Second Chance Hero (6 page)

“Uh, with money. That’s normally how most purchases
go down, you know.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Why do I have to sit next to this idiot?

“I couldn't stand seeing Mrs. Hale’s bakery sitting
there unused. And I was looking for my third location anyway. We’ll make enough
money in the high season to cover for the quiet periods in winter. And I can take
on more wedding orders while the town is quiet.”

“You’ve really thought this through.” Dad says.

“No I haven’t actually. It was a spur of the moment
choice when I saw it on Saturday. But the more I think about it the more I
think it’s a good idea. I’ve got a surveyor coming tomorrow. I want to revamp
the whole thing, give it a tea room feel.”

“I have surveyors.” Deacon mumbles, obviously
offended.

“That’s enough about me,” I avoid the subject, “This
food is lovely, Red. How’s the business going?”

Red? I just called him Red! Everyone stays quiet,
including Deacon, so I take a large mouthful of Shiraz and end up drinking the
entire glass. I shrug and refill my glass while everyone tucks in, avoiding my
pet name outburst.

“Did you hear about your brother’s catch today,
son?” Dad asks, saving me from my embarrassment.

“Yeah, he called me. Dover sole, that’s impressive.
I’m sure it could have been frozen though so he could make it tonight.”

I snort. His food is good, but it’s nothing to write
home about. Of course, Deacon is now going to think he can give Gordon Ramsay a
run for his money.

“And how about the business, is it staying afloat?”

“It’s swimming. We’ve just been given a huge project
that will take most of the team to get it done. I got the brief through
yesterday, so should be good to go in the next few weeks.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re coping with it. You know if
you never need a hand, I’m about.”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

Mum and Emma go off into their own conversation, and
Deacon spends the night discussing a problem he had with flashing, or frashing.
It’s something to do with roofing and water. I don’t say anything, but I finish
an entire of bottle of wine and my head is pounding. Mum and Emma clear the
plates when everyone is finished and bring in the lemon drizzle cake I made
earlier.

“I thought you said vanilla.” Deacon turns to me and
scoops some ice cream into my bowl.

“You did. Which is why I went with lemon.” I slur.

That’s not true. It’s a vanilla sponge with lemon
syrup, but let him think I didn’t care what he wanted. Lemon was always his
favourite when we were kids, and he was the only one to try my lemon icing when
I first started out baking. I didn’t quite get the concept of butter cream, so
I mixed lemon juice and butter and plonked it on some fairy cakes. Maybe he
doesn’t like lemon; I’m not sure anyone would after eating that concoction.

“Lemon’s my favourite.” He smiles.

“That's a shame.”

“Jenna!” Mum admonishes, “What’s wrong with you?”

I don’t know. I haven’t been able to sit still all
night. I’m jittery, I’m nervous and I’m sure the butterflies I had in my
stomach earlier have moved south, because I’m needy and frustrated.

“Nothing. I just don’t know why we’re here.”

“Jenna,” Deacon leaves his cake and stands up, “Can
I have a word?”

“Of course, Chef.” I dip my finger in the ice cream
and lick it off as I stand and follow him out of the cabin and back into the
kitchen, shutting the door behind us.

“What’s your problem?” He asks, leaning against the
counter and folding his arms. I watch the muscles stretch the material of his
cotton shirt, straining to be released.

 “I don’t have to answer your questions.” I snap.
What the hell is wrong with me?

“No chance, Jenna,” He grabs my wrist as I turn to
leave, and my breath hitches, “You’re in my house, making me look like an
idiot. Why don’t you want to be here?”

“Because I don’t want to be around you. And I can't
see the point in this dinner when I’ve got nothing to talk about besides how
angry you make me.”

“What the fuck?” He asks, turning me to face him,
“What have I done to make you angry, Jenna?”

“Everything.” I sigh, “Everything. You burst back
into my life and think because you invited my parents over for beef stew that
we can be best friends again. It’s fucking with my head and I’m not playing
your games.”

“This isn’t about me. This is about your London boy
and your London job and your shitty, London life.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t belong here anymore Jenna,” He lets go of
my wrist and as angry as I am, I crave his touch. I’m so angry, and hot. I feel
like I’m about to snap, “You look like my old Jenna, but you’re not. You should
go back home.”

