Don't Date Your Brother's Best Friend

But when Whitney took off, it brought out the worst in him—the insecurity and jealousy and supreme selfishness. Every crappy thing he could’ve learned from his dad was right there front and center. Only instead of his mama being here to slap the tar out of him and set him straight, there was only Sarah Jo trying to hold down the fort with business and home. It must’ve felt like facing a firing squad some days. I wanted to make it easier on her, but interfering would just make it worse if the way Ryan reacted to my defending her at the bar was any indication.

At the very base of all that was the fact I wanted to save her. It went with the fireman thing—I had a hero complex or something. I wanted to protect and rescue. In my eyes, it’s what a real man did. He didn’t tear people down like Ryan or use them up. That’s nothing but weakness and greed from where I was standing.

My wish to ride in and save Sarah Jo was pretty far-fetched though. It wasn’t like there was a dragon I could slay. It was beyond my power to fix her relationship with her dad and her brother or to make her dad healthy again. I wondered idly about fixing him up with my aunt Kay who was widowed two years ago—she used to be a nurse. That’d take the heat off Sarah Jo if his nurse girlfriend moved in, but my aunt was always a nice woman. She didn’t deserve to get thrown under the bus for my convenience. Not to mention Sarah Jo didn’t want to be saved. If I suggested it, she’d probably throw something at me. Something big.

After I got off my shift, I went and got coffee and took it to her at the lumberyard. I was waiting at the office door when she came to open the place early. Her grin was bright as all outdoors at sunrise. She ran up and hustled me into the office, snatched the cups to set them on the desk, and then hugged me. She was in my arms again. All of a sudden, a lot of tension I didn’t know I was carrying just uncoiled. My shoulders and neck that had been tight relaxed, and the knot in my stomach loosened. Just being with her reset everything.

“I missed you,” I said.

“How long you been standing there? You feel cold,” she said, still smiling at me.

“Not too long. I got off a little after five-thirty.”

“So like forty-five minutes? Yeah, not long. It’s just cold out there.”

“What can I say? I had to park two blocks away, so nobody would see me,” I joked. She rolled her eyes.

“Look what I got in case you came in sometime this week,” she said, “it’ll go perfect for breakfast.”

“Is it sausage and biscuits and gravy?” I said, hopefully. She shook her head.

“It’s these!” she crowed triumphantly. She brandished a cellophane packet of Hostess cupcakes, “Just like on our picnics that summer. Here, have one with the coffee. It’s better than a donut, I swear.”

“The jelly-filled ones down at the grocery store are tough to beat,” I said dubiously.

“A beautiful lumberjack has given you a gas station cupcake. Didn’t your mama teach you any manners?” she teased.

“Thank you. I have always wanted one of these,” I said mechanically the way I used to at birthdays as a kid. She laughed.

“Very convincing. Shame you didn’t pursue acting as a career,” she deadpanned, biting into her cupcake. “And say what you will about packaged junk food, but this tastes awesome.”

I leaned against the desk beside her. We drank our coffee and ate our cupcakes in companionable silence. I felt like I could breathe again, like some vise around my ribs had loosened just being close to her. Her day would be hectic, and her evening would be worse. She didn’t need any more pressure on top of that, so I didn’t tell her how much I wanted to see her again, spend time with her, kiss her without having to hurry or hide. For the moment, she had silence and fresh coffee and a frosted, cream-filled cupcake, and that was probably as good as her day was going to get. I decided to give her space to enjoy that, as much as I wanted to kiss her instead.

That’s what loving someone was. Wanting for them more than you wanted for yourself. That’s what my grandma told me once. Of course, she was married to my grandpa for forty years, and what I remember about him was he had a bad back and a worse temper. So she may have been speaking theoretically.

“Jake Cole that’s on my squad, he was talking to me last night about you.”

“Really? What was he saying?” she asked.