Page 45 of Eight Years Gone
Eleven
Jagger grabbed the last heavy bucket Asa handed him, setting it on the floor among the dozen other buckets he had yet to put away after Maggie’s trip to the warehouse over in Scranton.
“Maggie and I are going to head home to change out of our wet clothes. I’ll have her back here as soon as I can,” Asa said, wiping at the drops of rain dripping off his yellow slicker in the miserable morning drizzle.
“Take your time. I’ll get the buckets taken care of. Then I’ll get started on the roses.”
Asa nodded. “We appreciate it, Jagger, especially when I’m not available to help with the afternoon deliveries today. Unfortunately, I have a meeting I can’t rearrange.”
“I’m happy to do it. Go get dried off and warmed up.”
Asa nodded again. “We’ll be back in a bit.”
Jagger closed the back door, shutting out the chill in the air, wiping the rain on his exposed forearms off on his jeans.
Finding it cold, he pulled down the sleeves on the white long-sleeve T-shirt he bought the other day. He’d added several items to his typically minimal wardrobe. The cooler temperatures weren’t something he was used to after spending so much time in the milder overseas climates.
Getting back to work, he lugged two buckets crammed with filler greens into the refrigerator. Walking them a few steps inside, he headed back out as he heard Grace’s efficient footsteps on the hardwood.
“Hey,” she said as she walked into the processing room, dressed in another pair of snug jeans that she’d paired with brown boots and a cream-colored V-neck sweater. She’d added simple silver hoops to her ears and piled her hair in a loose bun, leaving her sexy, slender neck exposed.
“Hey.”
She stopped in front of him, holding two paper cups. Steam trailed from the lids, carrying the heavenly scents of great coffee and her typical chai tea. “I picked this up for you. It’s a dark roast with plenty of cream.”
He definitely hadn’t expected this—her bringing him his favorite coffee doctored up how he liked it.
He’d assumed Grace would spend her morning in the front, avoiding him like she had last week. Taking the blessedly warm cup, he smiled as he breathed deeply. “Thanks.”
She shrugged. “It’s cold outside, and you’re doing us a huge favor. I pick up hot chocolate for Brandon all the time.”
Getting the gist clearly enough—her gesture meant nothing special—he noted her slightly stiff shoulders and the way she now gripped her cup between two hands before he stared into blue eyes that were all the more fantastic with her face unframed. “I appreciate it.”
She nodded as she looked toward the remaining buckets. “I guess we should get these put away.”
He took a glorious sip, then set the cup on the table, picking up two buckets as Grace did, following her into the refrigerator.
They finished the process in silence—the slight tension between them forever there.
On the last trip into the fridge, he didn’t open the door again when they put their buckets down.
Turning in the small, cramped space, she stopped short of bumping into him. “What are you doing?”
He sighed. “How do we make this not weird? How do I get you to talk to me like you did on Sunday?”
She jerked her shoulders as she crossed her arms across her chest. “I don’t know how to talk to you. I don’t know how to be around you anymore. You were my best friend. You were my lover for years. I don’t know how to pretend that things didn’t end badly.”
Finally, they were getting somewhere—actual words that weren’t small talk. “I’m not asking you to pretend anything.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to do this—bring up the past—especially not in here.”
“Because I used to pull you against me? Because we used to sneak kisses and drive each other crazy?”
She swallowed as her eyes grew frosty. “No, because it’s cold, and there’s a lot of work to do.”
Understanding that they weren’t getting anywhere after all, he used his ass to push the door open, letting her out before he let the door close behind them.
The silence stretched out again as they began unboxing the dozens of roses for tomorrow’s wedding.