“Don't you dare!” I scream, not caring who hears,
“Don't make this about London. I would never have gone to London if it wasn’t
for you. Don't you dare tell me who I am and who I’m not, and I was never
your
Jenna!”

He shrugs and rolls his eyes and before I think
about what I’m doing, my hand connects with his face. Deacon grabs my wrist
again, and I want to say sorry, but something is burning so hot inside me that
I don’t feel sorry for hitting him. But I don’t feel better either.

He pulls my wrist hard enough for me to fall into
his steel chest and his free hand grabs a handful of my hair. In an instant our
lips collide and I fall apart. I slide my hands into his hair, and push myself
against him. I feel him hard and ready on my stomach as his hands touch every
part of my body he can reach. I moan against his lips as his hands slide up my
dress and he grabs my behind. This is what I wanted, what I needed. Something
coiled up inside the minute he brushed my hair earlier and all I need is to be
released. I fumble with the belt on his trousers and make a reach for his zip.

“Jenna? Daddy’s had too much wine and needs to go
home.” My mum calls through the door.

I pull away and jump back as far as I can, as we
look back at each other. I can't hear past the blood thrumming in my veins, my
heart beating with wanton need, and my head telling me this was a big mistake.

“I’m coming.” I call, pulling my dress down.

“Jenna.” Deacon calls, but I raise my hand in the
air to silence him, deciding to wait out front for our cab. I catch sight of
myself in the window of Deacon’s truck. My cheeks are red, my eyes are watering
and my hair is all over the place. I look like a state.

Deacon

Oh my shit. What the fuck just happened?

I know what happened, the throbbing in my trousers
won't let me forget, but as I reach the driveway they’ve already left.

“Fuck!”

I shut the door and slam my fist on it. I notice my
mum is standing in the doorway of the garden, when I turn around.

“In the thirty years I have known Esteban and Mindy
Rivera, they have never left a party early. They thought Jenna was going to
kill you.”

“She didn’t...we...I don’t know what I’m supposed to
say.” I grip the back of my neck and squeeze.

“Say nothing, tonight. Help me tidy up and then go
and sleep on it.”

I open my mouth to speak but the words won't come
out.

“What is it?”

I shake my head. I don’t want to upset her. But she
reaches me and speaks the words I wouldn’t dare say out loud.

“Your dad should be here to talk to you about this
stuff. But I know Jenna and I know you. Talk to me.”

 I run my hands through my hair, “She’s like a
siren, Mum. I thought she’d moved on, I thought we both had. But her being back
here... I can't take it.”

“You’re strong, Deacon Reid, you’ll do what you need
to do. Your dad would be proud of you.”

I pull her into me and she cries, as desperate to
have her soul mate back as I am to have my father tell me himself that I’ve
made him proud.

“Come on, before the wildlife steal the leftovers.”
She composes herself, and we walk to the garden to clear up.

After we’re finished clearing up, we sit down to
watch a film. I stare through the TV, my thoughts straying to what happened
tonight. It’s what I wanted, it’s what I’ve always wanted, but I can't help but
feel like something went wrong. I feel uneasy and restless.

“I’m going up to bed, Mum. There are clean sheets on
the bed in the spare room. I’ll take you home in the morning.”

She smiles at me, a pitiful smile; I kiss her on her
forehead and go up to bed. After staring at the ceiling for what feels like
hours, I fall into a restless sleep. I dream of Jenna’s hair fanned out across
my pillow, or brushing my chest. I dream about the feel of her hands on my
body, and how she’d move with my hands on hers. I hear her whispered moans, and
can smell her subtle floral perfume as if she were lying in bed with to me. I
dream of the sound of her giggling as I stroke my fingertips down her waist,
caressing her soft curves and slender form.  I wake up several times in the
night to check that she isn’t asleep curled up next to me and breathing softly.

“What have you got planned for today, Deac?” Mum
asks as I drive her back into town.

She got up this morning and made coffee in thermos
cups, and I take a sip before I answer.

“I’ve got some blue prints to finish before my
meeting tomorrow, and then I’ll go to one of the jobs and see if I’m needed.”

