A Tail for Two

by Mara Wells

  It’d be stupid to step in there. Who knew where the water was coming from? Could be an old roof leak. Could be all that shivering and shaking of the roof demo had caused a cracked pipe. And if the plumbing was messed up, no telling what was going on with the electrical. Water plus electricity was never a good combination. No, he’d stay safely out here while they figured it out.

  Mendo had his phone out, texting. “Got a pump on the way. Once we clear it out, maybe we can see where the leak is.”

  “Good news is it’s not too deep. So either the leak is old or very weak. This is not a disaster.” A big part of Lance’s job was assuring other people that whatever setbacks and delays occurred were not, in fact, disasters but instead minor annoyances easily dispatched. Good thing the elevator project was ahead of schedule—okay, only by a few hours, but a lead was a lead, and they were about to eat up what little lead they had. He didn’t want to have to tell Caleb to keep the residents away once they got back from their cruise.

  The Dorothy groaned from the force of the roof crew ripping off layers above. Even if they did get behind schedule, at least the residents would have missed the worst of the roof job. He’d once seen a wineglass shimmy itself right off a rack during a roof job. He’d warned everyone to secure valuables, but he’d still do a walk-through before they returned to check for damages.

  “Good to have Beckham around again, huh?” Mendo tried to sound casual, staring into the elevator shaft like there was more to learn, but Lance knew what the question was really about. Carrie. Mendo’d learned to leave the topic alone after the first few months of the divorce, but clearly he thought that door was open again. Maybe it was.

  “Yeah, good to see Carrie, too.” He threw Mendo the bone, figuring it would save time to cut to the chase.

  “You gonna see them again?” Mendo kept the pretense of looking for the leak’s origin, darting his flashlight around the shaft, but his smug smile gave him away. Mendo and his secret agendas that he wasn’t very good at keeping secret.

  Lance smiled fondly at the older man. “I have to. She’s the mother of my son.”

  Mendo’s flashlight splashed into the shallow pool of water. “What now? She had your kid?”

  Lance opted to leaved Mendo’s flashlight at the bottom of the shaft until they knew more about where the water was coming from. “She did. Never told me.”

  Mendo squatted onto his haunches, looking up at Lance with shocked eyes. “You have a son? How old?”

  “He’ll be three next month. Oliver.”

  Mendo nodded and nodded, rocking a bit on his heels. Lance squatted down beside him, placing a hand on top of Mendo’s shoulder. Lance knew how the man felt. Sledgehammer to the gut. It took a minute to get over a thing like that. His brothers had taken the news in stride, but then they hadn’t been with him through the marriage, the divorce, the aftermath, not the way Mendo had been.

  Finally, Mendo choked out a few words. “Congratulations. You’ll be a great dad.”

  “I don’t know about that.” It’d been Lance’s defense for years, the reason he didn’t want children. With a dad like his, how could he possibly be any good at the job?

  Mendo knocked him playfully on the side of the head. “You taught yourself to lay a perfectly level floor. You can teach yourself this, too. Get a book or something. You’re a smart guy.”

  “It’s a bit late for What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” Lance joked, but then suddenly he wasn’t joking. Because it was too late for it all—watching Carrie grow big with his child, the birth, holding his son for the first time. He wasn’t there when Oliver took his first step or said his first word. He’d missed it all, the milestones and sleepless nights, the trips to the doctor and birthday parties. Did his son have a favorite color? Favorite food? Lance didn’t know any of it. He was already a terrible father, and he’d only been at it a few days. Maybe Carrie’d been right to keep him out of it. She did know him better than anyone else.

  Mendo was nodding again, a regular bobblehead. “You’ll figure it out, Lance. It’s a great thing to be a father.”

  Lance nodded, the gesture apparently contagious. “Your kids are lucky to have you, Mendo.”

  “Ha, tell them that. Now they’ve all flown the coop, when do I hear from them?” He pushed himself to his feet and twisted his torso, stretching his back. “Don’t worry, though. You’ve got ten years until the teen years hit full force. Enjoy them while you can.”

