by Mara Wells
He crossed the distance between them. “That sure didn’t go as expected.”
Grams sniffed. “I’m sure you expected everything to turn up peaches for you. Well, surprise, surprise, Donovan Junior. There are people in this town who look out for people like me and Riley.”
“How’s your foot?”
Riley blinked at him, then looked down at her foot. She lifted her knee, dangling the sandal-clad foot in the air. “Mostly fine. Still a bit tender.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“You can withdraw your proposal and leave me and my granddaughter alone. I’m surprised your grandfather wasn’t here to see me thrown out of my own home.” Grams dabbed at the corner of her eye as if she were crying, but there weren’t any tears to wipe away.
Caleb’s jaw hardened. He hated feeling manipulated. “My grandfather’s building, you mean?”
“My home for decades.” Grams continued to dab at her dry eyes. “Riley’s home. She grew up there, you know.”
Riley dug through her cross-body bag. “Not completely. Mom had an apartment near the port. I split my time.”
“Riley grew up there,” Grams continued as if Riley hadn’t spoken, waving her wrinkled but still dry tissue at Caleb, “and now you want to rip her away from everything she’s ever known.”
“I did go away to college. Not too far, just FSU in Tallahassee, but I have been out of Miami-Dade County.” She offered Grams a fresh tissue.
“All she’s ever known,” Grams repeated, wadding the two tissues together to make a mega tear catcher. “Not only her home but her livelihood. Are you going to fire her like you threatened? Because I’d like to see you try. After what I saw yesterday, she has a strong case for sexual assault. You know how that goes these days.” She crossed her fingers like a hashtag and mouthed the words Me too.
“Grams!” Riley smacked at her Grams’ hashtag fingers. “That is not what Me too is about, and you know it.”
“You millennials.” Grams straightened and examined her nails with a snort. “Always so touchy with your PC this and don’t-be-offensive that.”
Caleb was torn between amusement and horror. Before he could decide, Riley was pulling her grandmother out of the room by her elbow without even a goodbye glance. He shouldn’t feel so let down. But he was. He shouldn’t be wishing he were the one Riley was so eager to take home with her. He shouldn’t feel a lot of things he was feeling. But he was.
Caleb’s phone vibrated in his pocket, still on silent from the meeting. He figured it was Grandpa William calling to get the news. News he wasn’t exactly excited to share. He thought about ignoring the call, but by the third buzz, he figured it was time to rip off yet another Band-Aid. When had his life become about telling people things they didn’t want to hear? But instead of Grandpa William’s name, the word Lance flashed across his screen. Video chat? Surprised and cursing the timing, he accepted.
“Baby brother!” Lance’s voice carried loud and clear through the device, the sound of traffic in the background. The visual was mostly his chin, square with a hint of blond stubble.
“Lancelot!” Caleb’s revenge for being reminded of his younger brother status: break out the dreaded full name.
Lance retaliated by making cooing baby noises. Caleb repeated, “Lancelot, Lancelot,” for every goo-goo, gah-gah his brother threw at him.
“Alright, alright, you’ve upped your game since you were twelve.” Lance finally broke their standoff with a low laugh. “I see you called a time or two.”
“Maybe three or four.” Caleb took his brother on a walk down the hallway to a smaller, empty conference room. He settled into a chair and propped his phone on the oval table. “You know you have video on, right?”
Caleb’s face was framed in the tiny box, but Lance’s phone jiggled between views of his neck and ear.
“Yeah, yeah. Damn things.” Lance righted his phone and his face came into view, the strong cheekbones he’d gotten from his mother more gaunt than Caleb remembered ever seeing them and dark circles under the Donovan blue eyes the brothers inherited. “Thought we should catch up in person.”
“Sure, when?” Caleb searched Lance’s face for clues about how the past few years had treated him. A few crow’s-feet around his eyes, no doubt from squinting in the sun all day while out at construction sites. His pale hair slicked back with gel that made it a shade darker but didn’t quite keep his long bangs off his forehead.
