by Mara Wells
Daniel snorted. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it? I can watch videos about how to install a ceiling fan. Why should I hire someone else to do it?”
“I’m getting your point.” Daniel drummed impatient fingers on the table. “There’s more to it than meets the eye.”
“Yes.” Carrie nursed her coffee, perversely compelled to drink as slowly as possible in light of his haste. “If I do my job well, the effect should be effortless. I don’t want clients to see the design; I want them to feel it.”
In her eagerness, Carrie leaned across the tiny table. When she pulled back, the table wobbled. She grabbed the edge to correct it, managing to tip her coffee at exactly the right angle to pour salted caramel latte down the front of her silk lavender tank top and right onto the lap of her favorite pencil skirt.
Daniel stood like he was going to help her. But what could he do?
She shooed him back down with a wiggle of her fingers. “I believe that’s my cue to head home to my son.”
“Your son?” Daniel looked stunned.
She mentioned being a mother on her dating profile, but she’d found most men didn’t do much more than look at pictures before deciding which way to swipe.
“He’s two, almost three.” She reached into her bag and pulled out Winnie-the-Pooh wipes and a stain remover pen. “Quite a handful.” Using her son to scare off Daniel may have been overkill, but the look on the banker’s face was worth it.
“Nice to meet you.” He threw down a couple bucks for his espresso and fled the scene. The gangly server showed up with a damp rag and helped her put herself to rights. She left him a generous tip and squeezed her way out of the overcrowded coffee shop. Thirteen was definitely not her lucky number.
* * *
Lance Donovan pulled his work truck up onto the front lawn of the Dorothy, the decrepit Art Deco building his younger brother, Caleb, had convinced him to renovate. And it had taken some convincing. At eighteen, Lance left home and never looked back. He’d never wanted anything to do with the Donovan real estate legacy his grandfather built, and that his father so casually destroyed. One summer interning at the Donovan main office was enough to open his eyes to the truth: his father, real estate tycoon and pillar of the Miami community, Robert Donovan, was a crook. It’d taken another decade and a half before he’d been caught, but Robert was now serving time in federal prison. As far as Lance was concerned, Robert was exactly where he belonged, and he’d had no intention of ever getting tangled up in a Donovan scheme again.
Somehow, though, Caleb got through to him. Maybe it was earnestness, Caleb’s real desire to make the building a better place for the people who lived there. Maybe it was genetics, as much a part of him as his Donovan blue eyes and blond hair; maybe it was destiny. Whatever it was, Lance now had one hell of a project on his hands. Step one: get the Dorothy up to code so she could pass her long overdue forty-year inspection.
While he waited for the diesel engine to cool, he flipped through the city inspector’s notes. Roof, electrical, plumbing, elevator. All pretty standard stuff on an old building and easy enough to do in the next few weeks. Once they passed the forty-year inspection, if everything went according to plan, he’d be done with the whole remodel in ten, twelve months tops. What job ever went to plan, though? In fifteen years of construction, he’d learned to expect the unexpected—and padded time estimates accordingly.
Lance swung out of the truck in a practiced move, his steel-toed work boots planting firmly on the Dorothy’s scraggly grass. His crew should arrive in the next twenty minutes or so, but he always liked to arrive early on the opening day of a new job. It was corny, he knew, but he liked to spend a few minutes with the building, letting it know they were here to help and to ask for its patience while they transformed it.
Inside the old-fashioned lobby with its stained terrazzo floors and fake palm tree in the corner, Lance took a seat on a sketchy rattan chair and closed his eyes.
“Sleeping on the job already?” A deep voice interrupted Lance’s private moment with the building.
“That’s how I make the big bucks.” Lance stood to clap his brother on the shoulder. They were similar in height, though Lance had a few inches and a few pounds of muscle on his little brother. What marked them as brothers were the unmistakable blue eyes they inherited from their Grandpa William and the square jaws that hinted at their stubborn natures. They hadn’t grown up together—different mothers, different homes—but in the few weeks he’d been working with Caleb, Lance had learned to respect his younger brother. He was a good guy, much too idealistic to be a true Donovan—a trait that made Lance feel protective of him. Ridiculous, of course. They were both grown men. Still, Lance hadn’t been part of a real family since his divorce, and he had to admit that Caleb and his fiancée, Riley, felt like family.
