by Mara Wells
“Morning! Riley, isn’t it?” Lance strode forward, hand outstretched. “Hear you’re giving my brother a run for his money.”
Riley shook his hand with a low laugh. “It’s not only me. The whole neighborhood is in on it, really.”
“But I hear you’re the ringleader.” He winked at her.
Caleb’s jaw tensed more. Was his brother flirting with Riley, right in front of him?
Riley ducked her head. “Aw, you’re too kind.”
And she was flirting back? Caleb’s back teeth worked back and forth, not unlike a dog with a bone. He shouldn’t have asked for Lance’s help. It was all a huge mistake.
“What’re you boys up to today?” The leash slid through Riley’s fingers, and the poodle took advantage of the extra slack to approach Lance and smell his work boots.
“Casing the joint.” Lance used his chin to point toward the Dorothy. “Little brother asked for some advice on demolition and such.”
“Demolition!” Riley’s eyes flashed and her grip tightened on the leash. She rounded on Caleb. “You can’t do a thing until the Historic Preservation Board makes its decision.”
“He likes to be prepared.” Lance’s voice indicated a level of amusement that made Caleb’s back teeth grind harder. “Donovans are used to getting their way, you know.”
Riley poked a finger in the middle of Lance’s chest. “You tell your little brother that in this, he will not get his way. Demolition!” She tugged on the leash. “Come on, LouLou. I think we need to consult with Eliza again.” She stomped off, LouLou at her heels.
“Why?” It was the only word that could squeeze out of Caleb’s overly tight jaw. Nothing like family to bring out the worst in him, teeth grinding and all. Caleb jammed his hands into his pockets and took a few breaths. He was better than this. He couldn’t let Lance bait him. “I never said anything about demo.”
Lance threw back his hand and laughed. “Yeah, but did you see her face? Priceless.”
“You are such an ass.”
“Hey, you never said you liked her. How was I supposed to know?”
Caleb’s previously locked-tight jaw sprang open in surprise. “I don’t like her.”
“Yeah, you do. What’re you going to do about it?”
“I don’t like her,” Caleb repeated with more emphasis.
Lance eyed him up and down. “You may not like her right now, but you sure are in love with her. Man, those puppy dog eyes of yours. How does it feel to be such a sap?”
“I’m not—” Caleb wanted to tell Lance how wrong he was, but a sudden flash of the feel of Riley in his arms, the way she kissed him back like she never wanted to stop, the way his mood had lifted just seeing her heading toward him on the sidewalk. What was that? Maybe not love, not yet, but it was certainly more than like. And if he wanted her to like him back, he needed a new plan for the Dorothy.
“Lance? All kidding aside, I need some help figuring out what to do with this property.” Caleb and Lance had never been close, separated by five years and a nasty divorce between Lance’s mom and their dad that resulted in a custody agreement where Caleb and Lance only saw each other a few times per year. “Grandpa William said a condo conversion was the way to go, but now I don’t think that’s the best plan. At least not in the traditional sense. What would you say to a community-centered renovation?”
Lance’s affable demeanor faded. “This was a one-time consult, kid. I told you I don’t do business with the Donovans.”
“But you are a Donovan.” He’d thought Lance would like the idea of not doing what Grandpa William wanted, would at least give him a thumbs-up for thinking outside the Donovan box. No go.
Lance’s face shuttered closed like a storefront boarded up before a hurricane. “Not anymore. Sorry, Caleb, you’re on your own. I shouldn’t have come today. I’ll text you a list of guys you can trust to do the work, but I’m out. You hear me?”
Caleb remembered this feeling from when Lance and his mom would drive away after a weekend visit. “Yeah, I hear you.”
Like always, Caleb was on his own. Had it ever really been any other way?
Chapter 22
Demolition! Riley bypassed the dog park and headed straight for Sydney’s place. Sydney wasn’t home, which made sense since it was Wednesday and she’d been booked for a fashion shoot all week. Chewy greeted them with some fierce barking through the door, and LouLou yipped back at him. Riley pulled her away from scratching at the wood and retraced their steps toward the Dorothy.