  “I will.” Lance rose, too, with new determination. He wouldn’t miss another first. He’d volunteer at Oliver’s school, attend every ceremony, every game, every performance. He’d be the dad he wished he’d had. He’d be Mendo.

  “What about Carrie? She say why she never told you?” Mendo returned to his study of the shaft. His flashlight had turned itself off in its shallow, watery grave. “Doesn’t seem like her, not the Carrie I used to know.”

  “It’s complicated.” Lance leaned against the elevator opening. “Mendo, how do I move past her keeping my own son a secret from me?”

  “That’s even more complicated.” Mendo clapped him on the back, hard. “But if you want to know your son, you’ll have to. Consider it your first parental compromise.”

  Mendo was right, as usual, but he didn’t know the whole story, didn’t know about the kiss. Lance’s emotions were as wild as an out-of-control wrecking ball, taking out walls that needed to stay standing.

  “Is that water?”

  Lance didn’t recognize the gruff voice, but he did recognize the clean-shaven architect, Adam St. John, when he poked his head into the elevator shaft, looking first up, then down. At six feet and a bit, Lance was used to being the tallest person around, but Adam made him feel like he could try out for a role as a Munchkin in the community theater’s upcoming production of The Wizard of Oz. The guy was professional basketball tall, but Lance resisted asking if he’d ever played. Of course he had, and if he’d liked it, he’d still be doing it instead of designing buildings in South Florida.

  “Adam.” Lance shook the man’s hand, marveling at the sheer size of his knuckles. Tiny basketballs, each one. Grateful for the distraction, he pumped the man’s hand a little too hard. “Good to see you.”

  Adam’s shake was perfunctory. “Looks like a disaster.”

  “It’s definitely not a disaster.” Lance gave his best client-reassuring face—a dip of the chin and a slightly furrowed brow.

  And yet Adam was not reassured. Probably because he knew a thing or two about buildings. “That’ll set us back a few days, I reckon.”

  “We’re ahead of schedule, and pumps are on the way.”

  “Still could be a disaster.” Adam stepped back from the shaft with a shake of his head. “Who knows where that water’s coming from?”

  Mendo cleared his throat. “Most likely it’s a minor leak. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours to get us back on track. I’ll head out front and wait on that pump.”

  Adam pulled out an iPad and made some notes. “Wish I had your confidence, guys, but I’ll keep my mouth shut about all the other things it could be. For now.”

  “Appreciate it. We construction guys like to keep it simple.” Lance gave a self-deprecating smile. Like he didn’t know all the awful things the leak could signal. No need to panic, though, until they had more information. That was his motto: Problem solve now, panic later. Maybe he should have it stenciled on his truck.

  “Didn’t mean it like that.” Adam was clicking away on his iPad. “Just came to talk to you.”

  Lance rolled his hand. “So talk. Can’t do much here until the pumps arrive anyway.”

  Adam clicked a few more times and spun the tablet Lance’s way. The City of Miami Beach’s familiar logo headed a familiar document that Lance quickly scanned.

  “What?” He read the document again, this time more slowly. Still the same bad news. “Can they
even do that?”

  “Apparently, they can. I’ve been calling Caleb, but he doesn’t respond.”

  “He warned me that they wouldn’t have regular Wi-Fi for large parts of the cruise.” Lance swore under his breath in Creole. “Now this is the actual disaster. If the city doesn’t approve the permits, we’re at a standstill.”

  “Not precisely. The elevator permit came though, as did the roof and plumbing ones. It’s just, you know, everything else that’s on hold.”

  “It’s Commissioner Santos.” Lance’s mouth twisted into the same expression he’d worn earlier when the barista at the Coffee Pot Spot accidentally made his morning latte with almond milk instead of regular. An unexpected and unwanted surprise. He’d been in a rush so, wincing at the slightly burned taste, he’d sipped the thing all the way to the work site where he’d then dumped it in the nearest trash can. If only dealing with the city would be that simple and nonconfrontational. “He’s wanted that parking garage at full capacity ever since Caleb dangled the possibility in front of him.”