LouLou, Caleb’s step-poodle, jumped on Lance’s knee and shoved her head into the flat of his palm. Lance scratched her head and grinned at Caleb.
“You ready for all the chaos?” Lance motioned toward the elevator with a dramatic sweep of his arm. It was the first major project, since it was the most urgent in the fifty-five-plus building. Between heart conditions, canes, and walkers, many of the residents would be unable to reach their second-floor apartments if the elevator went out.
“More chaos than wedding planning? Impossible.” Caleb tugged on LouLou’s leash. “We need to head outside. Little dogs, little bladders.”
Lance shook his head, overgrown hair brushing his ears. “You love it all, don’t you? The wedding stuff, the poodle.”
“I love Riley.” Caleb’s face was so serene, Lance had no doubt of Caleb’s sincerity. He bit his tongue to keep from telling Caleb what marriage was really like—how it starts out all sparkly and sex on every surface of your home but ends in bitter words, resentment, and divorce lawyers. Caleb pointed at the glass doors. “We’ll be at the dog park if you need us.”
“Wait!” Riley busted through the stairwell door and into the lobby, wild strawberry blond hair flying in all directions. “I want to go, too.”
“Didn’t Grams need you?” Caleb handed the leash to Riley. LouLou spun, managing to tangle her front legs in the nylon lead. Caleb knelt to untangle her.
“Classic Grams exaggeration.” Riley rolled her eyes. “What she needed was batteries in her TV remote changed. We’re good. Let’s go before another crisis arises. I wanted to talk to you about maybe changing venues?”
“That’s my cue.” Lance strode to the glass front doors and held one side open for his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law. “No wedding talk in front of the bachelor.”
Riley turned wide eyes on Caleb. “You didn’t ask him?”
Caleb stood, LouLou’s leash free and clear. “When have I had the chance?”
“Now’s a good time.” Riley nudged him toward his brother. “LouLou and I will be outside. Catch up when you’re done.”
“Done? I don’t like the sound of that.” Lance crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing suspicious eyes at Riley.
Caleb ran a hand over his buzzed-short scalp. “Look, Lance, I know we haven’t always been close.”
“Like ever.” Lance snorted.
“But we are brothers.” Caleb ploughed on, clearly uncomfortable. He rocked back and forth on his heels. “And I do need a best man for this wedding.”
“Me?” Lance rocked back on his heels, too. He’d almost forgotten to invite Caleb to his own wedding. It’d been his ex-wife, Carrie, who’d insisted on inviting his dad’s side of the family. He was glad she’d forced the issue, but at the time he’d been angry at Caleb for doing nothing at his reception except drink by himself in the corner. No brotherly toast? What had he expected, though, from a brother he hadn’t talked to in years? Families were complicated, no doubt. “Best man?”
Caleb smiled. “Yeah, you. My big brot
her. My business partner. Who else?”
“Knox?” Lance named their oldest brother, throwing him under the bus in his panic to get out of anything having to do with weddings.
Caleb’s smile widened, the smug bastard. “Yep, Knox, too.”
“Well, you can’t have two best men.”
“Yes, I can. It’s my wedding. I make the rules.”
“That’s not how weddings work.”
“It’s how our wedding is going to work.”
“You really don’t want me.” Lance didn’t want to be the rain cloud on Caleb’s sunny day. He decided honesty was his best policy. Or whatever. “I’ll curse the whole day.”
“It’s important to me.” Caleb kept that patient smile on his face, reminding Lance of all the times his mother had come to pick him up and Caleb stood outside the house waving and smiling until their car was out of sight. “It’s important to Riley.”
Lance sighed. He did like Riley. She’d done something to Caleb, made him less of a Donovan and more himself somehow. He sighed again because he knew how this conversation would end as soon as it started.
“Fine. I’ll be your best man.”
