by Skye Jordan
“So what’s going on with the Hart girl?” Sam asked. “Jack’s pretty bent out of shape about her showing up here. Can’t say I blame him. That whole family was nothing but a—”
“My dad was a contortionist in another life. He gets bent out of shape about a lot of things.”
Ethan focused on the rich stone flooring, then scanned the smooth granite-topped island and ran his fingers along the joints in the matching countertops, fighting to keep his frustration under control.
He’d been asked at least two dozen times about the Hart girl since she’d arrived in town, almost two weeks ago now, and he was sick of fielding questions about things he couldn’t answer. Things he wanted to know just as much as everyone else. Like where she’d been all these years, how she’d hooked up with Pacific Coast’s Finest, how she’d learned about historical renovation, what she planned to do with the bar, and how long she was staying.
But the question that plagued him late at night revolved around whether or not he’d ever get another chance to feel her, smell her, taste her, experience her consuming passion again. Because she wasn’t answering his calls or his texts. And since their talk at her bar and their almost-up-against-the-wall episode that haunted Ethan’s dreams, waking him in the night sweating and hard, she’d been conspicuously absent from the bar when he was at the warehouse brewing after work.
Almost a week had passed without his seeing or talking to her, and while he told himself that was a good thing, he was still going a little crazy. And that was a really bad sign. Add in his daily work routine filled with complaints and arguments and demands, like the ones Boyd was issuing now, and Ethan was downright volatile.
“I imagine that girl brings up bad blood between you two,” Sam said.
“It’s ancient history to everyone except those who don’t have anything more important to talk about.”
He pulled the measuring tape from his belt and jotted down the measurements of the island, the cabinets, and the distance between each appliance as he went.
“You’re either lying or in denial, kid. Have you seen your daddy, your mama, or your aunt Ellen in the last few days?”
Ethan’s hand froze as he reached for the tap to check the water pressure.
“’Cause Ellen was at the grocery store last night when I was picking up milk, and that Hart girl was—”
“Delaney,” Ethan corrected with a sharp look at Boyd, annoyed beyond reason. “Her name is Delaney.”
Sam paused, studying Ethan. A little grin lifted one side of his mouth. “And Delaney was there chatting up Vince Riley. You know him, right? Just out of law school. Hung a shingle down on Main Street. Doing so well for himself, he’s not taking on any new clients. But he’s evidently got time to date, because I heard him ask her out.”
Ethan’s gut tightened.
“And when I reached the checkout stand,” Boyd continued, “Ellen was in front of me, white as one of Doc Newton’s newborn lambs. Her hands were shaking so bad the checker had to get the money out of her wallet to pay.”
Ethan’s chest caved with guilt. What the hell could he say to that? He just shook his head and went back to work, checking pilot lights on the stove.
“You know that’s gonna worry your mama.” Sam dug deeper. “And anything that worries your mama pisses off your daddy. And if your aunt goes off the deep end again, your uncle Wayne—”
“I don’t need a lesson in my family dynamics.” He set his clipboard on the island and started working on the final clearance. “If you wouldn’t mind cutting back on the chatter so I could finish this paperwork. I’ve got a really full schedule that I couldn’t fit you into in the first place . . .”
“Sure. Fine.” He paused only a moment before he chuckled and murmured, “That Hart—Delaney sure is one sweet piece of—”
“Don’t.” Every muscle in Ethan’s body tensed. She was most definitely a sweet piece of ass—like sugarcane-straight-to-the-bloodstream sweet—but no one was going to talk about her like that in front of him.
“Don’t what?”
Ethan met Boyd’s eyes with a clear warning. “Just shut up so I can get this done.”
He refocused on the form before Boyd reacted, because Ethan didn’t want to see it. He’d stepped over the line with shut up. Normally he prided himself on his professionalism. Doing his job right, following the clear-cut rules set out in the building code, gave him a sense of purpose and accomplishment and pride. Other than brewing good beer, it was all he had to be proud of. All he had to call his own. At least for now.
