Page 11 of No Kind Words (Calston Cove #3)

My excuse for not going to the pub tonight is a lie. As soon as Merrick mentioned Drew was asking Jethro, my head held up a huge STOP sign.

The bulk of the food for his party is already done and finished and is now waiting in the freezer. All except the last-minute pieces that won’t freeze.

Am I a coward? Yep, bigger than the poor giant cat in The Wizard of Oz. Is it going to make a difference in the long run?

Nope, it’s going to happen.

It just doesn’t need to be on a cold, wild, and windy winter night.

I’m trying to hold off until Merrick and Drew’s party, where I’ll be surrounded by friends and all the compliments that go with them eating my food.

I’m more than just a baker with a coffee shop.

I enjoy my busy shop.

Not many know about my exclusive online wedding catering and cake-making business.

I do fewer than a handful of weddings a year, but I’m still booked a couple of years in advance.

I like to think Jethro is feeling the same as me: too cautious, too worried, and not sure how to react to seeing each other again.

A lot of remorse and guilt weigh down on my shoulders.

I know what his father had done to him.

I know his mother covered it all up.

I should’ve gone to the police, yet I kept my mouth shut.

I can only imagine the hurt, not only of his injuries but also of how I made him feel—rejected and unloved.

In the dark of the nights, I go back to that summer and the time spent in the loft of the decrepit barn.

I can still smell the old hay, still feel the warmth of the sun shining down on us from between the broken roof tiles.

Still taste his sweat, clean and sharp on my tongue.

His skin, so silky smooth under my fingertips.

But the most vivid memories, the ones that have me grasping my dick, fucking its full, rigid length through my clenched fist, are of the feeling of being inside him, the heat, the tight grip, the sounds he made as he begged for more, for harder, for faster.

They’re the ones that have me spilling over my fingers and onto my stomach.

In those moments, I could hate him for not being here, but I hate myself more.

Because the truth is I’ve never stopped loving him.

But I don’t deserve him.

The wind rattles the door, bringing me back to the present. I look down at the sugar rose petals I’m supposed to be painting but have crumbled between my fingers into soft icing sugar again. It’s time for me to stop and go home.

“Benny, there’s someone wanting to talk to you.”

Amy, one of my morning staff, pops her head around the kitchen door.

Thats is not what I need when I’m up to my elbows in flour. “Who is it?”

“The new lady from the vet’s. She says it’s important.”

“Fine, but she’ll have to come in here. I’m not cleaning up. I’m too busy,”

I snap. Her eyes go wide. I never use this tone with her or any of my employees. “Sorry, sweetheart. Just ask her to come through.”

I carry on making the pastry, which needs plenty of attention to get it right. At the light tap on the door frame, I look up. Maeve stands there, shuffling on her feet. “Um, hi, Benny. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to hand-deliver this.”

She waves an envelope at me.

“What is it?”

“An invitation to the opening of the new veterinary practice. It’s on Thursday evening.”

She bites her lip like she wants to say more but doesn’t know if she should. “It would be good if you came. Um, I think Jet would like to see you.”

Jet? Is that what he goes by now? I’m not surprised. He never really liked his name. Bitterness floods me. Jet sounds far too cool for Calston Cove. And for me. I’m never going to fit in his life now.

“Thank you, but as I don’t have any pets, it hardly seems relevant for me to come.”

I keep my voice as light and easy as possible.

Maeve doesn’t move. I feel her eyes on me. I don’t want to look over, but I don’t think she’s going to go until she’s said her piece. When I can’t resist the urge and glance at her, I expect her to be annoyed, angry even, but there’s none of that. Only sadness.

“He’s afraid to see you, afraid you’ll tell him you’ve moved on and there’s nothing between you anymore. And I think you feel the same way.”

“You don’t know me, Maeve. And Jethro has known where I’ve been for the last fifteen years. He’s never once reached out. You can take that back. I won’t be coming.”

I nod at the envelope she dropped on one of the stainless-steel counters.

She snatches it up, muttering something about bloody, stubborn men.

For the next three days, the conversation in the coffee shop is all about the opening of the practice.

How Luke is thrilled to be the receptionist there and how good it is to have Jethro back again.

I’ll be glad when it’s all settled down and life can get back to normal.

Not that I think I’ll ever feel ‘normal’ again, knowing Jethro is only a few streets away from my cottage.

If only I could switch off my feelings for him.

Because right now, I can’t tell the difference between wanting him and hating him for coming back and upsetting my life without even having the decency of coming to see me.

I can’t believe he’s this messed up over me.

He’s melded back into the crowd of friends, my friends, as easy as pie. The long-lost brother has returned. Christ, when did I turn into a bitter old man?

I work late, letting the others go, and get ready for the evening.

It seems that everyone is going to the opening.

It’s an open house.

Which confuses me.

Why would Maeve bring me an invitation specifically? What if Jethro asked her to? No, she doesn’t seem to be the person to let him play games.

Eventually, all the jobs I could think of are done.

I’ve made enough to cater this weekend and probably the next.

When I leave, I remember I need to go to the supermarket, so I have to go home and get my car.

Shit, why have I left it so late? I all but stomp my way home, ignoring anything around me.

At the corner of the street, I slow down to cross the road.

A low whimper comes from beneath the hedge.

It stops, then starts again.

I bend down.

The streetlight gives me just enough light to see what’s making the noise.

A tiny dog with a black nose is peeking at me with a pair of dark eyes.

“Hey there, little one. What are you doing in here?”

I hold my hand out, but the dog shrinks farther into the hedge. I’m on my knees, the cold, damp from the concrete seeping into my jeans. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I keep my voice soft as I reach in farther. “Come on, sweetheart. You can’t stay here in the cold and wet.”

Patiently I wait for the dog to come closer. I’m not sure how much time has passed before the cold, damp nose of the pup touches my hand. “That’s it, sweetheart. Come on out.”

Finally, it’s close enough for me to wrap my arms around it and lift it.

The poor thing whimpers and snaps at my hands.

I obviously cause it pain, but I don’t know where or how it’s hurt. Under the streetlight, I take a better look. Blood covers its back leg. I shudder when I see why. The leg is broken.

I clutch the dog to my chest and sprint home to my car.

With the dog lying on the passenger seat, I rush to the driver’s side and start the ignition.

I drive as fast but as carefully as possible to the vet’s. It’s not until I push the door open that where I am sinks in.

“I need help.”

The chatter stops, and everyone looks at me.

“He’s hurt. It’s his leg.”

The crowd separate, and Jethro stands in front of me.