Fact or Fiction?
Old men make good husbands.
Addison
“Marry me, Chuck,” I holler, throwing my hands out and kneeling before the forklift as the man old enough to be my father, and who was complaining of gout earlier this morning, climbs into the driver’s seat.
He barks out a wet cough and shakes his head, his face full of so many wrinkles, you could turn it into a maze. “I’m going to say no for a fourth time. I’m sorry, darling. You know I hate breaking your heart.”
I buzz my lips and stand to prop my hands on my hips. “Where’s Bullhead? He hasn’t said no to me this week yet.”
“But he said no last week. Why do you think his answer will change?”
I shrug. “He’s older than you, so I’m banking on him being a little senile.”
Chuck eyes me with zero humor on his face. “I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again. You ain’t gonna find any man in this lumberyard willing to say yes to you because everyone here knows your daddy. And if I walked up to your daddy and told him I’m marrying his twenty-eight-year-old daughter, I’d be watching a two-by-four break my nose and finding myself canned before the blood dried.”
“But I’m a lumberyard heiress, Chuck!” I stomp my foot dramatically. “I can buy you a new nose.”
“I’ll stick with the honker I got.” The forklift beeps a loud noise as he backs up away from me and with a growl, I turn on my heel and make my way back into the building center.
I pause as I stare at our signage etched across the glass door.
Monroe Lumber and Building Center: Family owned since 1903
Apparently, that means fuck all to my father because he went and had to fall in love. Gross.
I stomp inside the building and make my way to the office in the back. It used to be my father’s throne, so it’s not much in terms of decor. Just a cheap veneer desk and filing cabinets covered in sawdust and cast-off office chairs that have seen better days. But the view of the lumberyard with the Front Range behind it is one that I’ve gotten used to and don’t feel like surrendering if it’s up to me.
And apparently, it is up to me. Me and my future unsuspecting husband. My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out to see my dad’s face on the screen like he knew I was thinking about him.
“What do you want, Old Man River?” I snipe into the line as I drop down onto my desk chair.
“Well, someone’s in a mood,” my father drawls. “You too busy for your old man?”
“Chuck turned me down again,” I grumble, propping my Converse platforms up on the desk.
“What about Bullhead?”
“I think he’s hiding from me.” I squint as I look out the window to see if his truck is here. I don’t even know why they call him Bullhead. That’s just been his name for as long as I can remember.
“He’s still got a few brain cells left, then.” My father clears his throat, and I can hear the drizzle of fresh coffee brewing in the background. “How many proposals have you done this week, then?”
“Just Chuck so far, but it’s only Monday.”
He pauses to take a loud sip, and I can picture his long gray mustache damp and stained from his regular coffees. “You know this is for the best, Addie May.”
“Bullshit,” I reply for the hundredth time. “I’m not giving up.”
My dad and I have been having the same fight for the past six months since he dropped the massive bomb on me that he was moving to Florida with his new girlfriend and planning to sell the lumberyard to an interested buyer who’d put in a huge offer. Our family-run business for over a century is going to be sold off to some outsider.
Gross indeed.
“Your day-to-day life won’t change. You’ll still stay on as sales manager and have a stake in the business just like I will, but you won’t be the primary owner. It’s too much for one person to take on and you’ll still make plenty of money.”
“I don’t care about money,” I argue.
“Someday you will.”
I lick my lips and drop my head back on my chair. “If I was a boy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” I wince as an image of my little brother flashes into my eyes.
My dad tsks. “The trust says nothing about gender, and you damn well know it.”
“So you say,” I murmur petulantly.
“Damn it anyways, Addie,” my dad growls into the phone and I wince. I don’t love poking him like this but until he concedes, I’m afraid that’s just what our relationship is. I want this nightmare to be over. He continues with a more forceful tone, “The trust states that no single person, not man, not woman, no PERSON can own the lumberyard. My grandfather was old-fashioned but not sexist. Whether you were a boy or a girl, you’re not qualified to inherit the business until you’re married for a minimum of one year. I wouldn’t have been able to take it over from my dad if I hadn’t married your mom.”
