by Mara Wells
Carrie didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this.
The TV cycled through its various screen savers. Mountain-scape. Beach-scape. River-scape. A brightly colored parrot. A pile of three raccoons. And Oliver’s favorite: polar bear.
Oliver was zonked out, nestled between the back of the couch and Lance’s chest, a line of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth and stringing down to Lance’s T-shirt. Beckham sprawled across Lance’s belly, frog-leg form, and Oliver’s hand rested on the scruff of his neck. Lance’s head was propped on the couch arm, his neck at an uncomfortable-looking angle, and a light snore escaped his open mouth.
Carrie clicked the front door closed behind her as softly as she could. Man nor boy nor dog stirred. What on earth had gone on here this evening that Beckham was too tired to notice the door opening or her stealthy entrance? The perpetually hyper dog only slept this deeply after multimile hikes through state parks or hours of fetch.
Let sleeping dogs lie. She would take advantage of not having to take the dog out immediately or resettle Oliver in his bed with a bit of indulgence. She crept past the pile of sleepers and helped herself to a few bites of the Häagen-Dazs strawberry ice cream she kept on hand for late-night treats. Not even the opening or closing of the freezer door alerted Beckham. She took another few bites, spoon scraping cardboard side, before squirreling the ice cream into the depths of the freezer shelves, out of the sightline of a certain small child and hidden behind a giant bag of mixed vegetables so her mother wouldn’t find it.
She leaned against the kitchen arch and watched Beckham and Oliver rise and fall with each breath Lance took. She held a hand to her chest, calming the wild pound of her heart.
My boys. All three of them.
She slid down the wall and rested her chin on her knees. My boys.
She should stop kidding herself. There wouldn’t be another date with Adam St. John. Everything she’d ever wanted was right here in her very own condo. Too bad she couldn’t have it.
Chapter 19
Lance buried his fingers in the curls around LouLou’s neck, giving her a good rub that made her back foot slap against his thigh like a metronome. “Park?”
She shot off the couch and threw herself against the front door as if he hadn’t taken her out to the front to pee on the palm trees less than two hours ago. She scratch-scratched at the threshold like she’d dig her way out if he didn’t hurry.
“I’m coming; I’m coming,” he said in response to her high-pitched whine. She spun in delight, and he had to laugh. Hanging out with dogs, a guy couldn’t help but feel more optimistic about the world. Like maybe Carrie would bring Beckham to Fur Haven for a morning run with his poodle pal, and Lance could get some quality bug-hunting time with his son. Right, he wanted to spend his Sunday morning with palmetto bugs, beetles, and fire ants.
Lance took a quick moment to fill a thermos with coffee from Riley’s Keurig, then made LouLou’s dreams come true by taking the leash off its hook on the wall. He let her lead the way, the poodle a heat-seeking missile on course for maximum destruction. He sipped his too hot beverage, not so casually scanning the street for signs of Carrie’s Blazer. Just because he didn’t see it didn’t mean she wasn’t already there or on her way. Sometimes she came to Fur Haven as part of her morning run; on busy days, though, she drove. Either way, she’d probably be here soon. Strangely, there weren’t any dogs in the park this morning, but several owners and their pooches milled outside the gate.
“What’s going on?” He slid into the small crowd next to Eliza. Lady dropped her large head to greet LouLou, their two tails beating back and forth in the same rhythm.
Eliza pointed to an official-looking sign posted to the gate. “We’re locked out. They’re closing the park.”
“They who?” Lance wished his coffee were of the Irish variety. His slow Sunday putting finishing touches on the lobby bathroom and laundry room before the residents returned from the cruise on Tuesday was off to a rocky start. Caleb would absolutely kill him if he came home and Fur Haven was already gone.
At her accusing look, he held up his hands. “It’s not me, I swear.” He took a step closer and read the sign. “Wait, I’m sorry. It is me.”
