Hold On (Page 157)

He just had to hope that one day Ethan would find him and share it so he could do whatever he could to help him get past it.

On these thoughts, Garrett felt a burn that he could only extinguish knowing they had a reservation for Swank’s and he had an envelope on his bar at home with three Colts tickets in it.

He flipped a pancake, calling, “You gonna want more, bud?”

“Yeah,” Ethan answered. “One, maybe two. Thanks, Merry.”

“Whatever you want, kid,” he muttered to the pancakes.

He said those words and felt it again. Ethan’s eyes on his back. Maybe even Cher’s too.

He didn’t turn.

He made his woman and her son pancakes.

* * * * *

Wednesday Evening

“I thought he was full of it,” Ethan declared before he lifted his eyes from his plate. “But Brendon did not lie.” He raised his fork, which had a chunk of steak skewered on its tips. “You can cut these steaks with your fork.”

“It’s a miracle,” Grace muttered, all dolled up, looking nearly as pretty as her daughter in part because of the happy smile she was aiming right then at her grandson.

But she was wrong.

It wasn’t a miracle.

It was a prime cut of beef that cost fifty-three dollars.

It was also worth every penny. And Garrett knew that to be true as he watched Ethan shove the chunk of steak into his mouth, his eyes going round with marvel.

He felt something slink up the leg of his trousers and looked to his woman at his side.

Now he was wrong.

Grace looked pretty.

But all done up for their night out, Cher was fucking dazzling.

She was also looking at him.

And her look told him she loved him. It also told him she loved what he was giving to her son.

So yeah.

Absolutely.

A fifty-three-dollar steak was a damned expensive steak.

But it was worth every fucking penny.

* * * * *

Thursday Afternoon

Garrett stood on the porch, looking out to the water.

He’d finally had time to schedule the viewing.

And there he was.

The bathrooms were in worse shape than he’d thought.

The rest of it was better than he could’ve imagined.

Especially the view.

His real estate agent stood with him.

“I’m not sure they’re going to accept that offer, Garrett,” she remarked.

“The place needs work,” he told her, something she knew.

“They’re aware of that, which is why they’ve dropped the price seventy-five K.”

“Comps show my offer is not an insult,” he returned.

“Maybe so, but the market is reviving.”

He turned to look at her. “Make the offer. Be cool about it so they don’t shut us out. There’s room to move.”

“You might need a lot of room. They give the impression they’re entrenched.”

He looked back to the water.

I like water.

“I gotta get back to work,” he murmured, then turned again to his agent, leveling his eyes on hers. “Make the offer. I don’t care you gotta make magic, Diane. Get me this house.”

“Okay, Garrett,” she replied.

He nodded.

He then took another look inside the opened door at the big great room, its fantastic kitchen, its phenomenal hearth, all the warm and welcoming space.

He turned the other way and took a last look at the water, which could be seen from the kitchen. The living room. The study. The room that could be Ethan’s. The master suite, which was all the way on the other side of the house from the study and other two bedrooms.

And with one last glance at his agent, he went to his truck and got back to work.

* * * * *

Saturday Morning

Garrett was on his way out the door to head to Cher’s to help her with Ethan’s party when his phone rang.

After glancing at the screen, he took the call.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“I made magic,” Diane said.

Garrett smiled.

Chapter Twenty-Two

On Top

Cher

“I’m sorry, we don’t have more tiki torches.”

“How can you not have more tiki torches? This is a party place. We’re having a luau. A luau is a party. Which is why I’m shoppin’ at a party place. And you can’t have a luau without tiki torches.”

“Sir, it’s October in Indiana.”

“So?”

“We sell down stock of tiki torches after summer in order to make room for Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas items.”

“You should be ready for every occasion.”

“We pride ourselves in being that. That’s why you currently have twelve tiki torches here. But I’m afraid we don’t have more right now. And just a suggestion, next time, should you want something in high quantities, if you give us a call beforehand, we’ll be happy to order it for you.”

“Twelve isn’t a high quantity. It’s a perfectly reasonable quantity unless you need twenty, and I need twenty.”

“Again, I apologize. We just don’t have twenty.”

“I barely have enough leis and grass skirts. And, just to say, neither are very high quality.”

“I’m sorry you think that as well, sir. But—”

“Yo!” Merry barked.

I jumped at the sound, pulled from my focus on my extreme annoyance at being an audience to this sheer ridiculousness when Merry and me had a ton of Star Wars and other party shit in four collective baskets, a cake to pick up, decorating to do, and later, merrymaking to achieve for my son.

Plus, my mother was at my house with my kid, helping me get ready by doing what she called “light cleaning.” This meant she was going to move shit around to where she thought it should be, which was what she always did when she jumped at the chance to do some “light cleaning” before some event I had at my house. This also meant it’d take weeks to find the shit she moved, something which was nearly more annoying than the selfish, thoughtless, in-a-hurry human population you encountered when you were out running errands (but just nearly).