“I’m sorry.” My voice was small and I suddenly realized that my loss of Colin, although awful, was at least quick and painless. I didn’t think I would have been able to watch cancer eat away at him.
He put the bottle to his lips and gulped down a few more swallows. “Over fifteen years without her and I can still recognize the smell of her shampoo when I walk down the grocery aisle.”
Fuck. That was utterly sad and depressing. Why was Ashton letting his dad live on the street? Why not up in my spare apartment?
I decided to push my luck and ask, “How long have you been on the streets?”
He shrugged. “Four, maybe six months. Family tried to ‘intervention me,’ I drank so much that night I wound up in the back of the sheriff’s car.” He smiled weakly, remembering times past.
I frowned. “Oh.”
Clearly Ashton had tried everything and I was an idiot for suggesting rehab last night.
Wayne stumbled past me. “He’s a good kid.” He started to walk down the street.
“Wait. Wayne! Need a place to sleep?” I yelled after him.
He just shook his head and waved me off.
A frown pulled at my lips, but I’d have to let that one go. I could only save one person at a time, and Wayne seemed too lost in his emotional demons.
Chapter 9
Ashton
Millie’s social media pages were shut up like Fort Knox. City, state, and age. That was it. I’d overheard her and Wayne talking out front as she wrote some ridiculous menu for a bar I still wanted to sell. I’d seen the moment she realized Wayne was a lost cause. It was like a veil slipped over her eyes and she gave up on him. I was glad to see it, glad she didn’t see my old man as another project to fix.
I’d just closed the bar and Millie was cleaning down the kitchen while I sat behind the bar, rubbing a tight spot in my chest as I stared at Jenna’s handwriting.
Brunch at Wayne’s
* Will have organic, gluten free, and vegan options.
* Craft Beer?
* Avocado Toast?
* Comfort food with hipster flair.
*Gran’s pecan pie.
My throat tightened and I had to clear it a few times as it became hard to breathe. This is what Jenna wanted for Wayne’s Place, and then on the one-year anniversary of her death, Millie comes along wanting all the same things.
Coincidence?
Maybe Jenna sent Millie. Maybe I should take the woman seriously…
Pulling out my phone, I texted Darcy.
Me: Can you wait until Sunday morning to respond?
I wanted to keep my word to Millie.
Darcy: Are you crazy? No way, the offer expires by then!
Fuck. Was I really going to let my entire financial life ride on some chick who rode into town on the New York subway two days ago!?
Me: Fine. I’ll let you know tomorrow after I speak to my grandmother.
Darcy: Tick tock.
I sighed, staring at the chalkboard paint Millie had purchased and asked me to put up. Would it hurt to throw a coat of paint on the wall? Let Wayne’s place go out in glory? Picking up the can, I went into the storage closet and looked for a brush.
As I was painting the far wall, Millie came out with her hair tied into a messy top-knot. She was no longer wearing her white coat; instead she wore a tiny black tank top and high-waisted jeans. The tank top was short but the jeans were high, so only half an inch of her lean stomach showed. It was a tease if you asked me. Either wear a normal longer shirt or wear lower jeans and show the full stomach.
“Here to micromanage me?” I asked when she didn’t leave after a few seconds.
She crossed her arms, causing her breasts to lift up and pop her cleavage. Right between the center of her breasts was a thin silver chain. She played with it often and I found myself wondering what was on it. A cross? A diamond heart? A locket perhaps?
Jesus, man, who fucking cares.
“I’m here to see if you need help. It’s three thirty a.m. and we have your gran’s party tomorrow.”
Shit. I already forgot about the party, and her mention of the time caused me to yawn. We were closed Monday and Tuesdays, the only way I could get days off and not have to hire staff. So going out to Gran’s farm in a one-day trip would still get us back with one day for me to run all my errands in town.
But the two-hour drive would be painful without much sleep.
“Sure, grab a brush.” I indicated to the tarp I’d pulled out and she popped over, slipping off her clogs and peeling off her socks. After rolling up her jeans, she grabbed a brush and met me over by the ladder.
“You look like Huckleberry Finn,” I told her. “No need to roll your jeans, we’re not wading in the paint.”
She snort-laughed and it was cute and annoying at the same time.
“Well this isn’t a strip club. No need to keep removing your shirt every time it gets the slightest bit hot in here.” She pointed at my bare chest and I grinned.
“Is it too distracting for you?” I winked, flexing my chest.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
My grin widened. “Normally women have to sleep with me to figure that out. You should count yourself lucky.”
She clambered up the other side of the ladder and dipped her brush into the black paint, fixing me with a doe-eyed glare. “The luckiest.”
Ouch. Was the thought of sleeping with me really that repulsive? Man, this chick really got in my head. When she bent over to paint the lower portion of the wall, I found myself admiring her ass. It was a bubble butt, which I was a sucker for. She had the perfect body, all booty stacked atop lean muscular legs and curvy hips.
I blew the air out