“Don’t bring her up.” A thickness forms in my throat at the mention of her and I wince at the sound of my teeth grinding in my ears.
He sighs. “I’m just saying. It’s not about a business partner. It’s about a life partner. Owning a company on your own is a lot of work and having that emotional support at home is important. That’s why the trust says you have to reside with your partner, not just be married. Making a house a home and all that.”
“You didn’t have any of that after she left.” I wince because we’re talking about her again and I hate it. “You managed just fine.”
“You were my home,” he states firmly. “You’re the one who gave me this potbelly with all that damn bread you kept making.”
“Exactly.” I slap my hand on the desk, sending sawdust particles everywhere. “I cooked and I managed to work at the yard. You know I can run this place with my eyes closed. Please just let me do this on my own. Let’s hire a lawyer and change some shit around in that crusty old trust.”
“Not gonna happen, Addie. I don’t want that stress for you. It’s too much for one person to bear.”
Silence grows between us, and I lower my phone, stopping myself from arguing with him more.
He thinks I’m messing around with this husband quest, but he’s dead wrong. I will find someone and fulfill the requirements of that trust. It’s time I stop teasing the lumberyard guys and get serious since it’s clear my dad isn’t changing his mind.
My dad isn’t a bad man. Stubborn, yes, but I know he’s just trying to protect me, which is crazy because he raised me on his own like a feral animal in this lumberyard. I remember sleeping in his office on nights he’d have to wait for a late delivery or coming in with him at the ass crack of dawn to fulfill an order and having to take the city bus to school. I have been illegally driving the forklift since the age of fifteen. Hell, I was fourteen when I had my first beer with my dad and his cronies. I remember being smashed between him, Chuck, and Bullhead in a single cab pickup as we barreled down a gravel road while they made me hold a case of Budweiser on my lap and hand them fresh ones every time they tossed their empties out the window. I was scared out of my mind the cops would catch us, but I never told them about that because they’d make fun of me and call me “soft.”
I wasn’t soft.
I just hated littering and still to this day stop my vehicle if I see trash on the side of the road. We get one freaking world, you know? Find a damn trash can, people.
And I know some people of Boulder judged my father harshly for how they saw him raise me. But I’m grateful for my upbringing. The shit my dad and I went through together bonded us in a way that means I will forgive him for this bullshit trust he’s refusing to revise, because I’m tough and self-sufficient and worked my way through some dark shit at a young age. And I have the calluses on my hands to prove it.
Which means I will not go down without a fight over this business trust stipulation. Even if that means getting my ass married, which is something I never planned to do.
I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to actually find a guy. Apparently no one wants to sign a prenup stating they’ll marry me, live with me for a year, and divorce me while receiving absolutely nothing in exchange. Weird, right?
Only that’s not true. I did have an offer. But it’s not one I could ever say yes to.
“How’s Edith?” I ask, pulling my phone back up to my ear and attempting to show some semblance of humanity to the man who gave me everything I have in life except this lumberyard.
“She’s good. She’s at her weekly bridge club. I’m nursing a sunburn from shuffleboard yesterday.”
I snort as I fight back a laugh. My dad sounds happy, despite our drama over the family business, and I guess that makes me happy. I never saw him date a woman after my mom left. Never even looked at one. Until Edith.
Now the old goat is slathering himself with aloe vera and happy as a clam in that retirement village they moved to. Though it’s more of an early retirement village as he’s just newly sixty. But the way he just up and decided to retire early is still an adjustment. Life is weird how it can change on a dime.
“Still can’t get used to you living in Florida. I never thought I’d see the day you left Boulder.”
“Me neither, Addie. But you’d be amazed at what one might endure for the love of a good woman. Hey, maybe that’s your problem. Maybe you should be trying to marry a woman.”