Surely, LouLou was peed out by now, but she managed to find a few extra squirts along the way, getting especially excited at a telephone pole that had clearly been marked by many dogs passing by. Riley often wondered if marking was the canine version of tagging: i wuz here. She smiled at the idea of LouLou leaving messages for other dogs, that she was connected to a larger doggy community that Riley knew nothing about.
Walking up to the Dorothy, Riley tried to see it as an outsider would. The peeling paint. The boarded windows that she would absolutely have replaced as soon as the glass was delivered. The grounds weren’t so much lush as barely surviving. They could use landscape lighting so the residents would be safer coming and going in the dark. The building needed too many things; it was exhausting really to think too much about it.
She’d survived as the building manager by taking one crisis at a time, one day at a time. If she stood back, like she was doing now, and tried to think long term, her mind clouded with the impossibility of it all. Without more residents, they’d never have enough money to make the improvements needed. If the Dorothy didn’t pass the forty-year inspection, they were in big trouble.
She noticed the Porsche before she saw him. How did he always find parking close to the building? Her Mazda was on the other side of the block. Just inside the entry, he sat on the old rattan furniture Grams picked out decades before Riley was born.
“You’re brave. I’ll give you that.” Riley stood in front of him while LouLou sniffed his shoes.
“For daring to come into your building?”
“For daring to sit on that.” She nodded at the old rattan sofa. “It’s more decorative than functional.”
“Like much of the building.”
Riley’s shoulders slumped. “Like much of the building.”
Caleb stood, bringing him close to Riley, only the poodle between them. “Can we talk?”
Riley took a backward step and bumped into the rattan coffee table with magazines from the 2000s neatly stacked on it. A young Tiger Woods stared up at them. “About what?”
“About everything.”
Riley was tempted, so tempted. The Dorothy needed a huge influx of cash. Truth be told, she needed not a mere makeover but a significant remodel. Riley saw that now, knew that things couldn’t go on as they were. But demolition. She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You can’t promise a dog park on one hand and then tear down the whole building with the other.”
“That’s not what’s happening.”
“Then what is happening?”
He took a step toward her. Her knees bumped against the table. His hand reached for her, then dropped to his side. His blue-blue eyes caught hers, and he offered a lopsided smile.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, Riley.”
Her breath caught and then hiccupped out. She touched a hesitant finger to his chin. “Really?”
“Really.”
He swallowed and she followed the bob of his Adam’s apple with her finger. “Are you going to withdraw your plans from the city?”
He shook his head, eyes still glued to hers.
Riley sidestepped around the coffee table. “Then we have nothing to talk about.”
She walked away.
And if it wasn’t what she really wanted to do, well, Caleb didn’t need to know that
.
* * *
Caleb took Riley’s words like a strike to the gut. Give up on Grandpa William or give up on Riley. Were those his only choices? Without Lance, Grandpa William wouldn’t give him the property, and Lance had made it pretty clear that he would not be signing on anytime soon. Caleb was going to lose the Dorothy anyway. Did he have to lose his chance with Riley, too?
“What about the dog park?”
Riley stopped midretreat, one hand propped on a hip. “What about it?”
“Don’t you still want to build it?” Caleb didn’t know Riley as well as he wanted to, but he knew the way to her heart was through her poodle. And her community. Besides, if Grandpa William was going to shut it all down anyway, why not do as he pleased? The weight of a lifetime of expectation lifted from his shoulders, and he smiled. “Because I do.”
“What about your parking garage?”
Caleb lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Who knows what’s going to happen with the lawsuit, the Historic Preservation Society, permits? It could take months. It could take years. Improving the dog park is something we can start today.”
“Today?” Riley squinted at him suspiciously.
He didn’t blame her. It was a crazy idea.