And he’d just gone and blown it by letting Boyd get under his skin.
Or maybe it all stemmed from letting Delaney get under his skin.
“You’d better watch your mouth, boy.” Boyd’s voice rasped with anger. “You can bet your daddy’s gonna hear—”
“I don’t care what you tell my father.” Ethan stretched his neck side to side, cracking it both directions, then let his head fall back and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, searching for patience he didn’t have. “He’s not my . . .”
Ethan’s words trailed off when he spotted the three sleek new light fixtures hanging from the twelve-foot ceiling over the granite island.
“What the hell?” He slapped his pen against the clipboard on the counter and turned his glare on Boyd. “You took out those sprinkler heads and put in lights?”
Boyd’s expression instantly shifted from condescending to ignorant as he glanced at the ceiling. “There weren’t any sprinkler heads there.”
“Oh, yes there were.” Ethan pulled folded plans from the aluminum box beneath the clipboard and slapped them on the granite in front of Boyd. With a rigid finger pinpointing the sprinkler head locations, he said, “These sprinklers. The ones you argued over for weeks.”
“Come on, Ethan. We both know those things were eyesores. They killed the style in this kitchen.” He opened his arms and gestured around the space. “This is a showplace, for God’s sake. Even your daddy thinks so. He and your mama were here for a wine tasting just last week, and . . .”
The situation crystallized in his mind, and Ethan hit his breaking point.
He held up his hand to stop Boyd’s stupidity from pouring out of his mouth. Ethan was here because his dad had asked him to squeeze Boyd into his schedule. Boyd had ripped out coded fire sprinklers because Jack had said Ethan would overlook it. All because Boyd was supporting Jack’s reelection campaign for mayor.
Ethan’s blood felt like it was boiling in his veins. He gathered the plans and paperwork, piled it on the clipboard, and turned for the front door. “We’re done.”
Boyd certainly wasn’t the first to cut corners, ignore codes, or expect special allowances. Ethan had experienced all that and more—lies, conspiracy, bribes. As the building planner, building inspector, and the mayor’s son, the dark side of business had become part of his everyday life—enter the moblike experience.
But Ethan was sick of it.
All of it.
“Call me when the sprinklers are back in,” he said, striding away.
“Whoa, wait. It’s just three sprinklers. I’ve got dozens throughout the house.”
“Yet not one in the room most susceptible to fire.” He continued through the wide marble-floored foyer toward the ornate double-doored glass entry. “The codes are written the way they’re written for good reason.”
“Okay, okay,” Boyd said, following. “I’ll have the guy back here tomorrow morning to fix it. Just sign off on the final inspection so I can get the occupancy paperwork in the morning.”
If Ethan had a nickel for every promise a client had made him over the years, he’d be standing in his own brewpub right now. “When they’re in, I’ll swing by between clients and sign you off.”
He pulled the front door open, but Boyd put a hand against the wood and closed it.
Ethan’s temper slipped. He turned his head and met Boyd’s gaze head-on. “Let go of that door. Right. Now.”
Boyd
obeyed, and Ethan shot him a glare as he swung it open.
“Ethan, my construction note is due tomorrow.” Boyd followed him onto the porch with worry and annoyance filling his voice. “If I don’t have your final, I’ll have to extend the loan another thirty days. I’m already going to eat it on replacing the sprinklers. Extending that loan is going to run me dry.”
“Then I suggest you get your contractor on the phone, because I’m not letting you skate. I’ve gone out of my way to accommodate you on this project.” He paused at his driver’s door and turned to face the other man. “For the record, I don’t appreciate you trying to put one over on me. And I don’t appreciate you and my father conspiring behind my back to circumvent the codes.”
“We weren’t conspiring—”
Ethan climbed into the driver’s seat, tossed his things onto the passenger’s side, slammed the door, and started the engine, drowning out any more of Boyd’s lies.