“Is that allowed?” I stand and walk over to the window with a furrow to my brow. “I mean, I don’t really know a lot of women, but that does open up my prospects a bit.”
“Addison, it’s called a joke—” he pauses for a second before adding “—unless you’re coming out to me in which case I owe some money to Bullhead.”
I roll my eyes and make a noise in the back of my throat. “Keep your money, Old Man. I’m strictly dickly.”
Long, heavy pause.
“I could have lived my whole life without hearing those words come out of my daughter’s mouth.”
“I’ve heard ten times worse come out of Bullhead’s mouth!”
Dad harrumphs. “Yeah, he’s burned too many brain cells I’m afraid.”
“But seriously though, I’m open to same-sex marriage for this trust issue to be resolved. How did you hit on Edith? What was your move?”
“Goodbye, Addie May. I’ll see you in October for the Man of the Mountain competition. You’re still doing the awards presentation, right?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” I deadpan.
Another heavy pause. “It’s moments like this that I recognize how much I failed as a father.”
We hang up and I walk over to the bulletin board on the wall by the window where the Man of the Mountain flyer is pinned. The top text above the logo is “Sponsored by Monroe Lumber and Building Center.” At the bottom of the flyer, it reads “All Proceeds to Go to the Fallen Angels Family Center,” a charity that supports families and victims of drunk drivers.
My throat tightens as I rub my finger along our business logo. This event is huge for the yard every year and raises a shit ton of money for this charity. What if the new owners my dad wants to sell to don’t sponsor this every year? What if the charity has come to depend on this donation and struggles without it? Has my dad put any of that in writing?
Damn, I need a husband. Or a wife! They started offering the women’s division with Man of the Mountain a few years ago on a different weekend and you bet your ass I signed up as fast as I could.
I then proceeded to get my ass kicked by real-life lumberjills that work in the mills or reside in logging towns. I was delusional to think working in a lumberyard prepared me to go up against lumberjills. The truth is, I’m a bougie Boulder-born “softie” compared to those beasts, but it was a fun experience to at least try and fail at.
Now I just show up and present the medals to the winners and a check to the charity at the closing ceremonies. A much easier gig that my dad pawned off on me years ago the moment his knees started struggling to climb those stage steps.
And he just wants to sell that family tradition right out from under me.
It’s too bad I’ve never made friends with any of the ladies I competed against or maybe I could ask one of them to be my fake partner for a year until I inherit this company. But honestly, the lumberjill squad scares me. And what would I even say? “Hi, my name’s Addison. I’m not a lesbian but would you consider being my friend and maybe marrying me and living with me for a year so I can inherit my family’s lumberyard and then divorce you?”
I roll my eyes. Women are way too smart to say yes to that. Men are simpler creatures. I’ve really only had guy friends . . . or at least . . . guy friends of my dad’s since the lumberyard was basically our whole life. I host a meal for the guys at least once a week at the yard here without my dad around. That’s friendship, right? Or does it not count if they’re my employees? Are they just tolerating me because I’m the owner’s daughter?
Luke Fletcher is my only friend outside the lumberyard and he’s definitely not my dad’s friend. My dad can’t stand Luke. He mean mugs him every time he comes in. It’s comical really. I think the old man assumed it was a romantic thing developing between me and Luke, so that’s why he went into the “I own several guns and know how to use them” mode, but that’s all for nothing. Luke and I are just friends.
I don’t really even know how our friendship happened. One day he was one of the burly bearded brothers who came in to pick up building supplies for Fletcher Brothers Construction, and the next day he was just . . . a part of my life.
We grab drinks or lunch together pretty regularly since we both work in Boulder. I even have him over to my apartment for dinner quite a bit. Cooking is a passion of mine but it’s not fun doing it for just one person, so I like having Luke over. Chuck and Bullhead don’t have the refined palates that some of my more daring dishes require.