The Lance Caleb remembered took pride in his appearance, and it wasn’t that Lance didn’t look good. Women no doubt still followed him around like the girls in high school had. He looked different. Older. It was unsettling to think that Lance, always bigger than life, might have changed. Caleb found himself curious. Did he actually want to get together with his brother? He did. “My schedule’s pretty flexible these days.”
“Now. We’re catching up now. That’s what the video is for.” Lance glanced down at something out of view. “You’ve got approximately twelve minutes until I reach my job site to tell me what the panic is about.”
“It’s not a panic.” Caleb scrubbed a hand across his scalp and squelched the disappointment. That was what their relationship was based on, wasn’t it? Caleb disappointed when Lance decided to live with his mom, leaving Caleb behind with their father. Lance disappointed when Caleb followed their father into business. A two-way street of disappointment with years and years of wrong turns and dead ends. “Not exactly.”
Lance narrowed his eyes, gaze bouncing between the screen and his windshield. “Exactly what is it, then?”
So Caleb broke it down into the ten-minute version, minus Riley. Minus Grams and Grandpa William’s former marital status. Minus the special commission meeting.
“That wily old goat must be getting soft in his old age.” Lance chuckled. “But his tricks won’t work on me. When I said I’m out of the Donovan business, I meant it.”
Caleb nodded. “Things are different now. Dad’s out of the picture.”
Lance snorted. “You think he’s not still pulling strings? You know he and Grandpa William are still tight, right? They’re playing you, little brother, and once again, you’re falling for it.”
“I’m not falling for anything. Believe me, I learned my lesson.” Caleb leaned in, eyes and nose getting bigger in the frame. “We have a chance to make something better. It’s a unique property.” Inwardly, he winced at using one of the terms Grandpa William used to lure him in. Outwardly, he kept his gaze steady, his voice calm. “We can make it whatever we want.”
“Two minutes.” Lance stayed focused on the driving, but a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Give me one real reason to help you with Grandpa William.”
Caleb thought of Riley. He thought of Grams. Of Patty and her walker. LouLou in the rain. What happened to all of them if the Dorothy went on as it was, genteelly disintegrating until another developer swooped in and demolished it? He was their best shot. They didn’t know it yet; Riley didn’t know it yet. But they needed him. So he swallowed a big old chunk of pride and looked his brother in the eye.
“Because I need you.”
Lance’s face showed his shock, one eyebrow launching above the other. “I thought if I could see your face, I’d know if you were lying, but I can’t tell if you mean it or not.”
“I mean it.”
“It’s something Dad would say to get his way.” Lance’s eyebrow descended, and he kept his eyes on the road. “You look so much like him, you know?”
Their father was a handsome man; it shouldn’t be an insult, but both brothers knew it was. Caleb’s back teeth locked, and he consciously relaxed his jaw before saying in the most even voice he could muster, “I’m not Dad.”
“Me either.” Lance glared into the distance, cheek muscle twitching.
Caleb leaned forward until his entire face filled the screen. “Then you�
��ll help.”
“I’ll think about it.” Lance looked down and off camera again. He looked up. “I’ll be in touch.” The screen went black.
Chapter 9
It was dog park o’clock, that time right after work and right before sunset when the field was full of hounds of every size and shape. From a sprightly Jack Russell terrier trying to hustle other dogs into a game of chase to Lady lying with her head propped on her favorite stump, dogs enjoyed the freedom of being off leash and surrounded by exciting smells. LouLou was part of Team Jack Russell, running circles and figure eights.
Riley let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Basically, we’ve got one week to figure something out.”
Eliza planted her hands on her hips and stared up at the sky. “Did I ever tell you what kind of law I practiced?”
“I always thought it was something to do with civil rights. Are the Donovans infringing on our civil rights? Our right to a community dog park, official or not?”
Eliza barked out a laugh. “Oh, that’s funny.”
“You do go to a lot of rallies.”