Once he was on the main country road headed toward town, he rolled down his window, letting the perfect eighty-degree country air blow through the cab. With anger still gnawing at the pit of his stomach, he touched the speed dial for his secretary.
She picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Bossman.”
“Jodi, would you call and reschedule every appointment I’ve made in off-hours as a favor to my father? Just put them in during my normal day whenever it’s convenient.” Silence extended over the line so long, Ethan said, “Hello?”
“Um . . . yeah. Still here.” Concern weighted Jodi’s voice, and computer keys clicked in the background. “Have you looked at your schedule lately?”
“I look at it every day.”
“Do you look at it a week out? Two weeks out? A month out? You’re booked, Ethan. That’s why these favors your father calls in always end up on your off-hours, because you don’t have any regular hours available.”
Ethan took a deep breath and did what he should have done years ago. “I understand, but I still want it done. Be prepared for pushback, and if they get rowdy, leave me a list of names and numbers. I’ll reschedule them myself.”
“Okay,” she said, trepidation in her voice. “I guess we can start with the one you’re supposed to be at now, over your lunch hour. That would give you a few minutes to eat and get you to the rest of your appointments on time today—for a change. And if I reschedule the favor you were supposed to do this evening, you might even get off work at a decent hour.”
“That sounds heavenly.”
He disconnected with his secretary and winced. He was pretty sure he’d be feeling the negative repercussions of this decision for a long time to come, but he couldn’t deny the giddy sense of freedom pulsing through his veins. Or the way his mind filled with all kinds of ways to spend his newfound hours. Yes, most included Delaney, but since that night he’d just about fucked her up against the wall without a second thought to what that might cost him in the long run, he’d convinced himself time with Delaney was nothing but a masochistic addiction he needed to break. And she hadn’t been lighting up his phone to tell him differently. So he turned his mind to the brewpub.
As soon as he turned onto Main Street, his phone rang. He glanced at the dash to see who was calling with plans of letting it go to voice mail, but he saw his mother’s number on the display and answered. “Hey, Mom. I’m on my way to an appointment. What’s up?”
“Hi, honey. Can you believe this weather? I’m going to ask your father to barbecue tonight. Do you think you could come over? I’ll make your favorite ribs with peach cobbler for dessert.”
He propped his elbow on the window ledge and his head in his hand. God, he was starving and that menu made his mouth water. But Ethan didn’t want to face his father until he knew what he was going to say, lest he blow up and say the wrong thing and make their abysmal relationship even worse. Besides, he wasn’t up for another night of rants over Delaney’s return.
“I’m already running late on appointments,” he told her. “I won’t be done early enough to catch you for dinner.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” His mother sounded sincerely disappointed. “You and your father have been at such odds lately. I was hoping you two could smooth things over.”
Not in this lifetime. “I know it upsets you, Mom, and I’m sorry. But honestly, I don’t see that changing anytime soon unless Dad backs off.”
“I’m sorry, too. I’ll talk to him. Honey, there’s one other thing. I hate to ask with your time so limited, but my friend Bunny, she’s at Wildly Artesian working in her space, and she noticed that Colleen McKay is struggling to put up some shelves in the next space over. You know Colleen, her husband, Dick—”
“Passed away last month.” Ethan stopped at a light and rubbed his tired eyes, barely holding back his exasperated sigh because he knew what was coming. “Yeah.”
“If you happen to be going by the shop, it would really mean a lot to me if you’d stop by and help her out. I’d do it myself, but we both know I’m as good with a hammer as your father is with a cupcake pan.”
That made Ethan laugh. And he was only a couple of blocks from the shop. “Sure, Mom.”
“Thanks so much, honey. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” He disconnected with his mother and turned the corner onto Main Street, pulling into a spot beneath the Sycamore trees in front of Phoebe’s shop. The building was a grand historical colonial situated at the center of downtown; one Phoebe had bought when Ethan had been away at college. She’d put a lot of money into restoring it and kept it in pristine shape. And every time Ethan looked at the turn-of-the-century colonial, a sense of pride welled inside him.
