He waves that away. “I know you would. See you.”
“One day, I’m telling you.”
He leaves, whistling a happy tune.
I shut the door, set Snowball down, and head to my newly remodeled kitchen. White cabinets with simple silver bar pulls, light gray granite countertops, and a center island, also topped with light gray granite, with cabinet space underneath. The heated floor is large white and gray square tiles. First thing I did when I bought the place was have it cleaned top to bottom, pulled out old carpet, and replaced all the wallpaper with a neutral cream paint. Then I moved in while the contractors renovated the kitchen and bathroom. Now my 1920s house reminds me of a cozy bed-and-breakfast. I have plans for a library, a larger living room, and a master bedroom suite. Once the permits come through, I’m also adding two more bathrooms.
This place used to be a farm. The property has acres of woodland, rolling grassy hills, a large chunk of flat land, and a pond. It hasn’t been farmed in a long time. I’m having a blast with it. It’s the first time I’ve owned a fixer-upper, and I get to dig into historic architecture to do it. The best part is the landlocked lighthouse on the property. You can see it from all over town since I’m at the top of a hill. I’m not even close to Lake Summerdale, which is only big enough for canoes and rowboats anyway. No big ships approaching. Ha-ha. I appreciated the irony of a lighthouse on dry land, so I bought the house.
A few minutes later, I set a plate of three tamales down at my rectangular wood kitchen table, with a glass of milk, napkin, fork, and knife. Snowball settles next to my chair to watch, lying down, as she knows is polite. I never feed her at the table, but she’s always hopeful I might accidentally drop some food. I carefully peel back the corn husk surrounding the tamale and slice off a piece. I pop it into my mouth, closing my eyes and groaning over how good it is. The sauce bursts with spicy heat combined with melted cheese, shredded pork, and a delicious corn masa. Perfection.
I moved to Summerdale on Harper’s recommendation, who grew up here. She described it as a dinky town no one’s ever heard of. Sounded like a great place to lie low and chill. I wanted that because I’m tired of fake friends with their hand out and the constant fundraiser circuits. I contribute behind the scenes now, mostly anonymously in the form of donations, but I’ve also helped turn around some failing businesses. Only if I’m comfortable with my business partner. They can’t be a money-grubber who’s going to spend it on themselves and let the business go down the drain. That’s why I insist on some control. I’m one of those people who can see the forest for the trees instantly. And I get the job done.
Besides the occasional business project and playing renovation supervisor here, I’m officially retired after several lucrative tech startups. Most recently I sold my virtual reality system to a certain social media company who was willing to pay handsomely for it. And I created and sold a few other tech companies before that.
I take a drink of milk and meet Snowball’s soulful eyes. She worships me. “Good girl,” I murmur before taking another bite of tamale.
I lived in California for a while, hanging with the other Silicon Valley whiz kids, got invited to fancy parties, including a few in Hollywood. Briefly dated an actress—nightmare. The woman would barely eat and was all drama all the time. Eventually, I moved to Manhattan to be closer to family. I’m the man of the family ever since my dad died when I was thirteen. My three younger sisters are in their twenties now, but that doesn’t mean they don’t need me. Two of them live in New Jersey, where we grew up, and one in Manhattan.
Snowball races out of the room, barking. Strange. I don’t know many people in town yet, and she’s not a big barker. Maybe Bill came back for something. I stand, taking one last longing look at my lunch before leaving it. No one else knows about my hidden lair out here in the suburbs of New York except my family. Crap. An in-person visit with no notice means one of my sisters was too upset to do anything but act on instinct. They know I’ll take care of whatever it is. It’s not a problem with our mom, or I would’ve gotten multiple texts and phone calls from all three sisters. Besides, Mom’s in her prime, climbing mountains and hiking in her fifties.
I reach the front window, order Snowball to stand down, and watch as my youngest sister’s red Jeep comes to a halt behind my silver BMW SUV. Kayla sits there, inspecting herself in the rearview mirror and then applying makeup under her eyes.
