Page 5 of Walking on Broken Paths

Parker’s home away from home was a coffee shop on Victoria Row, a street that saw more action than a Marvel superhero.

In the summer months, Victoria Row was closed to vehicle traffic, and while Parker thought the street was kind of meh, the tourists tended to flock here for the restaurants, shops, and outdoor entertainment.

There was no entertainment on a Thursday afternoon, however, and while the tourists were few, the locals were many.

As Matilda had repeatedly pointed out to him, there was a perfectly good office at his dad’s house.

But it was so damn quiet there that it drove Parker crazy.

Plus, the office was very much Dad’s space: his fountain pens, his Post-it note dispenser, his spiral-bound notebook, his laptop, his files, and his bookshelves of business books mixed with murder mysteries.

Parker was used to a chaotic work environment, so a busy coffee shop suited him fine. The offices of the Montreal Gazette had often been chaotic and loud, but the activity and collaboration had gotten the juices flowing.

There weren’t any juices flowing today. His freelance gig for an agency that served non-profits kept him writing, but it wasn’t the right kind of writing. The non-profits did important work—there was no doubt about that. But as a writing project, the subject matter didn’t hold his interest.

It didn’t help that his current assignment was to write a four-page direct mail letter to donors of Charlottetown’s Queen Elizabeth Hospital.

It was meant to ask for donations by showcasing a success story of a cancer patient who’d received experimental treatment thanks to the generosity of donor dollars.

Maybe that was the problem. The story hit too close to home. Dad had been treated at Queen Elizabeth too.

But he didn’t know how to politely decline this writing assignment without sounding like a diva.

He’d been sitting inside Coffee Beans and Things for hours, and he had nothing to show for it save for a small army of coffee cups and a full bladder. He should probably switch to decaf. Or water.

He was about to click over to his personal writing project when an incoming email pinged his computer. The preview box hovered in the bottom right of his screen with the ominous subject line of Rewrites required: Call me.

Parker checked the time. Just after four. Almost quitting time. Nobody would blame him if he left that email to deal with tomorrow, right?

He gulped down the final two sips of his beverage, grimacing at the taste of coffee that had been sitting out too long—bitter and cold—then packed his laptop into his messenger bag.

“I was just about to offer you a slice of lemon blueberry pound cake to soak up that coffee, but looks like you’re taking off for the day.”

Parker stared at the owner of Coffee Beans and Things and pondered his options. He’d been here often enough that Agata knew how he took his coffee, that he preferred his sandwiches without avocado, and that he had a weakness for glazed cakes. “Can I take it to go?”

Agata nodded, her short, curly bob bouncing. “I’ll pack it up for you.”

“Actually, can you make it two?”

“Will do.”

After using the restroom, he paid his tab and headed out with his cakes and a coffee for the road—decaf this time given the hour.

The walk to the hardware store wasn’t a long one, and when he arrived, he strolled up and down the aisles, looking at tools he’d never used just to kill time while he waited for Jesse.

“Help you with anything?” one of the employees asked. She was short and grey-haired, wearing a name tag that read Gwen , and she gave off an air of competency that was a contrast to his own WTF feelings.

“Um, yeah. How do you remove old wallpaper? And carpet? What are the first steps to remodelling a kitchen? Also, where’s your paint section?”

To her credit, she didn’t balk at his rapid-fire questions.

They started with the paint, since Gwen said that was the easiest, then she left to grab him some tools for wallpaper removal while he browsed colours. Parker was looking at paint swatches when Jesse found him.

Jesse was wearing his resting don’t-fuck-with-me face, all broody scowl and deep frown lines. It had been his default expression since before Parker could remember. What Parker also remembered was his own unique ability to turn that frown upside down.

“Hey! I brought you something.”

Jesse grabbed the paper bag and peered inside, his scowl smoothing into one of interest. “Pastry?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“At four-thirty in the afternoon?”

Parker reached for it. “If you don’t want it, I’ll happily take it off your hands.”

Backing up a step, Jesse held the bag to his chest. “Keep your greedy hands to yourself.”

Oh man. If Jesse knew that these greedy hands wanted to touch something less pastry-like and something more manly-like, he probably wouldn’t be joking around with him.

Parker cleared his throat and held up two paint swatches. “What do you think? Julep or Eco Green?”

“For what?” Jesse asked, that scowl making a comeback. He was all big and sexy in jeans and a leather jacket, and the scowl gave him an air of don’t give two fucks . And why that turned Parker’s crank he couldn’t say.

Maybe because he knew there was more to Jesse than what was on the surface?

“Your living room,” he said.

Jesse quirked an eyebrow. “First, they look the same. Second, I was thinking something more neutral.”

“I thought you might say that,” Parker said with a sigh. “Neutral’s boring, but fine.” He grabbed additional paint swatches in varying shades of blah. “White Duck, Greek Villa, or Ivory Lace?”

Jesse squinted at them. “Once again, they look the same.”

“How about this one?” Parker said, handing him another one.

“Yellow? Hm.”

“Sunny Veranda, technically. It’ll brighten up your living room. Those front windows are small and don’t let in a lot of light.”

“I was planning on knocking them out and putting in one larger one.”

“How do you do that?”

Jesse turned his squint on him. “Don’t you know?”

“Me?” Parker jerked a thumb at himself like an idiot. “How would I know?”

“Just...” Jesse’s squint turned into another full-on scowl. “The way you jumped in to help, I assumed you knew something about home renovation.”

Parker grinned. “Nope. Not a damn thing.”

Jesse’s lips flattened. Parker recognized the look—it was Jesse’s default expression during a hockey game.

“So this is the blind leading the blind?” Jesse grumbled.

“Yup.”

“Christ.”