building and headed toward the entrance.

Walking into the Roadhouse at closing time was a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the place at lunchtime. The air hung heavy with fryer oil that needed to be changed after a long day, the yeasty smell of beer—probably what was making the floor sticky under my feet—and the garlicky breadsticks left over on a table waiting to be cleared.

The clack of pool balls signaled the end of a rousing game followed by laughter and hands slapping friends on shoulders as the little group cleaned up the game area. A couple walked out the door calling their friendly goodbyes to the staff. A teen bussed dirty dishes, stacking them in a tub carried tightly against a hip. Kayla wiped down tables, while Sam could be seen cleaning up the kitchen.

And then there was Henry.

He stood at the register, a scowl of concentration on his bearded face.

But he smiled when he glanced up and met my gaze.

Damn.

That smile did things to me.

From an early age, I’d known I was different, but then I lost my mom, and my whole world turned upside down. Being an orphan, living with toxic people, and struggling through grief and learning difficulties didn’t leave a lot of time for exploring my sexuality.

I’d kissed a boy behind the bleachers in middle school. It had been quick and awkward, but it had cemented the fact I wanted to kiss boys in a way I definitely didn’t feel about kissing girls.

My cousin Douglas somehow found out about the kiss and bullied me relentlessly about it. Degrading words, physical acts, and all-around threatening vibes were Douglas’s M.O. He was a few years older than me, and he had lackeys all around the school who were more than willing to spy on his little cousin and report back, probably to keep his wrath away from them.

Douglas had never been kind to me, but when he found out about that kiss, his mean streak shifted into high gear. Of course, my uncle Joseph egged it on, and then laughed it off with the tired old mantra of boys will be boys .

My aunt Chrissy, Mom’s sister, wasn’t a bad person. She’d just been caught up in her own personal demons and stuck with an asshole and his son—Mom hadn’t really known Joseph as she was too sick by the time Chrissy married him. I’d like to think Mom wouldn’t have let me go to Chrissy if she’d known, but I wasn’t sure what other options she really had.

Chrissy was usually so high on whatever prescription medication she could get her hands on that she didn’t stand a chance of cooking dinner let alone standing up to Joseph and Douglas for me. I didn’t really blame her for my situation. She had a lot of mental health struggles, and losing her sister made things worse. Joseph was willing to keep her in money and didn’t question the medication as long as his wife performed her duties as he saw fit.

So, knowing I was gay and living with homophobic assholes meant I had very little opportunity to spend time with other guys. I branched out a bit in college, but by that point, I was so stunted in my personal journey, I found myself keeping my distance from the dating scene after quickly finding out that a large majority of the guys on apps, and even around campus, were pretty much jerks .

I wanted to kiss, hold hands, go watch a show and grab dinner. Most guys I met wanted to fuck me into a mattress and walk away before morning. At nineteen and twenty, on my own for the first time and learning who I was and what I liked, casual sex wasn’t where it was at for me.

At twenty-five, I’d had a bit more time to discover myself, and I wasn’t completely against being fucked into a mattress. But I’d also figured out I’d always be the type of guy who wanted to know someone first. I wanted those flirty smiles and glances, those soft first touches and kisses, holding hands, going to dinner, watching a show. If sex developed from that, I was all for it—and if it didn’t, that was fine by me—but I knew myself enough now to know I needed the rest of it before sex was on the table.

Lost in the thoughts brought on by Henry’s killer smile, it took me a moment to realize he’d said something and was waiting on me to reply. I flinched internally as I recalled how Douglas would punch me right in the chest or slap the back of my head when I got lost in thought.

But Henry just grinned, his care and patience a warm blanket wrapping around me. He quirked a brow, cocked his head, and just waited.

“Sorry, what?” I asked, hearing Douglas’s harsh words in my head as I pulled the collar of my shirt up to hold it tightly between my lips while I collected myself.

Henry had no hateful words, no violent hands, just a sweet chuff of laughter. “I asked if you wanted to eat dinner down here or with me upstairs. I usually take leftovers home and eat while I watch the late news.”

After nineteen years of never feeling like anyone gave two shits about me—nineteen years of being surrounded by family , but feeling so damn lost and alone—the thought of heading upstairs with this gentle giant sent an ooey-gooey warmth to my belly.

I dropped my shirt collar and cleared my throat, hating that my painful past was a constant drum beat in my head. “I can eat upstairs.”

Henry gave a wink and a nod. “Sounds good. I’ll gather us up some to-go boxes here in a minute.”