“Yeah, let’s do it. Let me grab my iPad, and we can get started.” He tried his most charming smile on her.
Riley’s squint grew more squinty, but she jerked her head up and down in what was clearly reluctant agreement. “You’re on. Coffee?”
“Always.”
* * *
Riley loved home improvement stores. It wasn’t a feeling she’d been born with but rather one that evolved during her time working at the Dorothy. She loved the cavernous structures that seemed to stretch for miles in all directions, the extra-wide aisles, the sales associates who scuttled away at the slightest hint that a customer might ask a question. She loved the smell of freshly sawn wood, the sound of the paint mixers going at it, even the screams of young children desperate to be picked up and carried the rest of the way to checkout. What she hadn’t realized was that she’d love roaming the aisles with Caleb.
“We need a mailbox. We totally do.” He stopped at an especially patriotic one, stars, stripes, and the head of an eagle glaring accusingly from the housing. “For all the fan mail we’ll get from around the world. ‘Dear Dorothy Dog Park, what is your secret to keeping every dog in the neighborhood happy? From, Curious in Cairo.’”
Riley laughed. Really laughed. So far, they’d bought some wooden benches and a kiddie pool. Not exactly cause for international envy. “‘Dear Dorothy Dog Park.’” She took a stab at her own advice-style letter. “‘If one kiddie pool makes dogs happy, will two make them twice as happy? Sincerely, Waterlogged in Walla Walla.’”
“We can get another pool. Do you think we need one?” Instead of laughing like she’d intended, Caleb spun the oversize cart back toward pool supplies. “One for big dogs, one for small, do you think?”
Riley laid her hand on his arm just below the elbow. “It wasn’t a criticism, Caleb. It was a joke.”
“Right.” He spun the cart back around. “We’re joking around now. Got it.” He stared up at the fluorescent lights shining down on them. “‘Dear Dorothy Dog Park, how many doggy bags do you stock in the dispenser per week? Yours Sincerely, Pooped in Peoria.’”
“Pooped in Peoria!” Riley doubled over, laughing until she gasped for breath.
Caleb chuckled. “It wasn’t that funny. We should think about what to call the park. For real.”
“What’s wrong with Dorothy Dog Park?” Riley leaned against the end of the cart, metal digging into her belly. “Or were you thinking something more like Donovan Park? Your family does like to put their name on stuff.”
“They do, don’t they?” Caleb thought of Lance and how the word Donovan was definitely not in his company’s name. “That doesn’t seem right for the dog park, though. Neither do these mailboxes. What else is on your list?”
Riley dutifully checked her list. “Mature trees? That’s not something we can do here. In fact, a lot of things on our list are more long-term goals.”
Caleb snapped his fingers. “What about those doggy-bag dispensers. We’ll need some, right? What do we need, a pole? Box? Does it matter what kind of bags we get? Are there different kinds?”
“Different sizes.” Riley trailed her hand along the top edge of the cart. “Medium is probably best. I’m sure they have them around here somewhere.” She angled her head up and checked out the overhead signs. Nothing clearly marked “Build Your Own Dog Park” in sight. “Do you even know how to install a pole?”
Caleb checked his iPad and added a note. “I’m sure there’s a YouTube video about it, but I’m pretty sure we’ll need concrete.”
“There’s a YouTube video for everything! That’s my whole Dorothy management strategy.” Riley fell into step beside Caleb as he steered them toward posts and concrete.
“You shouldn’t have to do the majority of the work yourself.” Caleb pushed the cart forward. “A manager manages.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? The Dorothy doesn’t have the budget for me to call people for every single problem. It’s been challenging, that’s for sure. A far cry from working for your Donovan Resort. Back then, I’d push a button on the phone, and someone would magically appear to take care of whatever problem a guest complained about. Noisy toilet? Neighbors too loud? Blinds askew? There’s a button for that.”
“You deserve buttons.”
“Says the man who decided to single-handedly build a dog park. Why aren’t you calling in people to help you? Like your brother? Doesn’t he own a construction company?”
