Jameson was putting two and two together fast when Cade said, “That’s my wife and daughter. She just had her first birthday.”
Jesus.
“That’s a fun age.” If you liked crying babies on a hot summer day—when you were still a baby yourself. “How old are you, Cade?”
Hesitating, he sighed. “Nineteen, sir. And I know what you’re thinking.”
“That you should stop calling me sir?” He laughed. “Because that’s what I’m thinking.”
“Sorry, sir.” He shook his head. “I mean, sorry.”
And then he looked out onto the sidewalk, his gaze uncertain.
“I have a baby, I know. Teenage parents, kids having kids, the whole clichéd thing everybody thinks when they see us. She’s a mistake. We screwed up our lives.”
He wasn’t making a statement. He was repeating what he’d been told. Cade Pompeo was used to judgment.
So, apparently, was Chloe.
Jameson looked at the girl, then at the baby in her arms. And saw another couple entirely.
“No. I don’t think she’s a mistake.”
“She’s not,” Cade agreed adamantly. “But . . . we probably did screw up our lives.”
Jameson walked to the POS system behind the counter and fired it up, not providing his opinion on that.
“Do you want me to clock in right away?” Cade followed, far too optimistic. “I need to run Erin and Bailey home, but then I have all day. We live in a studio apartment above Frank’s Auto Body on Sycamore Street. Ten minutes, tops.”
The touchscreen came alive, and Jameson tapped through the various programs offered, quickly discovering the system was never fully set up. Transactions had been processed, yes, but no store inventory, vendor purchase orders, or profit and loss statements created.
“How long ago was this system installed?”
“Last winter. Right after the first of the year. Your pops fumbled around on it for months just getting by. Waiting for time to learn the ins and outs.”
And then time expired.
“How many hours a week did you work?”
“Forty. I’m full-time.” He walked to a shelf stocked with seed packets and gardening gloves and wiped a layer of dust with the tail of his shirt. “I don’t need medical or dental. I can go without. I just need the hours.”
“My father provide medical benefits?”
“Yeah. For Erin and Bailey, too. But like me, Erin can go without. We’ll buy the baby her own coverage. Somehow,” he added, his tone uncertain. “I just need the hours.”
Yeah, Jameson got that.
The kid needed money.
For his baby. His wife. Who looked far too burdened, considering she should be picking out prom dresses and attending pep rallies.
Suddenly, the ramifications of selling the hardware store got very real. And his plan to hustle back to Florida in a few days got upended.
“When was the last time you got a paycheck?”
“The week before your dad died.”
Far too long when you had a hungry mouth to feed.
“Okay,” Jameson murmured, searching through the drawers behind the counter, hoping to find a bank bag with some money.
No luck.
Tapping his jean pockets, he shrugged. “I don’t have enough cash on me. You wanna tag along while I hit the ATM? Last paycheck’s amount plus severance.”
Cade rocked back on his dirty Converse shoes, finally catching on to the fate of the store.
“All due respect, sir? I need a job. You can pay me for that week on my next check and keep your severance.”
“I’m selling the store, Cade.”
“Why?” He gestured at the stocked shelves and tidy aisles, dumbfounded that someone would pass up the place. “We have customers. We did, I mean. Once you open back up, we will again.”
“I don’t live here. I live in Florida.”
“But we have customers,” he repeated, in case Jameson’s hearing was shot. “Folks come from miles around to peruse our woodworking wall. There’s drawknives, spokeshaves, carving tools,” he pointed out, going through a polished dog and pony show. “You’ll also find axes, pocketknives, whetstones, and any color of paint in the rainbow. We even carry household cleaning supplies, lightbulbs, batteries—”
“I get it.” Jameson held up a hand. “There’s a lot of shit in here. To peruse.” He quirked his lip to soften the barb.
Cade swallowed, then looked at his young family. The baby was happy now, grinning as Erin held up her chubby little arm and waved it for her.
Jameson read her lips. Say hi to Daddy!
And nearly fell to his knees.
“I’m not Jonah. I’m not a small-town storekeeper. My life is in Florida. I like it there.”
And who the hell was he trying to convince?
Cade sighed, slipping his hands into his back pockets. “I guess I do need that last paycheck, then.”
Maybe he’d make employing Cade a condition of the sale.
“One of the fishing boats offered me a job last month,” he added. “But I held out. Don’t want to leave my family for weeks at a time just so I can feed them. It’s not the kind of life I want to give them. Bailey would never remember me. I’d be a stranger every time I came home. I mean, would you? If you were me?”
Would he? Leave his wife and baby for weeks on end? Be a stranger his child didn’t recognize when he finally came home?
Not replying, Jameson reached for his keys, intending to hit up the cash machine down the street.
As if he’d never asked himself those questions before. As if he didn’t already know the answer.
“Erin’s trying to finish school. Get her GED. But I gotta feed and clothe them, right?”
“Right.”
He was on his way to the door, Cade’s heavy steps behind him, when he stopped. Cursing under his breath, he turned around to look at a desperate kid with very adult responsibilities.
“You know how to run that POS?”
“Mostly, yeah.”
“Think you can take inventory with it?”
He perked up. “Yes, sir, I sure do.”
“Okay, stop calling me sir.”
“Sorry, Mr. Maine.”
“Yeah, that won’t do either. Call me Jameson.” Then he thought of Chloe and their heated conversation last night. “Sometimes I’m also called asshole or coward, but never sir or Mr. Maine.”
“I’ve heard stories, sir. I mean, Jameson. You’re no coward.”
He laughed shortly. “That might be, but asshole still applies.”
Some of those stories were glorified. A proud papa embellishing his son’s military record. The missions that proved he was no coward were highly classified.
Congress didn’t even know about them.
“A week, max. That’s all I can offer you. I’ll request any buyer keep you on full-time, but I can’t guarantee it.” He looked out the window, this time avoiding the baby but seeing the girl.
A mother. Way too soon.
“Maybe option that fishing boat offer. You’ll be away from home, yes, but it will give you more stability.” Jameson sighed inwardly, knowing the pressure this young couple was under. “If you love each other, you’ll make it. I’ll give you a good referral.”