Luke, on the other hand, loves everything I make.
I haven’t cooked for him in a couple months now because we’re sort of in a fight? I’m not sure. I just know we haven’t spoken much since he offered to marry me after we were in Mexico for his brother’s wedding. The whole thing was awkward as fuck. I thought he was messing with me, and it turns out he was serious I guess? I’m not sure because he’s avoiding me like an asshole.
And hell, I miss him. He’s usually such a safe space for me. I can be “soft” with him, and he never teases me for it, because he only knows me that way. I never hide that part of myself from him.
Unlike my dad and his friends, who I’ve had to act tough for most of my young adult life. I remember getting my period at work and asking if I could run to the store for something and my dad barked at me to get back to work because we were way behind. I didn’t have the courage to tell him what my real problem was, so I just balled up toilet paper and got back on the forklift.
The horror I felt when I got off the chair and saw that I’d leaked on the seat haunts me to this day. I snuck back into the lumberyard after hours to clean up my mess so none of the guys would see it the next day. That kind of secrecy gets tiring.
And with Luke, it doesn’t even exist. Hell, one time I randomly told him on the phone that I was crabby because I had my period and he brought me chocolate when he came to pick up an order. Who taught him how to do that for a woman? His mom? That’s impressive because she had four boys, so it’s not like she had any reason to discuss it. Or maybe it was his niece that he’s super close to. All I know is he’s going to make a great husband to someone someday. Just not me.
My eyes catch sight of movement out in the lumberyard, and I step in front of the window to get a better look.
My heart rate quickens because it’s Luke Fletcher out there talking to Bullhead as if I conjured him here with my thoughts. Dang, he looks good. Has he gotten more buff since our trip?
When I first met the Fletcher brothers, I could barely tell them apart. They’re all well-over-six-foot, bearded, and built bros who must share a closet as well as a mountaintop because I rarely see them in anything but plaids and jeans, even in the thick of summer.
But Luke has a slightly leaner build to his frame than the others. That was very clear in Mexico when the guys were all shirtless in the pool. All of them are extremely fit for thirty- and even fortysomething-year-old men. But Luke’s muscles are way more defined. I could see every ridge of his abs and the deep V of his hips that disappeared into those low-slung boardshorts. The genetics in that family are out of this world.
Luke moves differently too. His gait is quicker and more purposeful. Probably from being the youngest of four boys and always running to catch up. I remember what it felt like to have a little brother chase after me.
My throat feels tight as that thought conjures up a memory I don’t want to explore, so I grab my phone and make my way through the building center to head outside.
The August sun is blazing as I beeline across the hot pavement, straight for my buddy. He hasn’t picked up an order here in weeks, usually sending his brother Calder instead. I’m about to give him a piece of my mind about that. Luke’s head turns as if he can sense my approach, and when we lock eyes, I instantly feel lighter.
“Hey, shithead!” I bellow as I barrel right into him, giving him a hard shove in the gut that pushes all the air from his lungs.
He laughs and shakes his head, stumbling back and pressing his hand to his hat in that shy way he has about him. He squints and shoots me a smile. “Hey, Roe.”
“Long time no see.” I prop my hands on my hips and glance over to Bullhead, who’s writing something down in a clipboard. “I can take over, Bullhead.”
“Okay, boss lady,” Bullhead says, tucking his pencil behind his ear before passing off Luke’s order form to me. He waves his goodbye and takes off and I turn back to my friend, noticing he seems to be avoiding eye contact with me.
“What brings you in today?” I ask, glancing down at the sheet but not really giving a shit about it.
“Oh, we need some decking quotes for a new smart house we’re bidding out,” Luke replies, walking over to a large stack of uncapped composite decking we just got in. It uses a lot of recycled plastics in it, so it’s always something his brother Wyatt goes for with all the green developing the Fletcher Brothers started doing the past few years.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask, blocking the sun from my eyes as I squint up at him. Luke is a solid six foot two and I’m maybe five-six in my platform shoes, so he’s definitely got the height advantage on me.
