That Second Chance (Getting Lucky #1)(34)

“Carried her up a hill in all of his fireman gear,” Brig adds with a wink.

“A true knight in shining armor,” Reid says. “He took her out last night too.”

My gaze whips to Jen. She doesn’t even hide the fact that she opened her big mouth. “What?” She shrugs. “If you thought I was going to keep that to myself, you don’t know me at all.”

My mom waves her arms. “Wait, wait, wait. Is there a new woman in your life, Griffin?”

“No,” I answer quickly. “I was just helping her, being a good neighbor. There is nothing going on between us, and there will be nothing going on between us, so before you—”

“He broke up our breakfast this morning with her so he could have her all to himself,” Brig says, a smarmy look on his face.

I turn to Rogan, who snorts into his beer, not even giving me a hand with these idiots. He’s the closest to me, so he should have my back right now, but it looks like he’s enjoying my pain way too much.

“I was not clearing you out. You guys happened to leave right after I arrived. I didn’t stay much longer.” I let out a heavy breath and set down my empty beer, gripping the arms of my chair. “Listen, there is nothing going on, okay? So stop bringing it up. She’s a nice girl but not my type. Drop it, all of you.” I stand to go help my dad in the kitchen to a chorus of jeers and mocking oohs from my douche brothers.

I push through the screened-in door, fuming. I swear, this is one of those moments when I wish I were an only child.

When I enter the kitchen, I catch my dad hovering over the oven, eyes laser focused on the garlic bread. There is nothing my dad hates more than burnt garlic bread; it’s why he’s put himself in charge.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Griffin,” he greets me, before falling silent, staring at the oven, until finally: “I think she’s all kinds of your type, and you’re too chickenshit to do anything about it.”

He turns and smiles at me, blue eyes earnest as he pats my shoulder.

“Thanks, Dad,” I groan, slouching into a chair at the kitchenette set.

He’s right. Ren is my fucking type, and it scares me. Every time I’m around her, I start to feel something deep in my stomach, something so foreign yet familiar. I like being around her, more than I would prefer, and despite my fears, the whispers of a goddamn curse hanging over me, I still find myself wishing she were here right now, taking shit from my family right along with me.

“Almost there,” he mutters, hand on the oven door. “Just a few more . . . seconds.”

Three.

Two.

One.

He whips open the oven door, and with a hand covered in a lobster oven mitt, he retrieves the perfectly toasted garlic bread and places it on a trivet. “Nailed it!” He fist pumps. “Would you look at that bread.” He kisses his fingers and then flicks them to the sky. “Perfection.”

“Looks good.” I chew on the side of my cheek, thoughts of Ren invading my mind.

Absentmindedly my dad talks to me as he carefully cuts up the bread using tongs and a knife. “You know, I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“If you’re thinking about adding more fudge flavors, I’m going to tell you right now, Mom is not going to go for it.”

“Ah, your mother doesn’t know what’s good for the shop. She’s practically retired by now.”

“Don’t you think you should join her?” I casually say, picking at a piece of lint on my pants.

I get wanting to make the fudge—my dad really enjoys it—but as for everything else, I really think it’s time he makes the tough decision of handing over the rest of the responsibilities to the Lobster Landing.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

My ears perk up as I sit ramrod straight in my chair. Out of all my siblings, I’m the only one who’s shown interest in taking over the family business. Jen is there every day working, but she doesn’t want to do more than she has to because she also has a family with three kids. Reid has zero interest in taking over the Landing, and Brig, well, he has his cars.

But me, hell, I’ve become so accustomed to thinking that I hold the reins to the family business, when in reality, I’m barely tugging on them from behind my dad.

I want nothing more than for my dad to step aside, trust me with his “baby,” and finally let me take charge.

“I’m getting old.”

I chuckle. “No, not you. You look like a ripe, spry thirty-year-old.”

He pins me with a sideways glance. “I might be old, but I can still kick your ass.” I tamp down my smile. “Like I was saying, I’m getting old, and I want to spend some much-needed quality time with your mom. I was thinking about doing some organizing when it comes to the company.”

“Organizing?” A wave of nerves hits me all at once. Maybe a year ago Dad talked about hiring an outsider to run the Lobster Landing, someone with business experience so when he retires, he knows it will be in good hands. Hell if I was going to let that happen, so I stepped up and told him I wanted to be in charge, take over when he was done.

I just hope he took my offer to heart.

He places the garlic bread in a napkin-covered basket, meticulously and carefully stacking the pieces on top of one another in a crisscross pattern. “I want to hire some new people.”