My hands form fists. She was crying, probably for a long time if she’s trying to cover up bags under her eyes. Who upset her? I bet it was some loser who doesn’t deserve her. I’ll kick his ass.
She steps out of the Jeep, wearing a red down jacket over jeans and black boots. Her dark brown hair flies around her face in the wind. She pushes her hair back in place as she approaches the front door, muttering to herself.
I wait for her to ring the bell. She has a habit of talking to herself when she’s working through something.
I wait and wait, but she doesn’t ring it. I scoop up Snowball and open the front door just as Kayla’s turned to go back to her Jeep.
“Kayla! Where are you going?”
She freezes, her back to me, but I can tell she’s wiping tears off her cheeks. I’m very familiar with sisterly tears. Also, high-pitched squeals and laughter bordering on the insane. That is, when the three of them are together. It’s a wonder I still have my hearing.
I blow out a breath of exasperation because she still hasn’t moved, her back to me. “I know you’re crying, so you don’t have to put on a happy face. Get in here, runt.” Youngest, smallest, of course I call her runt.
She turns, her face crumbling. “Oh, Wyatt.”
I move swiftly, my bare feet stinging with the cold of the snow, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and guiding her inside. “Don’t worry. I’ve got tamales.”
She laughs through her tears, and we head inside together.
Never let it be said that tamales can’t fix everything. Bad investment? Tamales. Squashed your pinky toe? Tamales. Broken heart? Tamales. I’ve dealt with the first two before in the tamale way, and I suspect Kayla is dealing with that last one. As far as I know, everything is going well with her graduate studies, and she’s living at home to save money, so it’s not any kind of professional or financial issue.
She sets her fork down after her second tamale, finishes her milk, and gives me a small smile. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled these delicious tamales. Did you make them?”
“Ha. No. You know I’m not a big cook.”
She lifts one shoulder. “I figured maybe you had time on your hands now that you’re retired.”
“It was the mailman.”
She blinks her big brown eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah. So what’s up?”
She gathers our dishes, avoiding my eyes. “Nothing much.”
“Uh-huh.”
She takes them to the sink, runs water over them, and sets them in the dishwasher.
I tip my wooden chair back, balancing on two legs. “Would you like to tell me why you’ve been crying for days?”
She bows her head for a moment before turning to face me. “It hasn’t been days.”
“Tell that to your face.”
She shakes her head, walks over, and gives my face a shove. My chair nearly topples back. I right the chair, grabbing her arm for balance.
“You nearly put me out of commission!” I bark.
She sits next to me again. “Mom always told you not to lean back in your chair or you’ll fall backwards.”
“My house. My chair. My choice to risk my ass on the floor. Besides, you shoved me.”
She sighs.
That’s a precursor to a flood of words, so I let it ride, telling myself to savor the calm before the storm.
She stares at the table, using her index finger to push a small tamale crumb around. Snowball perks up, hoping for a scrap, and comes out from under the table to sit by Kayla.
“Hello, Snowball,”
she coos, scooping her up and snuggling into her soft fur. Snowball lifts her head, sniffing Kayla’s face for tamale, and licks her cheek. She holds her close and finally drops the bomb. “I was supposed to get married last night. It was going to be so romantic on New Year’s Eve, start the New Year with a beautiful bang, and then he never showed up.” Her voice chokes at the end.
I right my chair, anger and hurt warring inside me. I keep my voice calm. “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married?” I’m supposed to be the one walking her down the aisle. She’s six years younger, which means she’s always looked up to me. I’m the one who taught her how to ride a bike, how to deal with a bully (strike fierce and fast), and how to incapacitate a guy when necessary. I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone serious, and it’s not for lack of communication. She texts me all the frigging time. Not a peep about this loser she was seeing. Married?
“It was a secret elopement,” she says softly. “I was going to tell everyone later.”
“And…”
“He got cold feet. Oh, Wyatt, it was so humiliating to be standing there in my wedding gown at our favorite restaurant. He knew the owner—” Her voice chokes, and she breaks down in tears.