“Wyatt wanted me to come see what you had on hand.”
“Cool, cool,” I reply, wondering why it feels so fucking awkward with my friend right now. “We can get you set up for sure.”
“Thanks,” Luke replies, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“So how have you been?” I ask, sitting down on a stack of two-by-sixes that wobble under my weight.
“Good, you?” Luke replies automatically as he moves over and steadies the wood.
“Can’t complain.” I shrug dismissively. “It’s weird not having my dad around here every day.”
“I bet.” Luke glances back at the building center. “Nice for me though. I don’t have to worry about a rifle being pointed through that window right there.”
I laugh as I recall the time I stood right here with Luke, and we saw my dad holding his hunting gun in the window. He wasn’t aiming it at us, just showing it off and making his feelings known.
“He’s all talk.”
“So you keep telling me.” Luke yanks his baseball hat off his head and runs his fingers through his sandy-brown hair that’s longer than I’ve ever seen it. It curls out at the bottom when he puts his cap back on and I have a strange urge to run my fingers through it. Not that I would ever act on that urge.
My God that would be awkward.
There was a moment in Mexico, however, where I thought Luke was wanting to cross our friendship boundaries. He had this look in his eyes when we got to the villa and realized we had to share a two-bed suite that made me so fucking nervous.
It’s not that I don’t find Luke attractive. I’d have to be dense as hell not to notice.
It’s just that I could never cross that line with him because I like him too much. I’m not a relationship girlie and I never will be, so to sleep with someone I consider a friend would be the quickest way to lose said friend. Same goes for marrying said friend.
Thankfully, Luke never acted on anything. In fact, after I unloaded to him about my husband hunt plan, he told me he planned to never get married as well. Which is why I was so taken off guard by that letter he wrote me. I still don’t really know if he was serious about that or just joking. Going MIA with me for nearly two months makes me wonder.
“You doing okay without your dad around though? Seriously?” Luke stares at me with a concerned look in his eyes that feels like a warm hug.
I shrug and wrinkle my nose, trying not to reveal just how much it’s been affecting me. “He’s happy so that’s all that matters.”
Luke’s brown eyes search mine. “You matter.”
Damn him. He always sees right through me.
“Hey, why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night?” I ask, trying to get the focus off me. “I haven’t cooked anything decent in ages.”
Luke’s brows lift with interest. “What’s on the menu?”
“Whatever you like. I’m running to the store tonight so you can place your request.”
“Oh shit . . . that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his corded muscles on full display as he pinches his chin in thought. “Your Alfredo is amazing. Your salmon is amazing. Oh . . . that bang bang shrimp you made one time still makes me drool randomly.”
I laugh and shake my head, letting the food compliments roll over me in a way that heals my soul. I love cooking for people and hearing how much they enjoy it. It’s an act-of-service thing that scratches a part of my brain and gives me validation on some fundamental level.
“Is it too hot for your jambalaya?” Luke asks, glancing up at the sun. “That’s basically a soup, right?”
“It’s more of a stew or a one-pot dish, but who gives a fuck. Fact or fiction . . . soup is my favorite food group?”
“That is a fact,” Luke replies with a warm smile.
I smile back at him, feeling better than I have since my dad flew out to Florida over a month ago. “Seven ‘o clock work for you?”
“I’ll bring the beer.”
“My man.” I slap my hands on my thighs, grateful that it feels like the old Luke is back. Hopefully he’s done being mad at me over this whole husband hunt thing. We’re too good of friends to let a potential fake marriage come between us.
“Come on into the AC and we can talk about what you guys need to order.”
“Sounds good,” he says, and I feel myself grinning as I lead the way back to my office. This smile right here is why I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Luke in my life . . .
. . . because no one makes me feel as good as him.
Not even soup.
