Mixed Up with a Marine

Chapter 2-1

2

“Miss Rebecca, this is the best meatloaf I’ve ever eaten in my life.” Holt pressed a hand to his heart, his face beaming with sincerity. “Will you marry me?”

Brax snorted into his mashed potatoes as Jonah’s mom laughed, a full, rich peal of sound that echoed through the kitchen.

“Broadway, quit hitting on my mama.”

“Sorry, dude. The maker of this meatloaf deserves to be worshipped.”

Rebecca’s cheeks pinked, the laugh lines around the green eyes she’d passed on to her son deepening. Brax had no trouble believing she’d been a former pageant queen. She had a magnetism that was utterly irresistible. And the meatloaf really was awesome.

“I’m glad you like it. There’s plenty more where that came from. Jonah’s always been able to eat like a lumberjack. I figured you and Brax would be the same.”

“Yes, ma’am, you figured right.”

Grinning, she served them all another slice before passing the bowls of potatoes and roasted brussels sprouts.

Brax took more of all of it. “I didn’t know brussels sprouts could actually taste good.”

“Bacon makes everything better,” Rebecca pronounced.

“True story. I just never thought to add it to baby cabbages.”

Jonah waved a fork in his direction. “This is Tennessee, son. Bacon is its own food group here.”

“And for a long time, it was the only way I could get this one to eat his vegetables.”

“Hey! I resemble that remark.”

Rebecca leaned over and pressed a smacking kiss to Jonah’s cheek. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Good to be home.”

Brax wondered what it must’ve been like to have a mom like this. One who looked out for you and made sure you ate your vegetables. Hell, one who made sure you ate at all. One who showered you with open affection, instead of back hands when you didn’t scramble out of the way fast enough. He had few memories of the junkie who’d birthed him, and the ones he had, he wished he didn’t. After she’d died, he’d been on his own, living on the streets for nearly a year before he’d been scooped up and into the foster system. None of the foster parents he’d been saddled with had been worth much, either. Certainly, none of them had been like Rebecca. This house, covered in family photos of the three of them, where the love had practically soaked into the walls, felt like a whole other planet. He’d only ever felt so at peace and accepted with one person. And in the grand scheme of things, his marriage to Mia had been barely more than a blink. Then again, she’d been his person years before they’d said, “I do.”

Christ, why was he thinking of her again?

Hearing his name, Brax blinked, tuning back into the conversation. “Ma’am?”

Rebecca flashed a smile. “I asked if you’d like pie.”

That perked him up. “There’s pie, too?”

“Apple. With vanilla ice cream. It might not be quite up to what the three of you can whip out now, but it’s always been pretty good.”

“Pretty good,” as it turned out, was an understatement. As the buttery, flaky pastry melted on his tongue and melded with the cinnamon and apples, Brax couldn’t stop a moan of appreciation. “Holt, move over. You’ve got competition. I’ve got to marry her for this pie.”

Delighted, Rebecca laughed again. “Jonah, you should bring your friends home more often. It’s fantastic for my ego.”

“We can all agree that my mom can cook circles around a lot of people, but I sure as hell am not gonna be calling either of you two assholes ‘Daddy,’ so lay off.”

The laughter and camaraderie lasted through the rest of the meal. Afterward, they overruled Rebecca’s attempts to do the dishes.

“It’s the least we can do for you, putting us up and feeding us,” Holt insisted.

With a satisfied smile, she popped up on her toes to press a kiss to each of their cheeks. “Y’all are good boys. I’m gonna go read for a while. The latest Paisley Parish book is out.”

She walked out of the room, humming.

Brax moved over to the sink and turned on the water. “Dude, I hope you know how incredibly lucky you are.”

“Seriously,” Holt agreed. “Your mom is a treasure. I don’t think I realized moms like that actually existed.”

Jonah opened a drawer, pulling out dish towels. “I am a shameless mama’s boy. She made sure Sam and I never felt a lack from having a single parent.”

Holt took a towel. “Did she ever try dating anybody else?”

“Nope. Lonnie did a number on her. Far as I know, she’s never had a single date.”

Yeah, Brax understood what that was like. Sometimes things ended so badly, it wasn’t worth trying again. He plunged his hands into the soapy water and attacked the meatloaf pan as Jonah started loading the dishwasher.

“Either way, she’ll totally adopt you two. A bunch of my friends growing up considered her a second mom. A bunch of Sam’s too. She’s always liked having a houseful.”