She nods, obviously glad I won't be spending the day
moping; my mood was anything but jovial when I got up this morning after a
sleepless night.

“And what about,” she pauses to think, “you, know.
The Jenna thing.”

“Don't pry, Mum.”

“I’m not.” She has the cheek to look shocked. As
much as I want to talk to her, I know she’ll try to work some magic. And magic
isn’t what I need, “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” I pull up outside her
house and avoid eye contact, “I don’t need anyone’s help. It’s just Jenna.”

She sighs and I can see her shaking her head, but
she climbs out of the truck and goes inside without another word said.
It’s
just Jenna.
I can’t believe I said that. There is no ‘just Jenna’. She’s
everything. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, and drive
off towards the yard. Some manual labour might get me out of this funk.

When I reach the site where the boys are building
the foundations for a development of contemporary but country-style houses, I
pull on my black steel-toe caps and head to the site office.

“Acton.” I call to the man in charge of the
operation. He’s been drafted over from Surrey and I think he’s sleeping in this
office, judging by the state of the place and the fact he’s asleep on the worn
brown leather sofa in the corner of the trailer.

He springs to life when I call him and jumps up to
shake my hand. I nod towards the door and we exit, walking along the dirt path
which is soon to be the entrance lane for the houses.

“How’s it going?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s going alright. The foundations are going
okay. A couple of the boys are having issues with the joists, but they’ll get
the hang of it.”

“They know the rule? Half the span plus two inches.”

“Yeah, of course. They’re getting ‘em down alright.
They just look shabby.”                      

“Shabby isn’t good enough, mate. How are they
supposed to support a floor with shit joists?”

“I’ll check over them, Deacon.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got some free time. I’ll go over
the fitting with them.”

We stop at the first house, where a few are working
on getting the joists down. They’re concentrating on work and don’t notice I’m
there so I watch their technique. Acton disappears further down the road to
check on the next house.

“The problem you’ve got there,” I interrupt them and
they stand to greet me like the boss. I like that, “is those joist hangers. If
you don’t get them in straight then the joists and the herringbone struts won't
be straight.”

They look back to their work, like I’ve just given
them the answer to life.

“Take them off and line them up properly. Come
here.”

The four of them join me at the edge of the
foundation and I crouch down. They follow and I point at how their work is
clearly wonky, from eye level.

“See. I’ll help you out, get the ball rolling. Take
your time, I’ve put a load of money into these houses and they have to be safe.
All above board, no corners cut.”

I stand up, jump into the space and start taking the
joists out.

“Thanks, boss.” Ricky says slapping me on the back
as they all join me.

I’m hot and sweaty and covered in dirt from working.
It took me a good few hours to mentor them into fitting everything properly and
make sure it was lined up that I didn’t manage to move on to the next lot. I
can go back Friday and check on them.

I climb back in the truck and head into town; I’ve
run out of milk, and can't be bothered to drive the extra fifteen miles to the
nearest supermarket. I park up in the harbour car park and jump out.

I spot Jenna walking towards me as I pass the
tourist shop. She’s on the phone but I know that she’s noticed me; I feel like
last night was the beach night all over again. I don’t know what to say, how to
react, or how she’s going to react. She looks up from looking at the floor and
raises her eyebrows to show her acknowledgement, but walks straight past me.

“I told you I didn’t think I’d be back,” I hear her
say heatedly, “look its Wednesday, you’ll be back in a few days, I’ll see you
when you get here.” She puts her phone in the back pocket of her light blue
jeans and I stop and watch her walk away.

 It’s hot today; it’s got to be the hottest day of
this year, and she’s wearing a white strapless top; hints of a tan line are
visible on her shoulders, and I watch her as her hair brushes across her back,
blowing gently in the breeze and swinging from her bouncy walk. God, I love
watching her walk. She stops outside the coffee shop and I see Bradley stand up
to greet her. He hugs her and they sit down at a table outside. He’s got Sasha,
his ex-girlfriend’s dog with him and Jenna leans down to stroke her. I laugh at
the little terrier sitting at Brad’s feet; I find it hilarious that he and
Rachel are sharing custody of a dog.

