“I’m serious. You have enough jobs under your belt, and if you’re staying in construction, you can’t keep working for someone that flighty.”
I agreed, but there were problems with going out on my own. With a college degree in business, and growing up working at my father’s car dealership, I knew what it took to start my own business. It also wasn’t so simple in a town this size. Jack would be madder than hell. Clients who were also friends would be forced to choose between us.
I was about peacemaking, not rocking the boat.
“The blonde just asked about you,” Beck said to me, thankfully interrupting our discussion. “Said, ‘Your cowboy-looking friend is hot.’ Told her you weren’t a cowboy, but she didn’t seem to care.”
“It’s the boots.” Mason clearly got a kick out of that description.
I was an outdoorsy guy, and did like my boots, but hiking and fishing weren’t exactly the same as cattle herding.
“No, thanks,” I said. “Not my type.” I didn’t need to look over, having already noticed the women when I came in.
Unlike Beck, I didn’t make one-night stands a regular occurrence. Not that I was into relationships either. All four of us swore off on those a long time ago, although Mason apparently didn’t get the memo. Or at least, lost the memo after meeting Pia.
I could hear the blonde giggling from here. Definitely not my type.
“You sure?” Beck asked, adding matchmaking to his eclectic resume.
“Positive.”
“Good call,” Mason said as Beck walked off. “They’re barely twenty-one.”
My phone buzzed. Looking at the screen, I groaned.
“What is it?”
“Shit,” I said, re-reading the text. “Dad. Wants to visit this weekend.”
I texted him back.
“That’s… strange.”
“Agreed. Something must be up. Do we have room?”
“At the inn? Sure. Valentine’s Day weekend is the only one sold out in the next month. He’s a real piece of work,” Mason added.
A guy who cheated on my mother three times before getting caught, whose mid-life crisis started when my brothers were barely out of diapers and had never ended? “That’s one word for him.”
I texted back, tossed my phone on the bar, and called to Beck. “I’m gonna need another beer. Maybe a shot too.”
3
DELANEY
“Jules to the rescue.”
I pressed pause on the remote as Juliette, otherwise known as Jules, stepped inside waving a bottle of my favorite wine in the world.
“No,” I said. “You didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
Taking off her jacket, Jules put down the bottle of Aonair wine. It was a hundred-dollar bottle from a small winery in Sonoma that we only pulled out on special occasions.
And tonight was certainly no special occasion. My poor friend was in for a heap of moping and commiserating, which was why I told her to go out without me. But she refused.
“It’s so cozy in here,” she said, heading to the kitchen.