He wished he could have afforded one of these historical buildings to house his brewpub, but land was far more affordable. It also allowed him to start small and expand without going too deep into debt. The thought of offering to buy The Bad Seed from Delaney had crossed Ethan’s mind several times. It would be an easy way to gain prime real estate and a liquor license at the same time. But he also knew that doing that would have been considered the worst kind of betrayal to his family.
And, as Caleb had said, going up against Jack wasn’t the best way to ensure success with a new business in town. If there was one thing he’d need with this business—it was success. Pops was counting on it. Besides, that building was going to be a cavernous money pit. He was sure she’d see that in time.
Ethan got out of his truck and waited for two women pushing baby strollers to pass before he crossed the sidewalk and started up the old wooden steps to Wildly Artesian’s double front doors.
A bell jingled as he entered, and the scent of peaches and lavender filled the air. Phoebe looked up from the front counter where she had paperwork spread out across the glass.
“Well, Mr. Hayes.” Her smile was at half-mast, which caused Ethan a pang of unease.
“Hi, Phoebe. How are you?”
She leaned her forearms on the glass and met his gaze directly. “I’d be better if you weren’t sleeping with Delaney.”
Her statement hit him like a brick. His smile vanished, and he glanced around to see who else might have heard, relieved no one was within earshot. Then he rolled back on his heels and shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Your candidness is always so . . . refreshing.”
“I doubt it.” She set down her pen and clasped her hands.
A middle-aged woman strolled from one section of the building to another, passing through the lobby, and Phoebe held whatever she had to say until the shopper had moved out of range.
Still she kept her voice low. “You know I like you, Ethan. Despite your father’s and uncle’s overshadowing presence in town, you’ve carved your own path. It’s clear that you’re your own man, not your father’s son, if you know what I mean.”
“I do, and thank you. Though I feel a but coming.”
“But,” she said with a grin that lasted only a second, “your little anonymous rendezvous with Delaney has me wondering if there’s anoth
er side to you.”
What in the hell did he say to that? “I really like Delaney, Phoebe. And as you’ve said, I’m not my father. Not everyone sees that, and I wanted Delaney to form her own opinions.”
“I’m disappointed in the way you went about it. Still, what’s done is done. But that doesn’t mean mistakes need to be repeated.”
All the air left his lungs in one heavy breath. A gnawing pain aggravated his gut. This woman’s disappointment hurt more than his mother’s. “I don’t see my time with Delaney as a mis—”
“Your family has done enough damage to my girls, especially Delaney. Don’t think I’ll stand by and let it happen again. I may not be your daddy, but I have a lot of deep, loyal friends here and elsewhere that I will call on if necessary.”
“I don’t want to hurt Delaney,” he said deliberately.
“Good. Hold to that goal, and we’ll keep the drama at bay.” She straightened, her voice light, her smile refreshed. Clearly that conversation was over. “What brought you in today, Ethan? Looking for a gift for your mama?”
Ethan glanced around the huge space, now even more out of sorts than when he’d walked in. Talking about Delaney only made him want to see her. “No, but my mom’s the reason I’m here.”
After he explained his mother’s request, Phoebe chuckled. “I think your mama’s dabbling in her notorious matchmaking again. Bunny hasn’t been here in a week. She’s out with a sinus infection. And if Colleen needed help, she would have come to me, or asked her daughter”—she gave Ethan a pointed look—“since Misty is with her.”
Ethan rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then let them slide closed and rubbed them. Two emotions collided in Ethan’s chest—humor and irritation. On one hand, his mother’s matchmaking skills were so lousy they were funny. On the other, it was hard to find anything that involved his family and all their manipulation funny today.
“You may be wrong about me and Delaney,” he said, “but you’re right about my mother.”
He glanced at the door, calculating which would be more trouble—making excuses to his mother about why he didn’t stay and help, or enduring Misty’s wandering eyes and propositions.