“What?” A woman holding a chubby pug in her arms stepped into his personal space. Way into his personal space. “You’re closing down the park? It hasn’t even been open a month. This is ridiculous.”
“Calm down, Kiki.” Eliza scratched the pug’s wrinkled neck. “I’m sure Mr. Donovan here has a very good explanation. Don’t you?”
Lance’s cheek twitched. Santos had really outdone himself with the sign, declaring the park closed indefinitely with no explanation as to why. And on a Sunday, no less. Why was the city commissioner so hell-bent on pushing the parking garage forward at lightning speed? Whatever the reason, he’d doubled down on the sign by chaining the gate closed with a large padlock. Which, Lance seethed, he had no right to do. The park was technically private property, and while their deal did include the city getting a piece of the garage for public parking, there was no parking garage yet. He had half a mind to call Santos and blast him at—he checked the time on his phone—seven in the morning.
“Well?” Eliza swung a full plastic bag in a threatening manner. The stench wafted his way, but he bravely held his ground. He was reasonably sure she wouldn’t throw it at him.
Lance cleared his throat. “The good news is that we’re building a bigger, better park for the neighborhood.”
“And the bad news is that it’s in Kendall?” If Kiki’s glare were weaponized, he’d be dead. Other dog park goers nodded, turning to him for answers. He really wished he had some, or at least better ones. Ones vetted by his brothers and already in motion instead of ones he was making up right now while a handful of suspicious people and their dogs looked on.
“No. Right here.” Lance raised his coffee thermos high, pointing to the sky. “And up a few stories.”
Eliza dropped the plastic bag in surprise. It’s wet slurp as it hit the ground made Lance glad she hadn’t hurled that thing at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Yeah, what’s going on?” Sydney crowded past a family with a Lab that had taken one look at the gate and turned around to return home. Chewy rode high in a sleek, silver bag, his tiny nose poking out over the zipper.
“Give me a second.” Lance dropped LouLou’s leash and stepped on it, then thumbed through emails until he found some back-and-forths with Adam that included a few of his drawings. He flipped his phone around. “See? It’s going to be amazing.”
“Hmmph.” Eliza rested her hand on Lady’s head. “How long are we talking about?”
“Based on the city’s, er, enthusiasm for the project, it should be less than a year until the new dog park is ready to go. Trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.” Lance brandished the drawing again, like it would somehow convince everyone that it wasn’t a huge inconvenience.
“A year?” Sydney echoed. “What’re we supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Yeah, Lance Donovan. Does Caleb even know about this ridiculous plan? I can’t believe he agreed.” Eliza had a point he didn’t want to acknowledge. Theoretically, Caleb was okay with the changes, but Lance had expected a few more weeks before they’d have to face the reality of logistics and community relations.
“Of course they have a plan.”
Lance’s head snapped up at the sound of Carrie’s low, sure voice cutting through the crowd. Dressed in her running gear, coordinated leggings and tank, with gold-laced running shoes, she shoved the three-wheeled stroller through the thick grass like a sailboat cutting through waves. Oliver waved at him from his spot under the sunshade, and Beckham strained at the leash, doing his best to get to LouLou despite his leash being a few feet too short for that plan to be feasible. But dogs were hopeful creatures; Lance was just surprised that Carrie wa
s, too.
Carrie pulled a bud out of one ear and looped the wire around the back of her neck. “The amazing thing about the new park is that once it’s built, it’s going to bring in income for the Dorothy that will help keep rents down. You know how long some of those folks have lived here. The Donovan brothers are doing what’s best for their residents, but it’s also going to be a showcase, drawing people to the neighborhood. Good for the surrounding property values for sure.”
Kiki nodded her head, clearly trusting Carrie’s confidence more than Lance’s fumbling of the issue. If he’d had time to prepare, he could’ve said what Carrie was spouting off the cuff. He was a work-with-his-hands guy, though, not a smooth talker like his brother Caleb. Why couldn’t Santos have waited a few more days so that this PR nightmare could be Caleb’s and not his?