  “It is the most efficient use of space.” It was no secret that Adam had refused to help with Caleb and Riley’s dog park. “The income alone would make it so the residents could keep renting at their current rates. It really is a win-win,” Adam said, proving that contrary to Riley’s theory that he hated dogs and community spaces, he really was thinking big picture.

  “What do we do?” Lance rubbed the back of his neck, noting it might be time for a haircut soon. “Caleb and Riley will never agree to get rid of their dog park.”

  Adam tapped at his iPad some more and spun the screen toward Lance again. “But would they agree to move it?”

  Lance whistled low. “Now that is something.”

  Adam’s screen opened to a 3-D rendering of a parking garage that filled the entirety of the lot next to the Dorothy. When Caleb and Riley built their dog park, they’d used half of it for the dogs and left the other half for the parking garage. Adam’s drawing obliterated the current dog park. The garage was done in the style of the Dorothy—that is, vaguely Deco-ish and painted the same color. Climbing vines covered the outside, blocking the view of the cars that would be housed inside.

  “Are those palm trees on the roof?” Lance touched the screen, and the picture flickered before enlarging the upper floor of the garage. “Wait, is that LouLou?”

  Adam tap-tapped a few more times, and the rendering gave a panoramic tour of the roof. Grass, trees, agility equipment. It was similar in layout to the current dog park, but it was twice as big and twenty-five feet in the air.

  “I thought Riley would be more likely to agree if I put her poodle in the proposal. She has a soft spot for that dog.”

  Lance hated to admit it, but he had a soft spot for that dog, too. It was easy to imagine LouLou enjoying the fresh smells so high up in the air, running her favorite figure eights in the plush grass. And wouldn’t Beckham love it, too?

  “What’s that?” Lance pointed to a snakelike shape running up the side of the building.

  Adam zoomed in on it. “There’d have to be a dog-park-only elevator, of course, so residents or people parked in the public parking section wouldn’t have to be around dogs if they have allergies or something. So that’s here.” He traced a finger up the side of the building. “But then I started thinking that some dogs might not like elevators and how there are so few hills here in Florida. If there were a ramp, dogs and owners could get in a bit of cardio on their way to enjoy the park. It’d be a draw for people training for marathons and the like.” His fingers pinched and opened until Lance had a clear view of what was essentially a running track.

  “What’s the material?” The builder in Lance was intrigued. The brother in him was dreading the conversation he’d have to have with Caleb. Destroy the dog park he’d built with Riley? His younger brother was still romantic enough to put up a fight over that. But it did make sense, and if it got them the permits they needed, more income for the building, and still had the community space so important to Riley, what was the harm?

  “It’s a synthetic. Depending on budget, we might go with something like Tartan Track—something all weather and fairly indestructible and easy to care for.” Adam rotated the view to a bird’s-eye perspective.

  “It’s remarkable.” Lance’s praise wasn’t even grudging. It was a pretty great solution to a sticky situation. “It’d be a draw for new tenants, too, a one-of-a-kind park on top of a guaranteed parking space?”

  “Do you think Caleb and Riley will go for it?”

  Adam’s presentation went into slideshow mode, and with each change of angle, Lance became more sure he was doing the right thing.

  “I can sign off on it.”

  “You can?” Adam’s surprise shouldn’t have nettled Lance, but it did.

  “I’m not just the hired help. I’m a full partner in this venture.”

  Adam’s eyes widened, and then he smiled. “That’s excellent news. I happen to have an amended permit application ready to go.”

  Lance held up a hand. “Not so fast. Can you email the plans? I’d like to look at them more carefully.”

  Adam clicked for a moment or two. “Done. You won’t take long?”

  “I’ll take as long as I need to.” Lance wouldn’t be bulldozed. Architects tended to be ambitious, and he needed to make sure the new plan wouldn’t break the budget and that the plan was financially feasible. You could make a lovely drawing of a floating city in the clouds, but that didn’t mean a contractor could make it a reality.