I sat on my usual stool and watched as the crew worked together to close down the place. With several lights off, all the patrons headed home, and the music turned off, the atmosphere morphed from busy and fun to cozy and calm. I lost myself in watching Henry count the cash drawer, pull receipts, and scratch notes while the scent of dish soap and bleach danced on the air.

“Come on, you can help me pick out dinner.” Henry gestured for me to follow him.

As I fell in step beside him, a thought zinged through me. I’d follow this man anywhere. I didn’t hate the idea, but it was something new to ponder. Aside from my mom, I’d never had anyone in my life I trusted and would truly follow anywhere.

And then I’d found myself in Haven Grove and met Henry.

I’d been here a while, but these swirly feelings in my gut were way too much and way too soon.

Right?

Of course they were. Henry hadn’t indicated an interest in me. Whatever I was feeling needed to stay tamped down lest I ruin my chances at making a life in Haven Grove .

I took a deep breath to settle my nerves.

He led me to the back area where I’d taken advantage of the unlocked door to get a shower and slightly better sleep for so many nights.

“So, this area is just for employees mostly.” His eyes caught on the booth—my bed—and he frowned. “The bathroom back here has a shower.” He pointed to the backdoor I’d slipped through so many times. “That leads to a little area out back. Trash, smoke breaks, stuff like that. Also, the way I go home.” He nodded toward the door. “Go ahead and put your stuff there. We’ll grab it on the way out.”

Right then.

I should have told him right then. He clearly had no idea I was the person he’d been leaving the door open for. No clue I was the person he’d been giving leftovers to every night.

Something caught in my throat. I had to be honest with him. But what if I told him, and he changed his mind about me staying on his couch?

Instead, I cleared my throat and blurted, “You should do outdoor dining.”

“Huh?”

I gestured toward the backdoor. “Set up some outdoor dining. On nice days, people would probably like to eat outside. Get some local live music. Even on cooler days, you could have some of those heaters set up.”

Henry eyed me for a moment as he mulled over my words. “Thought about it before, just never took the time to make it happen.”

“Well, you should. ”

Henry’s eyes twinkled, making the scowl lines between his brows seem so much less grouchy. “Come on, we’ll pack up some dinner.”

Dinner first.

Then I’d tell him instead of tossing out business ideas.

Henry placed three carry-out boxes on the counter as Sam gave a wink and waved goodbye on his way out. I’d watched the comings and goings of the Roadhouse enough to know Sam would walk Kayla to her car before he climbed in his old truck and headed home.

“Burgers and lasagna sound okay?” Henry asked. When my eyes locked with his, he huffed out a laugh. “Weird combo, I know, but it’s what’s left.”

I shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

He fumbled a serving spoon, the utensil clattering on the metal countertop, but Henry recovered quickly and handed me a box. “Let’s do this.” He nodded toward the container. “Put the burgers in this one.”

I loaded the box with two of the three leftover burgers. “Two or three?”

“Do three if they’ll fit.” He scooped two heaping helpings of lasagna into his box. “Put all the fixins’ for the burgers in that other box.” Henry grabbed a fourth box. “We can put green beans in this one. And the best way to pack up a couple pieces of cake is with those smaller containers.”

“Do you always take this much food home?” I asked as I filled a container with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions, and packets of mayo, mustard, and ketchup.

“Sure do, no reason to let food go to waste.” He paused, his eyes traveling toward the backdoor. He scowled before shaking his head. “Look in the fridge. Should be cake in there.”

By the time we had everything packed up, my stomach rumbled for dinner. “I’ll come back down and get my bags,” I said as we walked toward the backdoor with our arms laden with to-go boxes.

“No worries,” Henry said. “I’ll come back down here in a bit and grab them.”

While you leave a plate of food and unlock the backdoor. I bit my lip. What would Henry do when the food he left on the picnic table wasn’t eaten.

Tell him right now.

Instead, I swallowed a lump of guilt and followed Henry up the stairs to his place. The light, homey scent of cinnamon and cedar welcomed me like a warm hug into Henry’s comfy little apartment.

“We’ll eat first, and then I’ll show you around,” Henry said. He placed his boxes on the table. “Grab us some plates from that cabinet.” He pointed toward a thin cabinet next to the sink.

I did as I was told, a strange ease and familiarity washing over me as we worked together seamlessly in his tiny kitchen.

“Want a drink?” Henry asked from his position peering into the fridge. “I’ve got peach cider, water, milk, juice, and some pop.”

“Pop?”

He withdrew from the refrigerator with a playful grin. “Sorry, you’re in the Midwest now, you better get used to it. Soda?”