“So?” Eliza wasn’t as convinced as Kiki. “What is this grand plan?”
Lance sent a desperate look at Carrie. He had no plan, and the coffee hadn’t kicked in yet. Clearly, he needed more. He chugged a good half the thermos while racking his brain for a solution.
“You know how they’re going to re-landscape at the Dorothy?” Carrie stepped close to his side, laying her hand on his arm inches below the elbow. His muscles tensed, then relaxed at her touch. “That’s the very last step in the remodeling plans. Adam, the architect, told me it’s going to take two to three months per unit to finish the remodel, so that’s well over a year until the Dorothy’s complete. In the meantime, we’ll be fencing in the front area for use as a temporary dog park. It should only take a day or two to move all the equipment and benches.”
The dog owners seemed satisfied with her answer, moving away and on with their day with only a few comments among themselves and a few pointed ones aimed at Lance. He nodded and smiled and agreed to pretty much whatever they asked, all the while amazed that Carrie stood by his side, hand still resting on his arm, saying things like we and generally saving his ass. We. No denying he liked the sound of that. He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side, listening while she reassured the last few stragglers that a little patience would pay off big time.
When it was just the two of them, two dogs, and Oliver, Carrie’s forehead dropped against his chest, and she let out a shaky laugh.
“Did I make things worse?”
He shifted so he could wrap his arms all the way around her in a loose hug. “No, the opposite. I was scrambling. Thanks for saving the day.”
“I have no idea how much it’s going to cost to do all the things I promised. Or how much time. Have I overcommitted you?” Her arms snaked around his waist, and she rested her weight against him.
Lance tightened his hold. “We would eventually have come to the same conclusion, I’m sure. Caleb and Riley would never leave the neighborhood without a dog park. You simply hurried the process along.”
“It was a spatial problem, right?” Carrie stepped out of his embrace, fussing with the sunshade over Oliver’s head. He’d dozed off sometime during the long, boring adult conversations, and she was careful not to wake him as she adjusted the angle of the shade. “Factor in available square footage plus desired function plus timeline. It was a pretty simple equation. I still think Caleb and Riley are going to hate me.”
But I love you. The words almost escaped him, but he caught them just in time. Only a squeak emerged, which he covered by clearing his throat and taking the last sip of coffee from his thermos. He squatted down to pick up LouLou’s leash and ended up with a lap full of Jack Russell. He roughed up Beckham’s coat, lavishing the overwhelming affection he felt on the dog.
“Can I buy you breakfast?” He stood, poodle under one arm, Beckham under the other.
Carrie checked on the sleeping Oli and then consulted the phone strapped to her upper arm.
She seemed undecided, so he made her an offer he knew she couldn’t, or at least wouldn’t, refuse. “There will be mimosas.”
A slow smile broke over her face. “When you put it like that.”
“Balans?” He named a perennial Lincoln Road favorite, a place where they’d spent many a Sunday brunch and that he hadn’t frequented since their divorce because he couldn’t look at the menu without remembering all her favorite dishes.
“Enough. I said yes. No need for heavy artillery.” She shoved the stroller back onto the sidewalk. “Meet you there?”
“Meet you there.” He didn’t sprint to the Dorothy, but LouLou did get to stretch her legs a bit. The guys could get started without him. He’d be back in plenty of time to make sure the laundry room was fully functional and all the toilets in the lobby bathroom flushed properly. A quick change of clothes later, he ordered a Lyft. The usual challenge of finding parking on South Beach was always compounded by the size of his work truck. Besides, mimosas. Maybe it hadn’t only been Carrie who enjoyed them.
Chapter 20
Carrie walked up to the Balans’ hostess station with a bundle of nerves in her stomach so large she wasn’t sure there would be room for any food. She smoothed a hand down the sides of her short, flared skirt, wondering if she should’ve chosen something more business appropriate. After changing outfits three times, though, she’d made herself leave the condo in what she was wearing, primarily because Addison had given the skirt two thumbs up.
