63. Reese

We watch Mitch’s friends pull away in their beat-up pickup trucks. Even Colorado boys drive those old Fords.

They honk when they get to the corner, waving out the truck windows. I lift the box, the last box, and Mitch takes it out of my hands. “Lead the way.”

I walk ahead. “Thanks. My arms are dead.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “You’re pretty scrappy for such a little thing.”

We take the little side stairs up to my apartment. It feels uncannily like the apartment back in Clark, except that one was over a florist and this one is over a bookstore. Maybe I have a type.

The biggest difference is the last place was painted blinding white, and this one is painted a soft pink.

It would never have been my first choice, and I intended to paint over the offending color, but with my blue couch and my funky rug, it works. Like a snug little jewel box.

“Thanks again for convincing your friends to help. I know it’s not how anybody wants to spend their Saturday afternoon.”

Mitch sets the box next to another stack and gives me a cheeky grin. “Helping a cute girl move into her new apartment? Yeah. I’m sure they had way better things to do.”

“Careful with the sarcasm. You don’t want to strain anything.”

I swing the fridge door open. It’s got that lonely feel all empty fridges have. Except for a partially demolished twelve-pack of beer.

I hand him a beer and he grins. “I’m saying you have some admirers.”

“And I’m saying I’m not in the market.”

We clink beers together.

He sits on a stool by the counter and looks back at the room full of boxes. “Who helped you load up in Silver Bend?”

“My dad. Bo and Josh.”

“What was Skyler doing?”

“Working probably.”

I turn away, pretending to sort through the takeout menus that were delivered to my door before our moving truck ever arrived.

“Working?”

Mitch pauses, scrutinizing my face until I look up. His eyes narrow. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He shakes his head. “What’s the fight about? Maybe Doctor Mitch can help.”

“There’s no fight.”

I aim for light-hearted, but it comes off squeaky instead. “We’ve just moved on.”

“Moved on?”

Mitch’s eyebrows pinch together. “As in, broke up?”

“We were never dating.”

He laughs. “Unfortunately, and much to my utter repulsion, I can personally say I know you two were more than just friends.”

I frown, tilting my head.

“I could hear you. That night at Uncle Don’s?”

My face turns beet red and I groan. “No.”

“I know. It’s beyond terrible. I might need therapy.”

His grin fades. “But seriously, you two just split ways?”

I shrug. “Yeah.”

“Because of that Jonah guy?”

“No. It had nothing to do with Jonah.”

I stare at my hands for a few moments, battling back the wave of emotion threatening to take me down. Breathing deep, I master my feelings, muscling my face into a serene expression. “Your brother is a farmer.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Then you’ve noticed that the farm is in Silver Bend and not here in colorful Colorado.”

He nods, understanding dawning on his face. “And you didn’t want to stick around?”

I meet his gaze. “Did you?”

“No.”

He sighs. “I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

“But you didn’t want to farm.”

He nods. “True enough. I don’t think Skyler wants to farm, either.”

“The curse of the eldest son.”

Mitch winces. “Yeah. I’ve always felt guilty about that.”

“You’d think it’d be the other way around.”

He shrugs. “If you want to farm, being the eldest is a gift. If you want to fly, it’s a curse.”

“Which one do you think it is for Skyler?”

He meets my gaze. “I’m not sure it matters either way to him. You know him, it’s duty first. He’s like the freaking mafia. All about the family.”

“Yeah. I know what he’s like.”

I shuffle the takeout menus, sliding a Thai menu in front of Mitch. “And that’s why I’m here and he’s there.”

It’s girl versus the century old family heritage.

And blood wins every time.