“Ohhh,” I drawled, and put on my absolute worst southern accent. “I’d heard tell that folks in these parts called it pop , but never witnessed it myself until tonight.”

Henry chuckled and elbowed me. “Smart ass. I grew up calling it pop but interchange it with soda just as often. I’ll try to stick with pop to give you the true Midwestern experience.”

“Peaches, pop…gee, what else in is store for me?” Back and forth with Henry was the easiest thing I’d ever done. A friendly, easy banter I’d never had with anyone else.

When our plates were full, Henry gestured toward the living room with his bottle of water. “I’ve got this little kitchen nook, but I find myself eating in front of the TV more often than not.”

“I’m not picky.” I followed him from the kitchen and sat down on the couch.

My bed?

The whole situation was surreal. I’d left home quickly and under somewhat strange circumstances—something I hadn’t completely let myself relax enough to think about—but never once did I think I’d end up in a small town known for peaches and sleeping on the couch of the gruff-but-secretly-sweet bar owner.

Henry settled down in a recliner, and I fought the ridiculous urge to want to cuddle close to him.

“You okay with the news?” Henry asked as he pointed the remote toward the television.

“I’m good with anything.”

He took a swig of water as the late-night news came on. “This is the most local channel we get. It’s based about twenty miles up the road, but they’ll cover Haven Grove happenings as needed.” Henry scooped up a bite of lasagna. “What do you normally like to watch?” he asked before taking the bite and chewing.

I swallowed the sip of water I’d taken and shrugged. “Cooking shows, I guess. Mostly baking. Cakes and stuff.”

“We’ll get along just fine.” Henry grinned. “I keep it on the news, the weather, or cooking shows ninety-nine percent of the time.”

“Do you like to cook?” The soft couch—and Henry’s presence—offered a level of comfort and protection I’d longed for since my mom died, and I savored a big bite of burger while I sank into the warm cushions.

“I do. Sam and I take turns sometimes. I like planning the meals the most. It’s why Sam and I get along. He’d rather let me set the menu while he cooks it up.”

“Good team.”

“We are.”

God, the way that little grin melted away the grumpy facade. Henry was such a study in contrasts. Big, burly, and scowly was what most people saw. But it was all just a front.

I didn’t think he purposely tried to put up a false wall, it was just who he was, what his life had trained him to do. I could be way off base, but my vibes about people were usually right. Hope washed over me; maybe I’d get to know the man behind the scruff and scowl better.

Henry cleared his throat. “Do you cook?”

Biting my lip, I fought the engrained fear of admitting what I liked. But I took a deep breath and lifted my chin. “Bake.”

“Hmm?”

“I like to bake. ”

“No shit?”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You any good?” He cocked his head, a playful smile teasing his lips.

“You know that cake we brought up here?”

“Yeah?”

“And the cake I had the first night I came in?”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “Yeah.”

I pulled my collar up to brush it over my lips even though I wasn’t the least bit anxious around Henry. “And the peach pound cake?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. Probably trying to look menacing, but the gesture just sent warm giddiness straight to my heart. “ Yeah? ”

“I could do better.”

A flash of something crossed his face. Surprise, I think. Then he narrowed his eyes, and a bit of a grumble sounded.

A giggle bubbled up from deep within me and escaped before I had the chance to stop it. Nothing about this man scared me—except maybe the fact I knew nothing of his personal life, his sexuality, anything really—I was likely barking up the wrong tree and setting myself up for heartache…if I was interested in him like that, which I kept telling myself I wasn’t.

But I knew I was safe with him. Knew it was okay to poke this particular bear a bit. He’d grumble, but he’d just as soon ruffle my hair or tickle me into submission than truly be mean. I didn’t think there was a mean bone in Henry’s body.

And some part deep within me wanted to see what would happen. Wanted this man’s protective, gentle reactions. His arms around me, his hands on me in any way he wanted to touch me.

“Is that a challenge?” Henry’s words, rough and full of humor, pulled me from the beginnings of very inappropriate thoughts.

“You issued the Great Peach Challenge,” I said. “It’s my turn to lay out the Great Cake Challenge.”

“It’s a deal.” Henry stood from his recliner and moved to stand in front of me. Allowing my gaze to travel up his tall body, I realized just how big and burly this man was. But for the first time in my life, I had no fear of a man standing before me. Henry wasn’t Joseph. He wasn’t Douglas.

I took his proffered hand and let him pull me to stand facing him. “What?” The word wasn’t meant to be a breathless whisper, but that’s the way it came out.

