SEVEN
As the sun set, Trace loaded the last of the reclaimed maple from the specialty lumber store onto the rails of his truck and tied them down.
With the load secured, he jumped off the running board, pressed his palms to the edge of the truck bed, and closed his eyes until the burn in his shoulders faded. Everything hurt today. He was definitely getting too old to go at it all night if this was how he felt the next day. But he hadn’t met anyone he’d been that passionate about in years, so the problem was most likely less about age and more about disuse.
At least that’s what he liked to think.
Regardless, he still had a lot of work to do to make up for the time he’d lost. Zane was taking Dad again tonight, so this was Trace’s last chance to get caught up on the café for a while.
He straightened and rounded the truck. As soon as he slid into the driver’s side, his stomach growled and rumbled. He glanced at the dash and realized he hadn’t eaten in eight hours.
Instead of heading back to Wild Harts, he walked across the street to Finley’s Market, ordered a sandwich at the deli counter, then wandered to the cooler for a drink. He pulled a couple of water bottles from the case, and when he closed the door he caught sight of Tiffany Mulligan. She was standing in the wine aisle with a bottle of red in her hand, but she was frowning at her phone.
When Trace was living with his grandmother in Wildwood, he’d gone to school here. He’d been in the same class as Tiffany’s older brother and had gott
en to know the family. “Hey, Tiffany.”
She looked up, her expression still distracted, but her gaze cleared and she smiled. “Hey, Trace. How are you?”
“Good, thanks. Congratulations on your wedding. Avery’s real excited about doing your cake.”
“I know she’s going to do an amazing job.” Concern returned to her eyes. She leaned her shoulder against the nearest shelf. “How is she? I could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t know about David. I can’t imagine how hard this transition must be for her. She certainly didn’t need the news that he’s getting remarried. Hell, the signatures on the divorce papers are barely dry. My mother, I swear.”
Trace fought to hide his own surprise. “You know Avery. She’s as tough as they come. When did that come up?”
“At the bridal shower. And I feel horrible. I’m the one who saw it on Facebook earlier in the day because I still follow David. I was shocked, and stupidly told my mother. If I’d thought for a second, I would have kept my mouth shut.”
“Facebook, huh?” He had ugly flashbacks of his good-for-nothing fiancée who’d left him for another guy at the mere hint of trouble. “That’s pretty shitty.”
“Oh, it’s terrible. There isn’t anyone sweeter, more loyal, or with a bigger heart than Avery. I hope she hasn’t seen all the comments on his engagement photos. It just breaks my heart.” Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it with a shake of her head. “The comments just keep coming.”
Trace flashed to the sight of Avery sitting on the café floor with a pie and a wine bottle. “I’m the goddess of fine.”
So last night had been a revenge fuck. Or a rebound fuck. Whatever. Same difference.
The realization hammered him in the chest. What an idiot he’d been, thinking something real had happened last night. Thinking there might be something different, something special, some sort of unique connection between them.
Worse, he felt like an absolute sucker for believing that she’d wanted him, knowing who he was and where he’d been. That she’d wanted him, knowing she could have any of a dozen other men who were better than Trace in every way that mattered. Yet she’d chosen him.
“I’m cured of ever wanting commitment again,” she’d said. And it was a hell of a lot easier to avoid commitment with a guy you really didn’t want for anything but a rebound fuck, wasn’t it?
Tiffany’s phone pinged again. “Jesus. I’m just going to turn it off. I can’t take it.”
“Mind if I look at the posts?” he asked.
She pushed the phone into his hands. “Be my guest. Then just turn it off. I have to pick wine for a dinner party. Maybe I’m just having pre-wedding jitters, but as soon as I get home I’m unfriending everyone associated with that bullshit.”
Tiffany wandered down the aisle, and Trace took a deep breath and turned his attention to the Facebook posts on her phone. He scrolled to photos of David and his fiancée, a cute, chestnut-haired girl. They’d been professionally done, and the two looked absolutely in love in every photo. Kissing. Embracing. Holding hands. Looking deep into each other’s eyes. David carrying his fiancée in his arms.
A mess of emotions whipped through Trace, and he found himself filled with an irrational level of both hurt and betrayal on Avery’s behalf. But reading the messages friends had posted only angered him more. Things like “Congratulations on finally finding THE ONE,” “You’re perfect for each other,” “Second time’s a charm,” “Never seen you so happy,” and “Hooah, doin’ it right this time.”
“Jesus.” Trace’s stomach burned with so much anger in so many directions, he couldn’t read any more. He returned the water to the cooler and grabbed a six-pack of Wildcard’s high-octane triple IPA instead. Striding down the wine aisle, he handed the phone back to Tiffany. “You’re right. That’s bullshit. Thanks for being such a good friend to Avery.”
Trace checked out without his sandwich, his appetite gone.
Two hours later, nearing ten o’clock, Trace had gone through four of the six beers and laid maple hardwood in half of the café’s event space, upstairs and across the building from the little apartment where he’d spent the night with Avery. He was shirtless and dripping sweat when headlights flashed through the windows.
He paused, rubber mallet in hand, and watched Avery’s Jeep come to a stop out front. He knew his anger was irrational. Knew she hadn’t promised anything more than she’d given, but he still felt like she’d lied to him.