“San Diego,” she said aloud as she wrote it on the legal pad.
“No. Sunnyville. It’s up north—closer to Oregon. There’s a small airstrip, or I can drive from Sacramento—whatever’s most direct.”
“Sure.”
“Can you also make sure all my files are available in Linkpoint and keep me updated on the Davis negotiations?”
“Of course.” She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose.
“Great. Thank you. I’m, uh—” I pushed off the edge of the counter at her desk. “I’m going to work on a few things and then head out.”
“Sure.” She paused. “And, Audrey, I’m really sorry about your dad.”
I nodded, not sure what more there was to say.
Everyone kept saying they were sorry, but I felt more annoyed than anything. Annoyed that I’d have to leave Boston. Annoyed at this disruption. Annoyed with the man himself—irrational as it was. Because like always—when things were going well—he had to ruin everything. But the sooner I went home and handled business, the sooner I could move on with my life.
Chapter Two
Scott pressed a hand to his chest and grimaced. The man was in his sixties, but he was strong as an ox and about as stubborn as one too. Still, his gesture gave me pause.
“You okay?”
“I’m good.” He shook away the moment. “Really.” He smiled. “My latest case is giving me a bit of a headache.”
“Yeah?” I knew he’d never divulge the specifics, but he could talk in general terms. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “This kid has so much anger. He reminds me a lot of you, actually.”
“Uh oh,” I muttered from beneath the sink.
“Yeah. The teenage you but on steroids. He’s constantly starting fights.”
“Well, if anyone can sort him out, it’s you. I’ve stayed out of trouble.”
“Thanks.” He rubbed his chest again, releasing a burp. “I probably shouldn’t have eaten that bacon cheddar cheeseburger from Lulu’s. Doc Allen won’t be pleased with me, but damn was it good.”
Doc Allen was Scott’s doctor over in neighboring Fall Creek, and they’d been good friends for as long as I could remember. Even so, Doc Allen scolded Scott for his poor eating habits and lack of exercise.
Scott patted his stomach. He was a large man in both size and presence. At six three, the former college linebacker turned lawyer was popular around town.
“If you say so.” I laughed, preferring salmon myself. “Hand me that putty, will you?”
“Think it’ll be an easy fix?” His voice was muffled as I ducked beneath the sink.
“Should be. Though they don’t make houses quite like this beauty anymore.” It was part of the reason I loved it—the craftsmanship, the care put into creating the old Victorian. Though I hated how inefficient the old homes were. In the past few years, we’d been making small upgrades to Scott’s home to make it both more efficient and environmentally friendly.
“Well, there’s no way you could fit half the original molding into your tiny houses. It would weigh a ton.” He chuckled.
“You’re right.” I laughed, tightening the slip nut. “Though you could be onto something—a Victorian-style tiny house.” I emerged from beneath the sink and wiped my hands on the towel I kept in my back pocket. “Try it now.”
The pipes rattled, then the water splashed against the sink basin. “Good as new.” I could hear the satisfaction in Scott’s voice. “But better.”
I stood, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we faced the mirror. He met my eyes in the reflection. “I’m proud of you, son.”
Though we were nearly the same height, that was where the similarities ended. Where he was a former linebacker, I was built more like a tennis player. My eyes were blue to his brown. My hair was dark brown with flecks of red, where his had long faded to gray.
“For fixing the sink?” I teased, but his serious expression told me he wasn’t joking. I might not be his son, but he was the closest thing I’d ever had to a father. And hearing those words meant more to me than he’d ever know. He gave my shoulder a squeeze before releasing me.