My jaw clenches. I will rip him limb from limb.
I scoot my chair closer and stroke her hair back out of her face. “What’s the guy’s name?”
She meets my eyes, sniffling. “What?”
“I said what’s his name? I will track him down like the dog he is and kick his ass.” I turn to Snowball. “No offense to your kind. You have better breeding.”
Snowball blinks her agreement from Kayla’s arms.
“No, don’t do that,” Kayla says, horror laced in her voice. “I don’t want him to know I care that much.”
“Obviously you cared. You were about to shackle yourself to the guy for life. A guy I’ve never met, by the way. Don’t ever do that again. Your family wants to be there.” My voice strangles for a moment, and I cough to clear it. “I’m supposed to walk you down the aisle.”
“I’m sorry. It seemed so romantic, the secret elopement wedding on New Year’s Eve.” She sets Snowball down to hug me.
After she settles in her seat again, I go back to my mission of tracking down the guy who hurt my baby sister. “Was it Christina’s older brother? What’s his name? Rick?” Christina is her best friend from home, now married with a baby.
“No! I never thought of Rick that way.”
“Who introduced you to Mr. Cold Feet? Whose idea was it to have a secret elopement? How long were you seeing him? I have questions, Kayla.” I tap the table for emphasis.
“You don’t know him, okay? I met him online in Always Summer.” That’s a multiplayer role-playing game she likes.
I groan. “Didn’t I tell you not to trust someone hiding behind a character online?”
She pouts. “He seemed different. Besides, we had a two-month in-person relationship, and we had stuff in common.”
“Like what?”
She lifts her chin. “Like we both like Always Summer, Italian food, and he goes to my school.” Her lower lip wobbles, and my chest tightens in sympathy. “It’s not like it wasn’t anything real.” She drops her head in her hands.
I grind my teeth. How many times have I warned my sisters that the anonymity of the internet makes it a dangerous place? I should know. I’ve been working on online apps and tech since I was in high school. Wait a minute, I now have an important piece of information—he’s a student at her university. Most likely a graduate student if he wanted to get married.
Kayla lifts her head, giving me the puppy eyes. Ah, hell. I can never deny the puppy eyes. “Can I stay with you for a bit? I just need a change of scenery.”
She’s living at home while finishing her master’s thesis in biostatistics. Snoozefest to me, but I hear there’s good prospects for her future career.
I gesture around us. “I didn’t buy furniture yet except for the kitchen. All I have is one bed.” And that’s where I sleep. I left my stuff in storage while renovating. I need to get more furniture too since this house is so much bigger than my previous penthouse apartment.
She looks down at Snowball, as if she might have the right answer, and then lifts her gaze to me. “Please. I’ll sleep on the floor. Mom will fuss too much over me, and I just need a break from everything that reminds me of…” She catches herself, keeping the loser’s name to herself. I’ll find out.
Still, she came to me. Not our sisters or her best friend. She needs me.
I cave. Not that I ever seriously considered turning her away. I only mentioned it’s mostly empty to warn her it’s not going to be luxurious like my apartment in the city. “You can have my room. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” There’s a sofa in my empty dining room. It’s where I spend most of my time.
“Thank you! You’re the best brother in the world!” She kisses my cheek and gives me a squeeze.
“Yeah, yeah.”
She lets go of me and rushes from the room. Snowball trots after her, tail wagging for the fun race.
I scoop the dog up as Kayla opens the front door and heads toward her Jeep. I watch for a moment as she opens the back and hauls out two huge suitcases. Looks like we both knew there was never a question of her staying here.
I set Snowball down, grab my boots, and order her to stay, shutting the door behind me. I meet Kayla in the driveway, taking the suitcases from her.
“Thanks,” she says.
I grunt and head back in the house, ordering Snowball to back away from the door. Last thing I need is to lose Snowball in a snowdrift. Ha. Kayla follows me upstairs to my room, where there’s just my duffel bags and a queen-sized bed on the metal frame it came with. This will eventually be a guest room.
