Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Phillip

Soft, early-morning light filters in through a gap in my curtains, rousing me from sleep a few minutes before my alarm is set to go off. Stretching out in bed, I take inventory of my aching muscles. I just finished installing a new kitchen for a couple in their late-forties and usually doing jobs alone isn't a problem, but they chose the heaviest countertops known to man. My muscles have been paying the price for this since fitting them at the start of the week. No amount of epsom salt baths was curing this shit, but the two men are so happy with their dream kitchen that I can't bring myself to be annoyed about it.

Luckily I have a gentler start to the coming week than usual, giving me an extra day to recover. My meeting on Monday is to discuss a set design project for a small local company that does birthday parties and is now branching out into educational kids shows. I've not had the opportunity to build a set before and excitement at the possibility of doing something new fizzes through me.

While designing and painting a set is not in my skill set, the owner assured me she would hire an artist to take care of all that. My job will be coordinating with the artist to make sure their design is something I can realistically build within the allocated timeline. I'll also be offering up my garage, which I converted into a workshop when I first moved in, since neither the artist or the owner of the company have a large enough workspace. Tomorrow's meeting will be to introduce us and provide any additional information regarding specs for the project.

Ambling downstairs, I make the most of my day off, whipping up an omelette for breakfast—something I don't usually have time for in the week. As I pull eggs and vegetables from the fridge, the smoothie I bought on Saturday catches my eye. The memory of how I embarrassed myself with the attractive blonde in the supermarket is still fresh, making me cringe, and I close the door quickly like that might trap inside the scene replaying through my mind.

The last thing I meant to do was offend her. After my clumsy attempt at flirting fell flat it quickly became obvious she was not having a good night, and I immediately felt guilty for teasing her. Although I have to admit, her rosy blush and fumbling apology upon realising the misunderstanding made getting yelled at almost worth it.

There was a weariness about her that awakened my protective side, compelling me to take care of her. Encouraging her to take the ice cream had been the least I could do. It's unlikely our paths will cross again and I'm choosing not to examine why that disappoints me. Hopefully the ice cream helped her feel better. Luckily my nephew, Tobias (Toby for short), wasn't disappointed when I'd only had cookie dough to offer him when my older brother, Eric, dropped him off for a few hours.

Munching on my omelette, I mull over what to do with the rest of my day. It's a Sunday which means lunch at my parent's house. When my older brother moved back to Riverbend with Toby, Mum insisted on family Sunday lunch every week, and I've come to enjoy the tradition. A glance at the kitchen clock tells me it's only seven-thirty so I have a few hours to kill before I need to head out. Getting up at the crack of dawn for work means I can never sleep in, even on my days off. Deciding a gentle run might be good for my sore muscles, I text my friend Blake to see if he's up for joining me. Moments later my phone chimes with a text.

Blake:

How dare you summon me at this ungodly hour.

I know your mother. I'm certain Patricia raised you with better manners than this.

He teaches creative writing at the local university but clearly missed his calling. Anyone this dramatic should be working in the performing arts department.

Me:

Is that a no then?

Blake:

I'll be round in thirty.

Chuckling at his antics, I head upstairs to get ready.

As promised, half-an-hour later Blake pokes his head around my front door.

"You ready, Phillip?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to knock?" I ask, brows raised. Blake rolls the deep-blue eyes that garner him an inordinate amount of attention from guys whenever we go out for drinks, sauntering inside completely unaffected by my reminder.

"The moment you have more going on in your life than work, babysitting your nephew, and more work, I'll start knocking." Blake's clipped accent does nothing to soften the sting his words provoke. "Until then, consider my invasiveness encouragement for you to get out more," he replies drily.

"I go out."

"Yes, with me. When's the last time you had a date?" I think back over the last few months and draw a blank. It hasn't been that long… has it? "If it takes you this long to remember then it's been too long." He smirks. "It was seven months ago, by the way. The accountant. I want to say her name was… Chelsea. From whichever app you were on at the time." He supplies helpfully. Seven months, really ?

"Why do you know that?"

"Because I'm an attentive friend and your dating life is pitifully easy to keep track of. I understand you want to support Eric by helping out with Tobias, but you need to make time for your own life too."

I sigh, even though he's not entirely wrong. "Did you come here to deconstruct my dating life or to go for a run?" I ask, steering him out the door.

"Deconstructing would imply there's a structure to break down in the first place," he quips with a laugh. "Besides, I can multitask."

"I will get my headphones," I threaten. Blake hates running in silence, preferring to distract himself with conversation.

"Dropping it now," he relents, palms up in surrender as we stretch and begin our run.

An hour later we make it back, lungs burning and sweat-soaked t-shirts clinging to our skin. After a few cool-down stretches in the driveway, Blake follows me inside to guzzle down a glass of water before leaving. I may have turned what was supposed to be a gentle run into an increasingly more punishing bout of exercise when he decided to resume his lecture about me getting out more. While picking up the pace was the opposite of what my tired body needed, it forced Blake to stop talking and that peace of mind was worth the burn my muscles are feeling now.

Blissful silence settles around me as the front door swings shut behind Blake's retreating form. He means well but he comes from a completely different kind of family, one where money and status will always come first. It's difficult for Blake to understand because none of his family have ever been there for him in the ways that truly matter, but being there for Eric and Toby is not only important to me, it makes me happy. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the people you love. My social life may have suffered a little over the past few years but I know that when it comes time to start my own family Eric will be there for me, offering advice every step of the way. I'll take that over Blake's unfeeling, old-money family any day.

With a weary sigh, I head upstairs for a shower. I crank up the water temperature, and it only takes a couple of minutes before steam swirls around my en-suite bathroom. Mindful of my tired muscles, I step under the spray on stiff legs. Hot water cascades down my back, soothing away the aches and pains. Once I feel steadier on my feet, I begin scrubbing the sweat from my skin, frustrated my relaxing run turned into running away from a lecture on my life choices. My skin has a pink flush to it by the time I've washed away the frustration Blake's words left behind.

It's not that I don't want to meet a woman to share my life with. Truthfully, I've been thinking about that more often over the past couple of years. If I didn't come from such a supportive, loving, family, maybe I'd be in more of a hurry to build my own, but for now I'm happy enough being the fun uncle to Toby and keeping the business going.

Dad started Blackwell's in his early twenties, then Eric and I came along a few years later. I think he quietly hoped we would both want to work with him once we got older but he was supportive when Eric's interests skewed towards the design of a building rather than the actual building part. I, on the other hand, had always wanted to work with my dad and started learning the ropes from a young age. That was how I discovered my love of carpentry that, luckily, was a complementary skill to everything else Dad taught me over the years. He handed the reins to Blackwell's over a little earlier than expected after a fall from a ladder a few years ago forced him into early retirement.

I've been doing my best to honour his vision for the business while incorporating my love of woodworking by offering custom furniture and fixtures. At thirty-two I might notice the lack of a partner in my life more than I used to, but the business and my family come first. I need to be grateful for what I have instead of wishing for more.

The rest of my morning is eaten up by spending a couple of hours in my workshop, making a start on a custom blanket box with a woodland theme. When twelve o'clock comes around I quickly change into dark-wash jeans and a Henley then tug on my nicer boots ready to head out. While lunch at my parent's is mandatory, it's not a formal affair—but I'm still not going to show up in my scruffy work clothes.

The worst of the cold is yet to come, but there's still a bite to the early autumn air, so I grab a jacket from the hook by the door before leaving. Hopefully my lunch plans will turn out better than my run.