  “Okay then.” Adam clamped the iPad against his side and held out his hand for another shake. “Soon as you approve the plans, I’ll file the paperwork.”

  “I can file with the city.” Lance shook Adam’s hand perhaps a bit too roughly.

  “Sure.” Adam withdrew his hand and tucked it into the front pocket of his slacks. “But you have a lot going on here, I believe.” He raised an eyebrow at the elevator shaft.

  Lance huffed out a long sigh. “You’re telling me. Fine, I’ll be in touch. If everything checks out, I think this is going to be really great.”

  “What will be really great?” Carrie strolled up, long legs in a skirt that grazed the tops of her knees and a short blazer that hugged the curve of her waist. Images from his long night of fantasizing about Carrie’s kiss and all the delightful things that could come next crowded his brain.

  Lance swallowed hard, his gaze following the line of her calf into her mile-high heels. How did she walk in those things? But she’d always insisted people respected height and that the extra inches her collection of stilettos provided were crucial to her business.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met.” Adam stepped forward, blocking Lance’s view of Carrie’s legs so that all he could hear was the clip of her heels against the terrazzo.

  Speaking of height. “Carrie, this is Adam. He’s the architect on this project.” He coughed into his hand to clear the huskiness out of his voice.

  Carrie smiled and held out her fingers. “Nice to meet you. I’m Carrie Burns, interior designer.”

  “I didn’t know they’d hired a designer yet.” Adam took her fingers in a soft shake that made Carrie smile wider. Lance’s eyes narrowed. The Carrie from his midnight imaginings would not smile at another man like that.

  “They haven’t.” Carrie freed her hand to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I’m here to do a walk-through, get some ideas for my proposal.”

  “Let me give you the tour then. I can tell you the architectural plans, a little inside scoop, if you will.” Adam’s eyes twinkled down at her. Freaking twinkled. Lance’s cheek muscle twitched.

  Carrie’s smile moved from polite to delighted. “Oh, I’d love that. I don’t always get to work with the architect, you know. I’d love to get your thoughts on the space.”

  “I’d love to give them to y
ou.” Adam produced a card from his pocket. “Here. In case you have questions later. I have to make a quick call, but if you can wait a few minutes, I’ll be back for that tour.”

  “Wonderful!” Carrie beamed at him, and Lance felt the back of his neck heat. He rubbed it and stared into the empty elevator shaft so no one could see the emotions he felt marching across his face. He didn’t know how to feel around this woman, but he’d have to figure it out fast.

  Carrie moved up next to him and followed his gaze to the puddle.

  “Oh my,” she said. “This looks like a disaster.”

  “It’s not a disaster,” Lance ground out although he was beginning to think another disaster was in the making. Carrie’s color was high, the result of Adam’s twinkling, no doubt. Had she already forgotten about yesterday’s kiss in Kristin’s elevator? Or was it like the night at Grandpa William’s birthday party, relegated to the Never Happened vault in her mind? He didn’t like this unsettled feeling, standing next to her but not sure where he really stood with her.

  She placed a hand on his arm, directly below the elbow. “I’m sure you’ll fix it. You’re a miracle worker with a hammer and claw.”

  His muscles tightened under her hand, and he found himself leaning toward her. “We’ll get this under control, but a setback here means fewer available resources for your celestial bathroom.”

  “Oh.” Her hand fell away. “I understand, of course. Do you have anyone else you’d recommend? Or maybe Adam knows someone?”

  Ask Adam? No way. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else helping her out. He planted his hands on his hips, full construction-foreman style. “I didn’t say I was backing out.”

  “But—” She gestured at the elevator shaft. Yeah, that was going to be a problem, but it could be Mendo’s problem.

  “Can’t spare any guys here, but I’ll do it.” Lance hadn’t fully formed the plan before it came spilling out of his mouth. “Knox can help me.”

  “Knox knows construction?”