She sits on the edge of the unmade bed, and I shoo her off. “You can have half the closet.” I strip the bed and remake it with fresh sheets while she hangs up clothes in the closet.
After I finish making the bed, I grab one of the pillows for myself. I’m six feet two, so I doubt I’ll fit comfortably on the sofa, but it’s just until she’s on her feet again. She needs a safe retreat to heal.
“I’m going to take a nap,” she says, already getting into bed. “I only slept two hours last night.”
I turn back, smooth her hair from her temple, and kiss the spot. “Sleep well, runt. I want a name when you wake up.” I’ve had enough sisterly experience to know it’s better to be up front with what needs to happen than try stuff behind their back. The scream of a banshee comes to mind. Though, sometimes, you just have to endure the wrath when shit needs to get done. I’m a fixer. It’s what I do.
“Stop,” she mumbles, curling up on her side.
I leave, shutting the door quietly behind me. Snowball’s sitting there in the hallway, looking up at me expectantly. “I’ll get your bed after she’s done her nap. And don’t even think of taking my pillow.”
I exhale sharply. That guy took advantage of a trusting young woman, and when I find out who it is, he will pay.
4
Sydney
I shut my laptop and pace the hallway of my apartment, agitated by the truth of my financial situation. Last night’s fundraiser only gave me enough to make this month’s debt payment for the restaurant. It put off foreclosure, which I desperately needed, but I’d hoped for at least two months’ worth of payments for some breathing room. I’ll still have the same problem next month and the month after that, on and on. The hard truth is, it was a patch job for what will take a long time to fix.
When I first took over the restaurant, I managed to consolidate my father’s debt into one loan. But I missed the last three payments, and if I miss any more, they’ll start the foreclosure process. The threat of foreclosure keeps me up at night. I’ll not only lose my family’s legacy, I’ll be homeless. I live in an apartment above the restaurant. Desperation claws at me, and I fight to keep a level head. I can’t let that cloud my thinking.
I have only a
few options—declare bankruptcy and shut the place down, sell it, or ask Harper or Wyatt for a loan. I can’t bear to shut it down. I’m the fourth generation of proud Robinsons running the place. It can’t die on my watch.
It’s my own fault for taking on what Drew told me was a losing proposition. He wanted to sell; I wanted to hold on to our family’s legacy. The whole town’s legacy, really. If I sell, it could be demolished and turned into a parking lot or a bank or a gas station. Something shitty like that. If I could even find a buyer in the dead of winter. Real estate’s gone up around here, but that’s mostly housing. This place is old and not zoned residential. It would be a long shot.
Harper’s offered to give me a loan, but here’s the thing. Ever since she became a famous actress, people have been taking advantage of her sweet, generous nature. She complains bitterly about it. I never want her to think of me like that. Plus, she’s pregnant, getting married, and just bought an expensive house. And she spends generously to take care of her elderly grandmother, who lives alone. It feels wrong to add to Harper’s burden, and I don’t want to risk our friendship.
I stop pacing, look to the ceiling, and blow out a breath. Wyatt. He’s got loads of money, knows my place is in trouble, and has taken an interest in it. Not the good kind of interest, more like the critical kind. I press my lips together. I need to put my irritation aside and approach him in a calm, cool, professional manner.
Can I do it? Can I deal with his smirks and criticisms, put all that aside, and work with him?
Or will I end up throttling him?
I may need serious stress therapy after this. Not that I don’t already have a ton of stress. I should research more about him and his business dealings. See what I’m dealing with here. I loosen my clenched jaw. Harper likes him. I cling to that thought. He can’t be one hundred percent awful, right?
The man’s been invading my dreams for weeks, those whisky eyes smoldering at me. It’s so embarrassing. How can I be both irritated and attracted at the same time? It’s messing with my head. I need to chill if I want to have a chance of working with him professionally. No more dirty dreams, no more temper.
Fetching: A Frenemies to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Unleashed Romance, Book 1) Page 3