Caleb slapped him on the back. “Excellent. Wait ’til you see the cummerbunds.”
Lance groaned. Weddings were so not his thing.
Chapter 2
“Hold on, you little pistol.” Lance tugged on LouLou’s leash, once again cursing himself for agreeing to poodle-sit for Caleb and Riley. They hadn’t even left on their cruise yet, an extravagant affair they’d arranged for the Dorothy’s second floor residents to get them out of the building while the elevator was being replaced. The two occupied apartments on the first floor hadn’t wanted to be left out of the fun, so they got tickets, too. Leave it to his soft-hearted brother to foot the bill for a vacation. Then again, once the wheels of justice crushed the Dorothy’s former management company for embezzling funds from the building, Caleb would be well compensated.
Why was he letting this bossy canine pull him to the dog park again? Oh right, Caleb claimed he needed practice. Riley was anxious about leaving LouLou. Apparently, since adopting the small dog, Riley and LouLou had never been apart for more than a day. Riley would feel better, Caleb had explained, if she knew that Lance and LouLou were already pals before the trip.
Lance could empathize. When he and his ex-wife separated, she’d kept their Jack Russell, Beckham, and he’d missed the dog more than he thought he would. He missed the warm lump of him under the covers, warming his feet in the night. He missed Beckham’s excited yip when someone knocked on the door and the crazy jumping for joy when Lance came home. No matter how late it was, Beckham was always thrilled to see him. His ex? Not so much. She’d roll to the edge of the bed when he climbed in, her back to him, pretending she didn’t know he was there.
It hadn’t always been that way, of course. In the beginning, they’d burned up that king-sized bed in the bedroom she’d decorated in his favorite shades of blue. They’d doted on their puppy, taking long walks around the neighborhood and bringing him to weekend brunches on Lincoln Road. Waiters brought Beckham a bowl of water and a dog treat, and he’d settle under the table, happy to shred a paper napkin while he and Carrie shared a pitcher of mimosas. Not that he loved mimosas all that much, but they were Carrie’s favorite so he sipped them and enjoyed how animated she’d get after the second one, waving her hands around and telling stories about work too loudly. Yeah, he’d loved that version of Carrie, and truth be told, missed her, too.
He shook off glum thoughts about his ex. Sure, there were things he’d do differently now, but ultimately, their breakup was for the best. One workaholic was tough on a relationship, but two ruined it. By the end, the only thing they’d had in common anymore was Beckham.
LouLou halted in front of the dog park gate, waiting for him to lift the latch. Inside, she wiggled while he unhooked her and opened the second gate. He hung the leash on one of the many hooks mounted on the fence, watching as LouLou sprinted for a large black Lab lounging near one of the newly planted palm trees. The big dog rose to its feet, greeting LouLou with a butt sniff and a nudge on her side. Lance missed how it happened—secret signal? habit?—but the two took off at a run, LouLou weaving figure-eights through the lush grass while her dog park buddy chased her.
“Good friends, aren’t they?”
Lance had to look down to see who was talking. A small, steel-haired woman grinned up at him, a tissue crumpled in one hand that she used to dab at the perspiration gathering on her hairline. Her tropical print blouse was louder than the last rock concert he’d attended.
“Eliza.” He greeted the woman warmly, kissing both cheeks in Miami fashion. They’d had a few encounters when he’d been doing the planning stages for the renovation. She and her dog didn’t live in the Dorothy, but she enjoyed watching the goings-on from her house across the street.
“Is everything okay with Riley?” Eliza’s crinkled eyes showed more smile wrinkles, but now they were furrowed with worry. “Why do you have LouLou?”
“Practice for the cruise.”
“Ah.” Eliza’s face relaxed. “Me, I can’t stand those things. Long lines. Too many people. Good food, though. I’ll give ’em that.”
“So I’ve heard.” Lance couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a vacation. Was it? No, it couldn’t be. Surely he’d gone somewhere with someone since his and Carrie’s long weekend in the Keys right before the wedding. He simply couldn’t think of it right now. Tampa maybe? No, that had been for a job. Man, he needed some time off and a plane ticket to somewhere far away. Greece popped to mind, but no, that had been Carrie’s dream. The honeymoon they’d postponed and then never taken.
