The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(11)

“Eight thirty is fine.”

“I can stop by between the breakfast and lunch crowds,” Big Mo says.

At this point, we might as well put a post up on the Neighborly app, Sheet Cake’s go-to gossip source. Then again, most of the town hates the fact we’re here at all. The city council hasn’t made any of this easy. If someone posts about it publicly, we’d probably have a picket line forming.

“I promised you we’d keep this party short, so we’re headed out. I’ll see you tomorrow, son. And next time?” Tank gives my shoulder a last, borderline-painful squeeze. “I better hear about something like this directly from you.”

I want to shake my head, to shake off my discomfort at the idea of everyone and their brother showing up tomorrow. It will be easier with more people. My irritation gives way to a little bit of relief.

See? It’s not so hard to accept help, I tell myself.

But the words don’t stick. They haven’t for a long time. I can trace this tendency back to a very specific period in my life. One I’d prefer not to think about, where the idea took root that if I’m not fully in control, everything will fall apart. Trying to trust other people, even my own family sometimes, reminds me of physical therapy after my knee surgery. My own body felt wrong.

Winnie, the catalyst for all of this, bumps her shoulder into mine. “Living in a small town is like living in a nosy family.”

“I’ve already got a nosy family,” I grumble. “Next time, check with me before asking people to get involved.”

Winnie actually looks chastised. “I’m sorry.”

An apology is the last thing I expected. More like a smart retort or a teasing comment. An uncomfortable sensation tugs roughly at something inside my chest.

“It’s fine.”

Jo appears, the perfect distraction, climbing up in my lap to give me a hug. She’s tiny in my arms and smells like cupcakes. Probably because she’s still got a little icing in her hair.

“Happy birthday, Uncle James,” she says through a yawn, and I catch Winnie watching us with an expression I can’t quite read. I look away, feeling more exposed than I have all night, which is saying something.

“Thank you, little one,” I say, just as Tank scoops Jo from my arms.

“Goodnight, birthday boy,” Tank says. “Don’t party too hard.” He grins even before I roll my eyes.

“Even if there were somewhere in this small town to party, you’d be at home alone anyway, wouldn’t you?” Harper teases, giving me a pat on the shoulder.

She’s not wrong.

“Goodnight, old man,” Collin says, slapping me on the back. “Better take some aspirin tonight so you don’t wake up with a sore back.”

“Has this turned into a roast instead of a birthday party?” I ask.

“We’d need a lot more time for that, brother.” Collin darts out of reach as I take a playful swing. With Pat gone, Collin seems to be stepping into a more light-hearted role. Or maybe it’s just that his very uptight new girlfriend, the one none of us can stand, isn’t here so he’s letting loose while he can.

When I turn back to the counter after saying my goodbyes, Winnie deposits a small gift bag in front of me. “Happy birthday, boss.”

I stare. The bag is pink with a photo of a pug wearing a pointy birthday hat. A rainbow of tissue paper peeks out from the top. It’s offensive on every level, which I think is the point.

I want to knock the obnoxious gift bag right off the counter so I don’t have to look at it. But I also want to rip right into it to see what kind of gift Winnie chose.

The bag is too small for things like cologne or a shirt, the kinds of gifts I get every Christmas from my family. Exactly what I ask for, no surprises. This morning, Winnie gave me a seed, which is still in my pocket because what am I supposed to do with it? I don’t want to plant it, and I feel bad throwing it away.

A gift card? Too boring.

Cash? Ditto.

The pug stares back with its bugged-out eyes, mocking me. I want to look away, but I can’t meet Winnie’s gaze right now. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“I know. But I did, and there are no take-backs.”

I’m still fishing for a response when Winnie stands and heads for the door, moving faster than seems possible wearing high heels. Probably better I say nothing.

She’s gone, leaving only the gift bag and a napkin with her pink lipstick as proof she was ever here. The rest of the party disbands, thankfully, and I’m left carrying a few cards, a box wrapped in newspaper from Harper, and Winnie’s gift bag, which I hold with two fingers like it’s a snake.

I wait until I’m at Pat’s loft, showered and ready for bed, before opening her gift. My heart thumps a crooked rhythm as I pull out layers of pink and purple and lime green tissue paper I just know Winnie picked to mess with me. I can almost imagine her standing in whatever aisle of whatever store sells tissue paper, a finger tapping her lips as she wonders what color combination I’d hate most.

I finally extricate a coffee mug reading World’s Best Boss, just like the one Michael Scott has on his desk in The Office. Is it just because I am her boss? Or did she buy this today, after hearing my one reference to the show?

I stare at the mug for a solid minute before stuffing it back in the bag and hiding the whole thing under the sink in the guest bathroom where I can pretend it doesn’t exist.