Done (Harmony Haven #1)

Prologue

SUNDAY DINNER

EASTON

“Done!”

“You have no idea what it means to be done,” Gramps huffed, taking a bite of Gram’s world famous lasagna.

Well, maybe not world famous. But I would put money on it winning a contest against real Italian Nonnas—the ones who spent their days kneading handmade pasta dough on an old wooden table in the streets of Bologna. Sure, Grams got her pasta from a box at Piggly Wiggly, but it was still the best. Everything Grams did was the best.

I wasn’t an idiot, though. I was biased and probably needed to lay off the Food Network. But as I looked down at my plate, I knew one thing for certain. “It’s gone, Old Man. I’m done. Dunski. Donezo.”

He shook his head, humor in his eyes and a smirk on his face that made me feel like the butt of a weird joke. With Gramps, I was more likely in the prologue of a book about life lessons—a best seller he never actually wrote, but he couldn’t help telling my brothers and me that he had authored.

“Trust me,” he always said. “I wrote the book on that.”

While he never wrote a book, he did try to teach my brothers and me hard lessons that would drive the pope to call his own Nonna for an emotional support lasagna. Because Gramp’s lessons felt more like pranks, and the man was dedicated to his craft. The more on edge and antsy he could make us, the more he seemed to enjoy the process.

I imagined he and Grams would be laughing after I left. Maybe some wicked cackle as they rubbed their hands together, knowing they had once again bamboozled me into a tailspin of mysterious, cryptic meanings that I’d spend weeks trying to decipher. Damn, I hoped we were really talking about lasagna.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” I tried to reason. Hell, I wasn’t even in my twenties anymore. I had just turned thirty-two, and I always believed that once I hit my thirties, I would no longer be in need of Gramps' weird words of wisdom. “Don’t do this to me again.”

My younger brother, Miles, snickered behind his fork while my older brother, West, kept his face stoic and unreadable. Knowing West, he was lost inside his head, thinking about the next thing he could buy or take over in Georgia. He was also probably trying to avoid being Gramps’ next victim—the ol’ one-two punch, as Gramps called it.

But the old man was just smirking at me, and only me, leaving West with a slight look of relief. It seemed as though I’d be the only one trying to figure out what it meant to be done .

“Take mercy on me,” I begged. “Just tell me what you mean this time.” Please say, ‘Lasagna.’

“I meant what I said,” Gramps huffed. “You don’t know anything about being done .”

“I know I’m done with this conversation,” I tried throwing out quickly, making Miles snort again. He held a napkin in front of his mouth as he attempted to chew a bite of food without losing it, and my eyes turned into slits, annoyed that he was so entertained with my anxiety.

Gramps cleared his throat, and I looked back, but he wasn’t concentrating on me. He was looking at Grams, giving her a wink that either meant, “I really should write a book,” or “Driving Easton crazy is better than lasagna.”

“Okay,” I relented, throwing my napkin onto my plate. “Y’all can laugh at me for a while. I can take it.”

As I sat back in my chair, crossing my arms like a petulant child, Grams asked West about his business. That topic was a riddle all on its own because West talked about things I would never understand.

“Ya know…” I interrupted my older brother’s attempt at a dull sentence about how rich he was and returned to Gramps. “This is just like when we won the state championship in high school, and you told me I didn’t know anything about being proud. That ate away at me for four years until I became a firefighter. Wouldn’t life be easier for us both if you just told me what you meant this time?”

“Easton Brooks,” Grams was stern and upset, wagging her finger in my direction. “Your life would be much easier if you learned not to interrupt.”

“Yeah,” Miles piped in, his voice laced with the sarcasm a six-year-old might possess. “We were really interested in West discussing how to blend technical knowledge with forward-thinking strategies.”

“No, we weren’t.” I pretended to snore as Grams scolded me with a death stare. It reminded me of the look she gave when we were teenagers and acted up in church. It’d been years since I’d seen it, and I was officially feeling like I was being punked.

Sure, I had interrupted West, but he was just as amused as Miles. Our older brother knew he was boring. He chose that life, and we loved to remind him how square he had become. You’d think it would be the other way around because he was the one with his own helicopter and a penthouse the size of mine and Miles’ houses combined.

Actually, he owned our houses, too.

But at least we weren’t lonely.

“I’ll spare you,” West waved, probably grateful to have the attention once again off of him, even though his appearance made him stand out. He looked as if he’d had a tailor create his suit just for the occasion. It was pressed to perfection and he didn’t have a hair out of place.

Meanwhile, I was a mess, looking like a guy who had dug a hole in his backyard. Which was exactly what I had been doing when I remembered it was Sunday, and I couldn’t miss dinner. There was no time to change, so I jumped in my truck and arrived as is . It was probably why Gramps chose me to pick on that night. Growling in frustration, I stood from my chair, pacing a few times and running a hand through my hair, making it even messier than it was. My family just watched as my mind tumbled around all the things I may have forgotten. Anything that I had left undone .

Aha !

Quickly, I checked the zipper on my jeans, hoping that was it. But despite my disheveled appearance, my fly was up. Dammit, that would have been an easy fix.

“I left something unfinished,” I mused. “But I know I fixed the fence like you asked me to. I watched YouTube videos and became a professional at fixing fences. Even painted it and secured it.” My finger tapped my chin, my mind desperately wanting to know what Gramps meant so I could move on. “I also mowed over at the house, unlike?—”

“You’ll know it when it’s time,” Gramps laughed while also shutting me down with his tone. “Stop making yourself crazy. I promise, Easton, when you know, you’ll know.”