“I’m completely down for that. She just might permanently change my standards for what I want in a woman,” Holt announced.

Brax passed him the pan. “I’d love that, too. But is she really gonna be okay with having three grown men underfoot for however long this clean-up takes?”

“Well, there are some options there that I wanted to discuss with y’all.”

Brax and Holt exchanged a look. “That sounds ominous.”

“Not ominous. Let’s finish these up and grab a beer. I’ve got an idea to tell you about.”

Once the dishes were put away and the counters wiped down, the three of them settled in the living room. Brax sprawled in the overstuffed chair by the little fireplace, propping one foot on his knee. “Okay, out with it, Ferguson. I recognize that scheming light in your eye.”

“So, we all went into Dr. Graham’s program because we had s**t to work out. Coming out the other side with a certified civilian skill was a bonus rather than the end game. And now, we’re all wondering what the hell we’re gonna do next.” Jonah tipped back his beer. “She made it clear that we’re going to need the kind of community that we can become a part of, make a difference in. We can do that here.”

Holt rubbed absently at his knee, where his prosthetic attached. “By doing what, exactly?”

“Exactly what we were trained to do. We’re damned good bakers. Sure, not a one of us expected to be good at it or even to like it. None of us thought that’s what we’d be doing when we grew up. But we have an opportunity here that we’re not likely to have somewhere else.”

Brax stared him down. “You want to open a bakery in the bar.”

Jonah tipped his bottle in Brax’s direction. “Got it in one. I own the building free and clear. Or Sam and I do, and I’ve already run the idea by her. Not having rent or a mortgage lowers the overhead of getting a business started.”

“Were you in the same building we were yesterday?” Holt demanded. “It’s not like we can just clean up and slap some paint on the place and it suddenly look inviting. We’re talking about major renovation. And that’s on top of buying all the necessary equipment. We’d need ovens, display cases, a proper walk-in cooler, better seating. And that’s assuming there are no structural issues with the building itself. We don’t have the skills to do all that, which means hiring out, which means even more costs.”

Brax picked up the thread. “There’s also the question of whether a town this size can generate enough revenue to support all three of us. Eden’s Ridge is a small town. Hell, the entire population of Stone County can’t be more than—what?—fifteen thousand?”

“Bit over twenty. I don’t dispute there’d be a lot of moving parts, and if we decide to do it, then we can cross all those bridges, ask all those questions. The one that needs answering more immediately is whether this is something either of you would want at all. I’m not gonna be offended if you say no, and I’m not expecting an answer right this second. I just wanted to present the option. Y’all have become some of my closest friends this past year, and if I was gonna go into business for myself, actually gonna open a bakery, I’d want to do it with y’all.”

Brax grinned. “Awww, you like us.”

Holt clinked his bottle to Jonah’s. “We love you, too, brother.”

“You’ve got time to think about it. But I did set up an appointment tomorrow with a contractor. Buddy of mine from high school has his own construction company, and he’s gonna come out to give us an estimate on what we might be looking at. It may be that it’ll be too much, and that’ll put an end to the whole idea. But then at least we’ll know.”

Brax took a pull on his beer and sat with the idea. Jonah’s proposal would mean putting down real roots. He’d never really felt the urge. Not since his marriage imploded. But maybe it was time. He certainly hadn’t grown up as part of a community. Neither had Holt.

What would it be like to live in a place like this? Where undoubtedly everybody more or less knew everybody and was probably all up in each other’s business. That was how it was supposed to work in small towns, right? But it would also mean setting himself up in a place where people would give a damn about him. Brax had finally reached a point in his life where he believed he actually deserved that. Most of the time.

“I assume, if we did this, we’d be looking for a more permanent place to live. Your mother’s cooking aside, it’s not practical for us to stay here long term.”

“There are rental options. Both vacation rentals we could nab for a few weeks if we stick to the original plan, or regular rentals if we opt to open the bakery. Porter—that’s my buddy—also has some properties. We can talk to him about those tomorrow, too, because I doubt any of us are gonna want to sleep on the couch for more than a few nights.”

Holt leaned forward, setting his beer on the coffee table. “Speaking of which, we gotta figure out who has the short straw. Put ’em in, fellas.”

Brax and Jonah likewise sat forward, each with a fist in their palms for the time-honored tradition of rock-paper-scissors.

“On three.”