Page 38 of Backward Motion

“Dad told me to call you.”

She gave an indignant huff. “Typical.”

Whenever Sam spoke to Georgia, it was like they were kids again. Neither of them seemed able to shake their entrenched positions after years of the same arguments.

“Anyway,” he continued pointedly. “I know you don’t care, but I’m fine, okay? So back off.”

“You’re deluded. I’m going to spell it out: If you take too much time off, you fuck up your trajectory. No one’s going to hire you with a giant gap in your résumé.”

“It’s not a gap; I’m working.”

“What you’re doing isn’t work,” she snapped. “It’s goofing off.”

If she only knew,Sam thought wryly.

“Look, I’ve got a bunch of contacts in the city—marketing, PR, promotion. I can ask around, get a feel for what’s out there.”

Sam had to acknowledge it was a nice—albeit misguided—gesture on his sister’s part. “Is this your attempt at an apology?”

“Why would I need to apologize?” she replied archly. “You’re the one who told me to fuck off.”

“Because you were being a bitch.”

“Here that’s considered a good thing.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for another job right now.”

“Really? Because Oakdale’s such a boomtown?”

“I’ll keep it in mind, okay?”

“Just don’t get too comfortable, Sam,” she warned. “Remember, you don’t belong there. You never did. Mom and Dad don’t seem to get that, but I do.”

Sam swallowed. It was hard to pretend Georgia’s words didn’t brush a little too close to the truth.

Chapter Eighteen

Anew store was opening on Main Street. Oakdale’s quaint charm had enticed a young couple from Omaha, and they’d moved out here to open a specialty coffee shop. It was across the street from Jenny’s Diner, a decision Sam could only assume had been made with the conviction that artisanal pour-over coffees and homemade cold brew trumped the molten pot of Folgers kept on the warmer at Jenny’s. The couple was in for a rude surprise.

Connor was booked that afternoon to add a bunch of extra outlets to the store’s interior and tidy up some of the wiring that had come loose during renovations. When Sam finished the run sheet for the following day, he locked up the office and ducked into Jenny’s for takeout coffee before walking across the street to make a surprise visit. The windows were still covered with newspaper to hide the unfinished upgrades inside, but a brand-new sign hung out front, christening the place Caffeination. Sam chortled and pushed against the door with his shoulder, stepping inside. He spotted Connor crouched in a corner, pulling a disconnected cable from the wall. The look on his face was part concerned, part exasperated.

“I brought coffee,” Sam announced.

Connor glanced up, breaking into a smile. “Just in time.” He capped the wire and slipped off his yellow safety gloves then stood and brushed the dirt from the knees of his overalls before walking over to Sam. “This is why you don’t DIY. They’ve cut through two wires while replacing the drywall.”

“Uh-oh.” Sam handed him one of the takeout cups.

“If I can’t figure out where they’re supposed to go, I’ll have to open it all up again. There’s no way I can sign off on the job otherwise.”

“That’s no fun.”

Connor took a sip of coffee and tapped the lip of his cup against Sam’s in a belated toast. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for giving me a chance to indulge my curiosity. I’ve been wondering what’s going on behind here.” Sam looked around the large open space. It was painted a bold monochrome and remained empty except for a custom-built wooden serving counter fixed to the concrete floor. He ran a palm over the polished marble countertop. “Swanky. Jenny’s going to have a hard time topping this.”

“Yeah, but can you imagine Bert Mansfeld coming in here, asking for an espresso?”

“He’ll want his eggs over easy only to discover they don’t do eggs—or food for that matter. Just six-dollar cups of free-trade coffee.”