“Gotta shake on it.”

Henry still held my hand. Warmth and awareness filled the space between us, a current of electricity humming through our skin. His large, rough hand engulfed my smaller and probably sweaty one based on my heart beating a million miles a minute.

“What’s the prize? And how do we determine if my cake is better?”

A flash of humor twinkled in Henry’s eyes like I’d missed out on a joke, but he just gave my hand a squeeze. “We’ll figure it out. No need to rush anything.”

My mind immediately started planning which cakes I would make. How could I best incorporate Henry’s beloved peaches? Could I do a lemon cake like his Lemon Drop Martini? Or a dark salted chocolate to complement the tartness of the lemon, or even to go perfectly with the Peach Sour he’d made.

When I finally realized Henry was talking again, we were still holding hands, still facing each other with very little room in our personal bubbles.

And I wanted to completely invade his space, wrap my arms around his broad body, snuggle into his rugged, protective warmth.

Instead, I blinked away the thoughts of cakes dancing in my head and pulled my collar up to my lips. “Sorry, what?”

Henry huffed a laugh. “One of these days, you can tell me where you go in there.” He tapped a finger gently against my temple. “Help me gather up this trash. Then we’ll get you settled for the night.”

We set to work cleaning up from dinner, and Henry placed a bag of trash by the door.

“So, my bedroom is at the end of this hall. Bathroom is right here.” He flipped on the light to show a tidy bathroom complete with a tub and shower combo, toilet, double sink, and mirror. The room was decorated sparsely, but the cocktail theme was cute. As if sensing my thoughts, Henry shrugged, a hint of blush brushing his cheek bones above his beard. “My brother likes to go antiquing from time to time. He found the cocktail stuff on sale in a bundle and decorated while I was working.”

“It’s cute, I like it.”

Henry studied me a moment before giving his head a shake and turning off the light. The brush of his hand on my back as he directed me back into the hall did funny things to my knees and belly.

Shit.

Was I getting in way over my head here?

But the touch hadn’t come across as romantic or sexual, just a soft push in the direction he wanted me to go. I needed to get my stagnant-until-the-most-inopportune-times libido under control and not ruin the situation with a guy who had shown me nothing but platonic kindness.

“This closet has soap, towels, shampoo.” He opened the closet next to the bathroom. “Under the sink is toilet paper and cleaning supplies. I use bar soap, you’re welcome to use it, open a new bar, or get yourself whatever kind you like. The shampoo isn’t fancy, but it gets the job done, and you’re welcome to it.”

The thought of steamy water pouring down on me while surrounded by the warm, woodsy scent of Henry had me wanting to take a shower right then and there.

But I kept myself together and followed him back to the living room with its soft, cozy couch and worn but tidy light beige carpet. The couch was a dark plaid of black, gray with small bits of teal, red, and yellow. I liked the way the teal curtains picked up on the same color in the sofa cushions.

“This chest has blankets and pillows.” Henry opened a chest as I moved to stand beside him. The clean scent of cedar wafted up, the scent reminding me of being wrapped in a warm blanket while an icy cold rain pelted the windows, and logs crackled in the fireplace .

Henry handed me a pillow and tossed two blankets on the couch.

“Thanks.” The word caught in my throat. Vivid memories of the hospital social worker dropping me off at Chrissy’s house played through my mind like a low-budget afterschool special. The social worker, Kim, had been thrilled to know I’d have my own room. In hindsight, it was one of the only things that kept me sane. My room was mostly safe, a respite from Douglas’s mean streak and Joseph’s disinterest and unpredictable anger.

Maybe it was a total inconvenience to have me move in and disrupt everything about their lives. A small part of my brain told me that was ridiculous. I was six years old, I didn’t eat much, I barely took up any space in the McMansion Joseph bragged about to anyone who would listen.

But some days, when the nightmares of my past reared their ugly heads, it took a lot of distraction and logic to convince myself Joseph and Douglas had no real reason to despise me as much as they did.

As an adult, I could reason they were miserable people who had a lot of their own issues to work through. As a kid, it was hard not to think everything was somehow my fault.

I cleared the emotion from my throat and tried again.

“Thanks,” I croaked. It was just a couple blankets and a pillow, but it was one of the kindest gestures anyone had ever offered me.

And Henry had done it twice now.

Just because he could.

No strings, no benefits for him .

He was just a good person.

Maybe down the road I’d realize I’d been duped, but my gut sang Henry’s praises, and my heart led the charge for all things Henry.

“If that pillow is too soft, there’s a firmer one—” Henry started.