“Is it a second date?” Addison had sat cross-legged on Carrie’s bed, Oliver in her lap, while Carrie modeled her choices.
“Something like that.” Carrie was not going to get into it with a fifteen-year-old, but her face flushed all the same.
“You like him!” Addison smiled wide, showing off a mouthful of metal and rubber bands. “Don’t rush home, if you know what I mean.” She waggled her eyebrows. “I could use an influx of cash this week. I’m saving up for a special effects makeup kit.”
It was easy to distract Addison from her love life by asking about drama club and Addison’s new fascination with stage makeup. The time passed quickly, and before she knew it, Carrie was running late. She threw her phone at Addison and asked her to call a ride while Carrie applied some light makeup and strapped on some very strappy, very high-heeled sandals.
“How do you walk in those things?” Addison handed her phone back. The app announced the car was two minutes away.
“Practice.” Carrie kissed Oliver’s head and Addison’s cheek. “Be good, you two.”
Addison laughed and fell back on the bed, tickling Oliver. “Always!”
Carrie left, the sound of Oliver’s laughter in her ears, and flagged down the Honda Accord before the driver got frustrated and left without her, a situation that had, to her shame, happened a few too many times.
Now, she stood still while tourists streamed around her and waiters bustled by, trays weighted down with plates of bang bang chicken, avocado toast, and fresh fruit salads. When the hostess asked her how many in her party, Carrie stammered out, “I’m meeting someone?” like she was a fifteen-year-old out on her first date. She inhaled deeply and tried again. “I’m meeting a friend.”
“Is that him?” The bored hostess nodded toward an outdoor table where Lance sat, a pitcher of mimosas already gathering condensation in front of him. He saluted her with a glass, and her pulse fluttered at the sight of his smile.
Not good. She’d agreed because Lance was helping her with Kristin and had hired her for the Dorothy. They were in business together again, and he was getting to know Oliver, and that was all. She recited “That’s all” to herself under her breath while she slid into the seat across the small table from him. Maybe she wouldn’t ever go on a second date with Adam, but this thing with Lance wasn’t a date, either. She needed to put the brakes on these backsliding feelings before she said or did something really stupid. Keep it friendly. Anything else would only lead to them hurting each other again, and that meant hurting Oliver, which was absolutely not an option.
“Where’s
Oliver?” Lance looked around as if their son would come toddling along on his own at any moment.
Of course. Carrie flushed at her mistake. The invitation had been an excuse to spend more time with his son. Carrie was glad Lance couldn’t see her hands wringing in her lap under the table. “He’s not a big fan of mimosas. At least not yet.”
Lance chuckled. “Probably for the best. We haven’t really had a chance to catch up, have we?”
The bundle of nerves in her stomach immediately lodged itself in her throat. Catch up? On what? All the times she could’ve told him he was a father but didn’t? She gave him a smile that trembled. “Tell me everything then.”
He surprised her by leaning back in his chair, long legs stretching out in front of him, sipping from his mimosa, and telling her the full tale of how Caleb convinced him to get involved in the Dorothy. The story took them through ordering, a few refills of her glass, and the arrival of the entrees.
Lifting a bite of quesadilla to his lips, he paused. “Your turn.”
The champagne had dissolved that troublesome nerve bundle, and his ease made her feel, well, easier. “It’s a tale best told in pictures, I think.” She got out her phone and gave him access to a few of her photo albums. Oliver’s first year, each of his birthdays, a few of her design projects she was especially proud of.
Lance ate with one hand and thumbed through the photos with the other. When he hit a picture he especially liked, his eyes would light up and he’d say, “Tell me about this one.” Slowly, picture by picture, she filled him in on the highlights. When the check arrived, she was shocked to find that a full two hours had passed.
Lance held up the empty pitcher. “I’d order another one, but I do need to get to work. Caleb and crew return tomorrow.”