Bryce nodded, his face sober. “That’s good. That’s real good. You’ve had a lot to deal with. Shit happens. You do the best you can.”
That was one thing he liked about Bryce. He might be the chief but he never judged. He was probably the fairest person Rick had ever met. Unlike some people, who seemed to judge first and get details later.
Dammit. He’d almost managed to go without thinking about Jess for … what, twenty minutes?
He dipped into his chicken dinner. God, it was good to have home cooking. Gus had been cooking here at Breezes as long as Rick could remember. Not that Rick starved, but he never made something like this for himself. There never seemed to be much point.
Linda came back with Bryce’s pie and coffee and they relaxed, eating and catching up on what was going on in the Collins family. Tom was ecstatic to be getting married; Bryce’s wife, Mary, was feeling better now that her morning sickness had passed; Josh was enjoying the new medical practice. According to Mary, Jess had put on a new quilt at the shop and it was going to be gorgeous.
Somewhere along the line Linda had gone on break and Summer Arnold came by and cleared away Rick’s plate, delivered his pie, and topped up Bryce’s coffee. “So,” he started conversationally, “I hear you’re emceeing the wedding.”
Bryce nodded. “Yeah. And you’re best man. Looks like you get to wear the monkey suit.” Bryce’s wide grin made Rick chuckle.
“You don’t think I can pull it off? Listen, it’s way better I wear that than my dress uniform. The chicks wouldn’t be able to resist me.”
“You don’t have to tell me about uniforms.” Bryce nodded. “It drives my wife crazy. There’s a reason we’ve got another kid on the way.” He winked at Rick and they both laughed.
Rick told himself he didn’t feel the least bit envious of his pals, who seemed to be dropping like flies at the mercy of marital fever. “Better you than me,” he replied.
They were quiet for a few moments and then Bryce looked at him, all traces of teasing gone from his face. “You need any help, Rick?” He spoke in a low voice, like he didn’t want to be overheard.
“Help with what?” Rick frowned. Why did everyone look at him like he was going to fall apart at any moment?
“Listen, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but if you’re having a hard time … with dealing with your mom’s death…”
“I’m fine,” he insisted, but that nervous churning in his stomach hit again.
“Okay. I just know that a lot of guys come home from deployment and have trouble making sense of stuff. They don’t always handle it the right way.”
“This is about my drinking,” Rick guessed, gritting his teeth.
“Hey, you said you’ve been doing better. That’s great. I just want you to get help if you need it, brother. Give me a call if that happens. I can help.” Bryce put his hand on Rick’s arm. On his prosthetic arm.
Sharp words sat on Rick’s tongue, but he remembered feeling badly about snapping at Jess and knew, deep down, that his friend was just trying to help. “I’m dealing with it, don’t worry,” he assured Bryce with a smile. It felt slightly forced. “But thanks for the concern.”
Bryce finished his coffee and took out a ten, tucked it under his plate. “You bet. I gotta go, but I’m just a phone call away. Got that?”
“I appreciate it.”
Bryce laid a hand on his shoulder. “You hang tough. It’ll get better.” He gave Rick’s shoulder a reassuring thump and then left the café.
It’ll get better. Maybe, if people would stop reminding him how bad it was. He took a bite of pie and wished he wasn’t longing for a stiff shot of rum.
* * *
Rick put his hand on the doorknob and hesitated. He’d finally given in to Tom—and his shrinking bank account—and agreed to work on Jess’s shelves. But now he was an hour and a half late showing up, feeling rough around the edges and not prepared to face Jess right now.
The choice was taken out of his hands when the door to the shop swung open. “Are you going to stand out here all day?”
Nice beginning. Not even a chance to figure out what he was going to say to her to smooth any ruffled feathers. Perfect.
“Morning,” he offered gruffly, sliding past her into the store. He halted, unprepared for the kaleidoscope of color that made up her shop. There were racks of quilts, fabric, a rainbow of yarn shoved in cubbies, racks with sparkly jewelry, candles of every color and size, and shelves of jams and jellies. She’d built quite an enterprise here, and Rick found himself incredibly proud of all she’d accomplished. Particularly since she’d done it on her own. Not that he felt compelled to point that out right at this moment. She was hardly in a receptive frame of mind. One look at the hard line of her eyebrows and the thin slash of her lips and he’d felt like the tardy kid in Ms. Robertson’s second-grade class.
When Jess shut the door firmly behind him, he knew he’d better keep moving and made his way to her workroom in the back. It was huge. The perimeter was comprised of floor-to-waist cupboards and countertops. There were boxes and plastic storage containers with supplies lined up along the counters, vying for space with the stove, fridge, several bar stools, and a line of hot plates. In one corner was a quilting frame, the material stretched taut across it.
“What’s all this for?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the room. The lighting was fantastic, considering there were fewer windows here than in the showroom. She’d been smart with her choices.
“My classes. The hot plates are for candles. We work at the counters a lot, but some of the classes need different seating. Like when I do a beading class. I have folding tables and chairs in the closet over there. I find it easier to show everyone something at once and put the beads in organizers along the middle of the tables. Knitting is like that, too. If the group’s small enough, sometimes we take the knitting up to the loft. It’s cozier.”