“Oh.” My cheeks are still burning, and I don’t even know what to say to that. She’s right, of course. Them offering me that job has changed everything, and sometimes I have to remind myself that not that long ago, I was feeling hunted and worn too thin, desperate to figure out where Cora’s next meal was going to come from and checking to make sure I had an exit strategy no matter what.
Now I’m almost comfortable. We’re both well fed and warm and safe every night, and it feels better than I expected to know that the men have my back.
“They’ve been very good to me. To us,” I say, glancing over to where Cora is dropping seeds into some of the holes Lainey dug.
“They’re good guys. That reminds me that I was talking to my parents the other day, and they’re excited to meet you.”
My head snaps up and I stare at her. “What?”
“Relax, it’s not a big deal. They just know you and Lincoln are friends and that you work for them. It’s been so long since he’s let anyone new into his life, so of course they’re curious about you. But they’re harmless, really.”
There’s a spike of anxiety in my gut at the idea of meeting anyone’s parents. That seems like a level I’ve never made it to before. I have no idea what Lincoln and Lainey’s parents are like, so I don’t know what they’ll think of me.
What even am I to Lincoln? To any of the men? A friend? An employee? A housemate?
It’s the kind of thing I should probably know before meeting people’s parents, but it’s all so tangled up and complicated.
I go back to gardening because that at least feels more simple right now.
Chapter 24
Cash
Harper takes the garden the way I hoped she would. She spends time out there whenever she can, watering and checking for weeds, showing Cora where they planted things and getting her to help with labeling where everything is.
When the first small seedlings start popping up, she gets excited in a way that makes her eyes shine, and it’s hard to look away.
I find her out there, tending to the little sprigs of greenery, humming softly to herself as she checks that they have everything they need to thrive.
Her voice is pure and sweet, unconsciously melodic in a way that makes my chest ache. She sounds amazing, even humming a tune she probably made up. Just like the first time I heard her singing, I know she has talent. I can always hear it when someone has real skill with music.
“Hey,” I call out, coming around the back so I don’t startle her.
Immediately she stops humming, and her face goes red with embarrassment at being caught. “Sorry,” she says, and it sounds like an automatic response. I don’t even want to think aboutsomeone making her feel like she can’t sing or hum if she wants to.
“Don’t be,” I tell her. “You sounded good. You have a beautiful voice.”
Harper’s face scrunches up at that. “I don’t know about all that.”
I grin, pushing my hands into my pockets. “That’s okay, because I do. Music is my thing, remember? So when I say you’re amazing, I have facts to back it up. You should sing more often if you want to, instead of hiding it. No one here is gonna mind, trust me.”
She peers at me for a second, and I wonder if she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious. Then she sits back on her heels, dusting her hands off. “You’re one to talk,” she says. “I’ve never heard you sing before either.”
“That’s—”
Harper cuts me off before I can argue much. “Don’t say it’s different because it’s not. You wouldn’t even perform in the summer festival when a) you love it, and b) everyone wanted you to. So what’s up with that?”
I shrug, not sure how this got turned around on me. But I guess I should have expected that, all things considered. Harper always picks up on things, and she’ll deflect in a second if she can. Just, in this case she’s not really wrong.
“Do you miss it?” she asks, her voice softening.
I nod. No point in lying. “Yeah, I do. More than I like to think about, really.”
There’s all these feelings tangled up in it. Remembering who I was before, the guy who thought he was destined for a recording deal and bright stage lights, makes me think about why I gave it up, and that makes me feel guilty in a way that has my stomach squirming.
“You should get back into it,” Harper is saying. “Singing and performing. There’s no reason you can’t, right? Even if it’s just around here.”
She has a point, and I think it over before nodding and flashing her a grin. “All right, sure. You’re right. I’ll sing in public again—” I wait until she smiles, satisfied, “—as long as you do too.”