“Ah well.” Eliza called Lady to her. “Got some family coming into town soon, so I’ll have a full house. My brother, his kids, his grandkids. Amazing how time flies, isn’t it? Blink your eyes and the kids are grown. My oldest grandnephew just made partner at a law firm, if you can believe that!”
Lance made sounds of agreement, understanding this was the type of conversation that didn’t require a response, not unless he also had lawyer-type grandnephews, which he didn’t. Though he might soon, the way Caleb and Riley carried on.
“Anything I should worry about here?” Lance pointed out LouLou snuffling in the grass, tail wagging while she gleefully shoveled dirt with her nose. Better to change the subject before he was made captive to an extended discussion about the life and career choices of all Eliza’s extended family. “It’s been awhile since I had a dog.”
“That one can take of herself. Make sure you’ve got her leash on when you leave. She’s a runner. Riley can tell you; once she gets going, she’s hard to catch.”
“Duly noted.” Lance planted his hands on his hips and watched LouLou inspect the base of each weaving pole with her nose.
“Guess we’ll be seeing you around.” Eliza waved her tissue at him and strolled toward the gate, Lady trotting beside her.
Once both gates were closed, Lance relaxed onto a bone-shaped bench, tilting back his head with a long sigh. The past week had been a whirlwind of construction prep. And by whirlwind, he meant haunting City Hall, waiting on permits to clear, and spending hours on the phone tracking deliveries. His nightmare scenario was that the residents would return from their cruise, and the elevator wouldn’t yet be operational. Elevators weren’t his specialty so he’d brought in an elevator company, one he’d worked with before, to handle the installation but he was still the contractor and therefore, still in charge of the schedule.
A cold nose nudged his hand where it rested on the steel bench. Thinking it was LouLou, he casually petted the dog’s head, but instead of the poodle-puff, he encountered the coarse coat of a terrier. Lance opened his eyes and found himself staring into the eyes of an adorable Jack Russell. It had the same brown mask as Beckham, with the same white stripe betw
een his eyes, and the same white body with one large spot over his left hip.
“You could be Beckham’s twin, couldn’t you?” He scratched under the dog’s chin, exactly the way Beckham liked, and the dog’s tail beat wildly. “What do we have here?”
A mutilated tennis ball hung out of the side of the dog’s mouth. Lance played a bit of tug of war to free it, a game that made the dog’s tail beat even faster, and inspected the mangled toy. It was still roughly ball shaped, so he gave it a throw and the dog tore after it, springing across the dog park as fast as his little legs would take him.
“That’s my dog.” A muddy hand slapped down on Lance’s jean-clad knee. A kid looked up at him with big, blue eyes set in a tiny but sharp face. His dark hair was cut short with a longer bang fighting back against the gel that was supposed to hold it out of the boy’s eyes.
“He’s a handsome fellow. Reminds me of my old dog.” Lance gently pried the child’s hand off his leg. He was in work clothes, so the dirt didn’t bother him. The kid’s parent was probably nearby, though, and he figured they didn’t need to find their son cuddled up to a stranger in a park. Didn’t they have programs in schools warning kids about stranger danger anymore? But this boy looked too young to be in school yet.
“My old dog,” the boy repeated, leaning against his leg.
Lance scooted over on the bench. Really, this kid needed to learn some boundaries. “Yes, I had a Jack Russell just like this one. His name was Beckham. What’s your dog’s name?”
“Beckham!” The boy clapped his hands together. “Beckham is a good dog.”
Lance didn’t have a lot of experience with young children, or any children for that matter. “Your dog is also named Beckham?” It seemed incredibly unlikely, but hey, who better to name an athletic, driven dog like the Jack Russell after than the retired footballer who’d inspired a whole generation of American soccer players? He’d certainly thought it was the perfect name when he and Carrie found the dog bouncing off the walls, literally, of his pen at the local animal shelter.