“That I do. But my bread and butter was real estate law. Specifically Florida law. Specifically in Miami-Dade County.”
“Oh.” Riley’s eyes widened. “Gotta admit. My hopes are rising. Like, a lot. Are you going to ride in and save the day with some obscure law the commissioners overlooked?”
“Wish I could, sugar.” She adjusted the handkerchief she’d tied around her hair and spritzed on a bit more mosquito repellent. “Tell you what, though. Why don’t you come over tomorrow, and we’ll strategize. I’m sure plenty of these folks will show up if we ask. No one wants to lose what we’ve got here.”
Riley looked out over the dogs. How could anyone want to put an end to this? Neighbors of all ages clustered together, chatting about their days. Riley took for granted seeing the same people day in and day out. She loved her residents at the Dorothy, but the dog park people were her real people.
“You know what we need?” Riley cracked her knuckles, ready to get to work.
“Me to offer my services pro bono?”
“Obviously.” Riley rolled her eyes. “But we also need a dog park party. A social. For everyone to relax and have a good time.”
“Before we ask them to take off work to show up en masse at city hall and cause a big stink?”
“Yeah, that too.”
Eliza chortled. “I like how you think. What’re you thinking?”
“Dog Days of Summer.”
“Perfect.”
* * *
A dog park party obviously had to include dogs, and of course the most obvious place to accommodate all the dogs and owners was the dog park. Riley designed flyers and printed them out on her old laser printer and spent a couple of days hitting the dog park at different times, chatting up the regulars, and getting them to agree to the Saturday evening party. Riley’s clipboard listed the things they’d need—tables, chairs, coolers for drinks, food for a buffet, dog treats, and space for things she hadn’t even thought of yet.
“What a wonderful idea!” the Chihuahua’s owner gushed. The dog’s name was Chewy, but Riley didn’t think she’d ever learned the woman’s name. She’d scrawled Sydney in the chairs category and the number four. “Will beach chairs be okay?”
“More than okay.”
“We should’ve done this before.” Sydney cuddled Chewy in her arms, not seeming to mind how he smeared dirt down the front of her trendy white tunic with split sleeves. “It’s too bad we’re only getting around to it now that the park’s being closed down.”
“What do you mean?” Riley dropped her pen in her surprise. She’d thought only she and Eliza knew about the impending Donovan takeover.
“Everyone’s been talking.” Sydney lowered her voice. “Guess the Dorothy’s being sold or something, and this lot is part of the parcel. It’s a shame, thinking they’ll put up condos or some such, and then where will poor Chewy get his exercise?”
“Parking structure,” Riley corrected her.
“You’ve heard?” Sydney leaned in closer. “Do you know more details?”
Riley tapped the pen against her clipboard. “I’m the on-site manager at the Dorothy, so yeah, changes seem to be on the horizon.”
“This dog park—I mean, I know it’s not a real park, but still, when I was looking at apartments, I saw everyone out here and what else would you call it?—is a big reason why I rented in the area. It won’t be the same once it’s gone.”
“There might still be something we can do.” Riley hadn’t meant to mention anything until the party, but she ended up telling Sydney everything.
A few minutes in, Sydney set Chewy down to let him go exploring. She planted her hands on her slim hips. “You need anything, I’m in.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.” Riley clutched the clipboard to her chest, moved by Sydney’s offer. Caleb’s plans definitely impacted the Dorothy’s residents, and although she’d hoped the neighbors would feel as strongly as Eliza, she’d also been afraid they’d collectively shrug off the development plans and find somewhere else to take their dogs. That Sydney’s immediate response was to jump in and help promised that the party’s secret agenda—getting dog owners riled up enough to sign her petition—would succeed. Hope Riley hadn’t felt since the disastrous commissioner meeting bloomed in her chest, like the tentative purple flowers of matchweed poking their heads up in the dog park grass after a good rain.
“I’ve got an idea.” Sydney cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve never seen you in anything but dog park clothes. You need an outfit for the next city hall meeting?”
