Crank (The Gibson Boys 1)

Putting him in a box seems impossible. He relaxes me with a smile and then puts my defenses up with an asshole remark. He’s playful when asking me to swing the bat, yet demanding with his “Be there Monday morning or Sheriff.” It’s dizzying.

“Hey.” Delaney’s voice jostles me from my daydream. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. The neighbor decided to mow his lawn at the crack of dawn,” I say, omitting the whole Walker thing for now.

She yawns, stretching her arms high above her head. “I just started a pot of coffee. Had any yet?”

“Nope. I’m too tired for even basic tasks this morning.”

“Do you have a busy day planned or can you just chill out?”

“Well, since we wrapped up the project that would never end and decided to take a couple weeks off before jumping back in, I’m chilling out.”

She curls up on the chair across from me. “We needed this break. I needed this break.”

“Me too,” I admit. “My brain needs to reset. We’ve done great this first year, but there are so many ways we could go starting this fall. I read some articles I want to show you.”

Delaney nods, gazing into the distance.

The summer sun streams through the windows, a threat of rain rolling in from the west. Before we know it, it’ll be fall, then winter, and another year will have passed.

Thinking of it like that causes a swell of anxiety to bubble in my belly, a reminder that another year will have gone by and I still feel like I have nothing figured out about my life.

I’m only in Illinois because of Delaney. When she came up with the idea for Boutique Designs, I was all in and didn’t even mind moving up here despite my hatred of all things winter so she could stay near her family. But now our lease is almost up on the house we’ve been renting, and when I try to push forward on expanding our brand and getting a long-term plan in place, she drags her feet. I’m in this static state, unable to move.

“About all that . . .” Delaney says.

Sitting up, groaning as my back screams in distress, I push it aside and focus on my friend. “What’s up?”

“Um, well . . .” She takes down her ponytail and puts it back up. “I want to thank you for being such a good friend.”

“Okay . . .”

She takes a slow, deep breath. “Remember when I had dinner with my mom a few weeks ago and came home crying?”

“Yeah,” I say, utterly confused as to where this is going.

“Dad got a new contract at the farm.”

“That’s great,” I say, knowing her family had been struggling. “He must be thrilled.”

“He is. Mom too. It’s for production of organic dairy, which is all the rage, but there’s all this red tape involved . . .” She looks at the floor, avoiding my gaze.

Shifting in my seat, I try to figure out what she’s saying so she doesn’t have to come out and say it. I got nothing. “What does this mean for you?”

“They need my help. Full time.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide. “I couldn’t design with you and work for them. It would be too much to do both things.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask, my mind reeling. This would answer so many questions, explain her lack of motivation over the last few weeks.

“I don’t know,” she groans, getting to her feet. She walks a circle around the living room, kicking a gum wrapper as she goes. “I need to help my parents. I’m not sure they’ll make it if I don’t.” Her voice breaks, and when she looks at me, her eyes are watery.

“I get it.” Standing, I make my way to her and pull her into a hug. “Family always comes first, Delaney. I respect that.”

She pulls back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “You are the best person I know.”

“Oh, I am not,” I laugh.

“Yes, you are. You’re so kind. You want to fix everything and you’d give anyone the shirt off your back. You’re gorgeous and talented and—”

“Stop. You’re making me feel weird.”

She laughs too before taking her seat again. “I’ll have to move back to my parents’ property. Is that okay? I mean, I know you can afford the rent, but I feel like I’m abandoning you.”

“It’s fine. You do what you have to do.” Even as the words come out of my mouth, I can’t help but wonder what I will do. Where does this leave me?

“I didn’t even want to bring this up until we finished the Paxton Project and were on vacation. I’ve been a wreck.”

“Don’t be nervous about talking to me. Ever,” I tell her. “You’ll just be a half hour away. I’ll be fine here until I figure out how to navigate this little curveball.”