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Chapter 3
Ryan carried the box up to the second floor. This was his home. He could make it a bachelor pad. He’d do what Luke suggested and make a bar in the basement. He could decorate it in paraphernalia from his favorite teams—one of the perks to not having a woman around to fill the house with ruffles and frills. Maybe if he kept finding the silver linings of situations things wouldn’t seem so dreary after a while.
He paused at the top of the stairs where a window faced the house next-door. The homes mirrored each other in style, only separated by the neighbor’s driveway shooting off the adjacent road. Like his house, the siding on the neighbor’s home was faded from the beating sun, and the windows hadn’t been renovated since the 1970’s.
He glanced at the gutters and frowned. If they didn’t clean out those branches and leaves soon, they would have roof issues.
Once all the boxes were flattened and his bedroom furniture was put together, he carried the trash out to the shed. It was a small garage with French doors. A compact car could fit inside but not his work truck.
A light flashed and his gaze lifted to the neighbor’s second floor window. If squatters lived there, they wouldn’t have electricity. He didn’t see the bike, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t in the shed.
The light on the second floor flickered again, concerning him and relieving him at the same time. Was it too late to knock and introduce himself?
The sky faded to shades of purple as the sun dipped behind the mountains in the distance. They might be settling in for dinner. Speaking of dinner, what the hell was he going to do for food?
This was why he never minded picking up an extra shift at the bar whenever his cousin asked for help. He’d rather pick at bar food while taking drink orders and appearing busy than sit in a booth dining all alone.
He withdrew his phone and scrolled through his contacts, hitting up each cousin as he worked down the long line of McCulloughs and Mosconis.
Since Luke and Tristan had Alexia, Sheilagh and Alec were out on a date. Colin had something at the church. Braydon was doing family stuff with Becca and the kids. Kelly had an art show this weekend that sent him out of town and left Ryan’s mum and Aunt Colleen in charge of O’Malley’s Pub, which took the bar off the option list for dinner. And Kate and Anthony were visiting colleges with Frankie.
“Yo, Ry,” his cousin Finn answered. What sounded like a dozen rowdy kids shouted in the background. “How’s the new place? All settled in yet?”
Ryan grinned. “The house is great. You should come by and check it out.” A loud boom rattled and someone shouted. “You at a party?”
“Nah, just hanging at home with my brood. They only have one volume, and it ain’t quiet.”
Ryan laughed, thinking it must be nice. Finn had four kids, two dogs, and now rabbits from what he’d overheard from the aunts’ gossip. “I was about to order a pizza and pick up some beer. If you’re looking for an escape, consider this a lifeline. Think Mallory would mind if you took a few hours off?”
“Escape sounds incredible. Let me just let Philly know and I’ll be on my way. Text me the address so I go to the right house.”
“Cool. See you soon. Tell Philly I said hi.” Mallory, Finn’s wife, came from Philadelphia, hence her nickname Philly.
Some people were just lucky, he thought as he hung up the phone. Finn, who also happened to be Luke’s twin brother, was one of the luckiest guys he knew. He had a beautiful wife, a family, the seat at the head of the family business once his Uncle Frank finally retired, and he was always smiling.
In a way, he and Finn had a lot in common. They both showed little interest in leaving Center County, so it made sense for them to be the next generation of men to run the family business. Finn handled the fieldwork, and Ryan took care of the business end. So why had Finn managed so much more than him in the same amount of time?
There was only one pizza joint in town, conveniently located a mile away from his new pad and run by the Marcellis, related to him by marriage on his cousin Kate McCullough’s side. Ryan tossed a generous tip in the jar on the counter, certain they’d be seeing a lot of him. They fought him about paying for the pie, but he insisted.
The Chain by Fleetwood Mac rumbled from his truck speakers as he drove home, the delicious scent of Italian sauce and oregano filling the air. An ice cold six-pack sat to his right on the center console, the perfect complement to a hot pizza.