“No, I’m good.” Riley didn’t want to admit that her dog park clothes were pretty much her everyday clothes. She still had a few suits in her closet from her hotel days, but her Dorothy uniform was casual. Super casual. Maybe too casual? She pictured herself standing before the commissioners in one of her outdated Zara suits. Definitely not confidence building.
“Oh, I’ve embarrassed you.” Sydney’s forehead crinkled with concern. “Please don’t take it personally. I’m a stylist. I can’t help myself.” She laughed and tucked her long bangs behind one ear. “I’ve got racks of clothes left from my last big job. Why don’t you come over, and I’ll hook you up?”
Riley’d felt underdressed at the meeting. She imagined walking into the meeting in a power suit with her PowerPoint ready to go. She smiled. “How can I say no?”
Sydney clasped her hands in front of her chest and squealed. “Wonderful! Now, hand over that clipboard. I have some ideas for other things we’ll need for the party.”
Riley held out the list with the pen stuck in the clip, and Sydney immediately propped it against her hip and started writing. “We’ll need extra dog treats to give out as prizes for the contests, and of course, we’ll need people to volunteer to judge the contests.”
“Contests?” Riley swallowed. With such short notice and no budget, she’d been happy people were willing to sign up potluck-style for snacks and drinks and that Eliza already had two folding tables she said she could bring over. “What kind of contests?”
“We can do some version of a cake walk. A dog-walk cake walk?” Sydney jotted down a need for five cakes. “We’ll come up with a better title. Cutest dog trick? Dog who most looks like its owner?” She scribbled her ideas as they came out of her mouth. “Who comes the farthest to our dog park? Who’s been coming the longest?”
Our dog park. The blooming hope in Riley’s chest flowered. “Maybe some obedience commands? Who can sit-stay the longest?”
“Excellent!” Sydney pointed the pen at Riley. “Keep talking. We’ve got a lot to work out and not much time. Lucky for you, last minute is my specialty.”
Kiki and Paula entered through the gap in the fenc
e, Princess Pugsley already off her leash and running to catch up with LouLou and Chewy.
“A few too many gelatos in Rome!” Paula patted her rounded stomach with a laugh.
“Please.” Kiki sucked in her own gut to get through. “It’s always been a tight squeeze for you.”
“Are you saying I’m fat?” Paula fake-punched Kiki’s arm.
Kiki played like the punch had hurt, rubbing her bicep with an exaggerated grimace. “You, my love, are perfectly plump in all the right places. It’s the fence that’s the problem. We should widen that gap, stop pretending like it’s not an entryway.”
“Good point.” Sydney jotted it on the clipboard. “I’m Sydney. That’s my Chewy over there.” She pointed to her Chihuahua, currently in the process of sniffing Princess Pugsley’s butt. “The one with the questionable manners.”
Kiki and Paula laughed and introduced themselves. Within minutes, Sydney recruited them as judges for the contests, and they even signed up to bring a cake. When they heard about the petition, Kiki immediately volunteered to help collect signatures, and Paula raised a fist in the air. “Viva la Rover Revolution!”
Chapter 10
Grandpa William’s home didn’t need a woman’s touch. It was expertly decorated in a Mediterranean-meets-tropical style carefully cultivated by his longtime interior decorator, Maisy Cantor, with every bell and whistle a retired real estate tycoon could want. Wine cellar, automated blinds, high-end kitchen appliances he never used but that his personal chef insisted were necessary for her job.
Chantel, the full-time housekeeper, poured Grandpa William his usual two fingers of Scotch.
“Just one for me.” Caleb raised a polite hand. He still had to drive home to his sad rental. It wasn’t so much that he missed his downtown high-rise or his sunset views over the water—okay, he did miss those things—but more that he missed the comfort of knowing nothing was out of his price range. His accountant handled his finances, and his main financial worry had been making sure he had enough cash on hand to tip the valet. Now, he had to think about things like which gas station had the best prices, and he’d actually learned to grocery shop for himself.