 I turn and carry on walking, into the newsagents
and pick up some milk. I look at the green lid on the carton, and pick another
one, a fatty blue-topped one. Just in case.

“You look filthy, Deacon,” Grace, Jonas’ girlfriend
says as she taps the amounts in the till.

I smile and shrug. Maybe I should have gone home to
shower before I came to town. I give her the money, pick up the carrier bag and
leave the shop. I don’t know how Jonas got such a pretty girlfriend; he’s the
scruffiest bloke I’ve ever known and she looks like a pixie - short black hair
and as skinny as they come. I half expect her to sprout wings and start talking
to animals.

I laugh to myself again and walk on, stopping
outside a little trinket shop. I look in the window and can't stop my feet from
going in. I buy the necklace that’s in the window. The chucky red beads look
like balls of fire and they instantly remind me of Jenna. I take the paper bag
and leave the shop.

Bradley and Jenna are still outside the coffee shop
so I walk straight up to their table, and crouch down to stroke Sasha.

“Hey girl.” I stroke her under the chin and she wags
her tail like a metronome on speed.

“What’s up bro?” Brad asks.

“Nothing much, just been helping out at the new
houses in Foster. That job is like one big bag of snakes.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah. When I got there today they’d laid wonky
floor supports.”

Brad grimaces and I stand up and look at Jenna,
who’s tapping on her phone.

“Hey, Jen.”

“Hey.” She replies, not looking up from her phone
and takes a sip of her coffee. She sneaks a look at me and her cheeks flush
instantly. I smirk.

“I’ve got some work to do at home so I’m gonna
shoot.”

I shake hands with Brad and put the paper bag on the
table in front of Jenna, on top of her phone.

“To go with your new hair. See you later.”

I walk back towards the car, but not before I hear
her gasp as she opens the bag.

~

I pull up at the Halliwell Country Club, and the
valet takes my car. I brought the M3 convertible today; it’s still hot so I
thought I’d stretch her legs. Plus it screams country club.

“Mr. Crane, hi,” he stands to greet me as I arrive
and I sit at the little table opposite him, putting my briefcase under my
chair.

“Please, call me Paul. Lovely weather to meet at the
country club. Great idea, Deacon.”

“Thanks.”

A waitress appears at our table, dressed in a black
dress with a white apron. I can't help but study her as she takes Paul’s order.

“I’ll have a gin, on the rocks please.” he orders.
Gin?

“I’ll have an orange juice, and a double espresso,”
Paul looks at me like I’m crazy for not drinking, “I’m driving.”

“Ah, I’ll let you off then,” the waitress writes
down the order and disappears back into the conservatory style cafe, “So how
did you get on with the blue prints?”

“They’re all drawn up,” I pull my briefcase out and
hold it on my lap, flicking through what I drew up last night, “the extension
won’t be a problem. We’ll have to put some scaffolding up, so if I could ask
you to organise some different routes that that the public could take to avoid
being near the supports. Some signs or something would be great. Other than
that we should be good to go in about three weeks. Providing you like the
drawings, obviously.”

He nods and mumbles incoherently to himself as he
looks through the pages of different ideas I’ve had. I thank the waitress for
the drinks when she brings them over, as he fails to acknowledge she’s made a
return.

“I like this one,” he finally says, handing it over
to me, “that’s exactly what I had in mind.”

“No worries, that’s the one we’ll go for. I’ll sort
out the finalised copy and get it faxed over to you.”

“Don’t you ever rest, Mr. Reid?” he asks, sitting
back and steepling his hands in front of his mouth. I thought he’d be eager to
get off once he had what he wanted from me.

“Yes, I do. I just prefer to get all my work done,
first. This job is on the top of the company’s priority list, so I’m sure you
can understand my urgency to get the plans right,”

“Of course. You just seem like the kind of man who
sleeps at the office frequently.”

“I live next door to it, Paul.”

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head and chuckles to
himself, “A young man like you should be out enjoying life, not building it
away.”

I’m about to answer when the atmosphere in the air
changes, like something has happened to the gravitational pull, and I’ve just
been electrified. The minute I turn my head, she walks straight past me, and
once again I get to see the back of Jenna as she walks. How can we bump into
each other this often, and what the hell is she doing here?