“No,” I blurted, “this one is great. Perfect for cuddling.”

Something washed over Henry’s face as I clutched the pillow to my chest and rubbed my chin against the soft material. He gave a quick nod and turned away, heading toward the kitchen.

I followed, still gripping the pillow firmly to my chest. The human brain and emotions were really weird. The onslaught of warm gooeyness Henry had set in motion had also stirred up a shit-ton of negative thoughts and heavy memories.

Breathing in deeply, I allowed the soft scent of cedar to calm me.

“You’re welcome to anything in the place, don’t ever ask. I usually get groceries on Sunday afternoons. If the Juicy Peach doesn’t have what I need, I’ll make a run up the road to the bigger grocery, but I like to keep things as local as possible.” Henry opened the fridge, peered inside, and then let it swing closed as he wrote on a magnetic pad of paper on the side of the fridge. “If you need anything, you’re welcome to put it on the list, or do your own shoppin’ if you like that idea better.”

“Think anyone would want to hire me?” I didn’t like how unsure my voice sounded, but the only real job I’d ever had was one I was forced into by my uncle, and I hated it even though it made me decent money. “I have a degree and skills. I’m teachable.”

Henry studied me for a moment, his fingers scratching over his beard—more than stubble, but not quite bushy. “What kind of job you think you’d want?”

“Honestly, at this point, anything. Beggars can’t be choosers, ya know?”

He paused, something unreadable in his expression, but then he nodded. “We’ll see what we can figure out.”

Something in me deflated, and Henry must have noticed because he put a big hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I don’t mean you aren’t employable. I just mean we need to make sure to get you a job worth your while; don’t want to waste your talent and potential.”

Something hot and sweet flamed to life in my belly. Whoa, what was that?

I’ll take “Things Jack is learning about himself for one hundred, Alex.”

The clue is compliments and praise.

What is “Things Henry does to make Jack weak in the knees?”

Ding-ding-ding.

Huh. Who knew?

Maybe I should have known. You know, the kid with no father in the picture, a deceased mother, and two men who spent the majority of their time mentally, emotionally, and verbally abusing him. Yeah, maybe that kid would grow up to be the type who really liked a gorgeous, gentle, caring man complimenting him.

I swear, I’m not a complete fool, just slow to catch on sometimes.

“Why don’t you go ahead and shower. Get settled in for the night. I’m gonna run down to the bar and finish up a couple things before bed. Sleep in as long as you want in the morning.”

“I should start looking for a job…”

And a vehicle.

An apartment.

A fist gripped my heart. There was so much I needed to do.

“No need to rush things. You’ve got all the time in the world. You’re welcome here as long as you need.”

“Why?” I blurted.

Henry shrugged. “Why not? I’ve got the space. I’m used to helping people.”

“You don’t even know me.”

A soft chuff of laughter escaped him. “I know you well enough to know you’re a good person, and you need a moment to gather yourself. Nothin’ wrong with that. I’m in a position to help, and it’s what I do. It’s what I live to do.”

Something unsaid floated on his words. “Who takes care of you?” The words slipped out before I could think them through.

Henry gave me a wink. “That’s not the way it works. Go ahead and get your shower. I’ll be back up in a bit.”

Once Henry was gone, I decided I’d shower, start some laundry, charge my phone, and wait for him to return.

It was time to tell him.

With a tsunami of emotions pummeling my heart, I pulled clean clothes from my suitcase and headed to the bathroom. The shower was nothing special, but using the woodsy soap and citrusy shampoo that smelled like Henry might have been the highlight of my day.

Once I’d dried off and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts—my long sleeve shirt and long lounge pants were in dire need of a washing—I pulled all the dirty clothes from my backpack and made a pile in the basket I found in a hall closet.

The first door I opened looking for the washer and dryer was the water heater. The second was a coat closet. But what I thought was a pantry turned out to house a stacked unit. Tossing everything in, I poured in a cap-full of the soap Henry kept stored on a little wire shelf and turned the knob to normal wash.

Glancing at the couch, I decided I’d make up my bed and chill out until Henry returned. I grabbed another blanket from the chest and spread it out over the cushions. Once I’d turned off the lamp, the TV cast just enough light in the room. After plugging in my dead battery and my phone, I settled onto the couch.

Five minutes later, I popped up and grabbed the firmer pillow from the chest.

Firm pillow for my head, squishy pillow to hug close, and two warm blankets tucked around me while the late-late news droned on was the perfect.

A perfect recipe for disaster.

I most definitely wasn’t awake when Henry came back up.