“Lance is…busy.” Caleb parked the cart in front of an array of poles in a variety of materials and heights. “Besides, how hard can it be?”
“Many, many a project has blown up in my face when I asked that question!” Standing in front of dozens of choices of fencing, Riley turned on Grams’ patented eyelash-fluttering technique. “I’ll admit I don’t know what I’m doing if you do.”
“What?” He wiped at the corner of her eye with his thumb. “Do you have something in your eye?”
So much for using Grams’ feminine wiles tips on him. She let her blinking return to normal speed. “No, I’m fine. Just thinking about things like, great, we have some benches. What will happen in a big wind? What will keep people from simply walking away with them? We’re going to need to put in fencing. Do we need some kind of tool for digging holes? Is there already one in the bowels of the Dorothy’s maintenance closet? Would I recognize it if I saw it? Is it easier to buy one here? How many holes are we planning on digging?”
Caleb started laughing halfway through her list of questions and didn’t stop even after she wound to a finish. “Have a few worries, huh?”
Her grip tightened on the pole. “I could go on.”
“We are reasonable, educated, experienced people who can figure this out.” Caleb rubbed the back of his neck and rocked forward on his toes. “I’ve overseen major construction of luxury properties. I think I can handle a tiny dog park.”
“You’ll be digging the holes, then? Installing the fencing? Building and securing the benches? Planting our trees?” She ticked off the list items from memory.
“I—” He pushed the cart down the overly lit aisle at a determined clip. “You’re right. This is ridiculous.” He retraced their steps to the bench section. “How do we get plumbing to an empty lot for the dog water sticks?” He slapped the side of the plastic kiddy pool. “Where does the water come from to fill these things? I don’t even know where to start.”
Riley blocked the cart’s progress with her body. “Wait. You’re saying neither one of us knows what we’re doing?” Her laughter got a little hysterical. “I thought the Donovans were such great builders.”
“
I know how to anticipate what humans want. But dogs?” Caleb pointed to the turtle in swim trunks on the side of the kiddy pool. “Do they even like anthropomorphic amphibians? Who knows? I usually have someone to call, a project manager or something. They do the market research.” He waved his hand. “All the details. Then I crunch the numbers, make sure everyone has the budget they need to get their part of the project done.”
“You’re talking about having a staff, but I’m afraid our dog park is a bare-bones project. Pun intended. No budget for experts. It’s you and me, buddy. How’re we going to figure this out?” Somehow, knowing he was as lost as she was made her feel better. She felt her inner manager coming out, making lists, thinking about her contacts.
“I don’t need a staff. Hell, I’ve been the staff.” Caleb pulled the cart to the middle of the aisle and made a show of reading the aisle labels.
“Right, when were you ever staff, Mr. I’m-the-Number-Cruncher?” Riley rested her foot on the lower rungs of the cart, smiling as a dad passed them, his toddler son riding their lumber dolly like a surfboard.
Caleb watched the father and son until they disappeared around the corner. “I already told you about my summer as a valet? My father said I had to learn the business from the ground up, so my summers were always booked. I did a rotation in food and beverage, housekeeping, gift shop clerk, even night shifts on the desk.”
“I had no idea.” Riley’s foot slipped off the cart and thunked to the floor. She’d worked her way up, too, along a similar path, minus the valet experience, but simply couldn’t picture a young Caleb checking in guests or delivering room service. “You know, I supervised night shifts. Nothing like the joy of surprising someone during a riveting game of Candy Crush. I could’ve been your boss!”
“Yeah, some nights were pretty long and uneventful.” Caleb grinned. “And you wouldn’t have gone easy on me, would you? I bet you were a hard-ass.”
Riley slapped her butt. “Nope, nothing hard here at all. Unfortunately.” She regretted the joke as soon as she’d made it because his eyes followed her hand to her butt and stayed there, tracing the shape. Why bring attention to what her mother always called her bubble butt?