Page 92 of Call It Serendipity

“Small town life suits you.”

I look over at Tad, just barely managing to sidestep the streetlamp along Monroe as we walk back from Jitters. He has yet another flannel on under his vest; I didn’t even know he owned more than one. While I never truly fit into the executive world at Carpenter Collection, he certainly does. It’s one of the reasons I never questioned him following me into work with my dad. He just… fits.

But here he is, acclimating as easily to Ellicottville. “Seems to suit you too,” I say, slowing my pace as we near our destination.

Tad chuckles. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something about the flannel. Surprised it wasn’t the first thing out of your mouth last night.”

“I just didn’t think you owned any. Or a vest, really.”

“Raided your old closest before the trip.”

I stop walking and examine his clothes closer. “Are those mine?”

This time, a full, deep laugh bursts out of him. “No, dude. I own things other than suits. How long have you known me?”

Since college, when he wore chinos and button downs and NYU golf polos to class. Maybe these are my flannels.

“Even your T-shirts for the gym are dry-clean only.”

We start walking again, and I take a gulp of my coffee as he says, “This town really is nice. I understand why there’s a fight over property here.”

“What’s crazy is that my dad hasn’t even been out here. He doesn’t even know what he’s fighting for.” Which honestly is a statement that covers a multitude of situations with my father. Richard Carpenter seems to enjoy fighting, and that’s enough of a reason for him.

Tad snorts. “Richard doesn’t need to know what he’s fighting for in order to fight.”

He gets it too. Probably because I’ve wedged him into my dad’s line of fire. Guilt stabs me sharply between the ribs. “Sorry you’ve been taking the brunt of it back in the city these last couple months.”

“I don’t think I have taken the brunt of it, not based on how your phone calls have sounded.”

“Still saving the best of it for me?”

He shrugs. “He’s a creature of habit?”

Instead of turning down the side path to my apartment door, I lead him across the street. Headed for the very building in question. “Here we are,” I announce, as if the vacancy sign wasn’t a dead giveaway.

Our heads tilt back in unison as we look over the brewery’s façade. It’s an impressive building, and well-kept despite the permanent lack of occupancy.

“This is some seriously bespoke craftsmanship,” he muses. “It would be a shame to see this torn down for a cookie cutter hotel.”

My eyes roam over the hand carved details around the support beams. The solid, antique doors. “Wait until you see the inside.”

Our steps echo across the hardwood floors as we enter. And there’s a coolness to the building, a combination of no heating and the sun not reaching in to warm the space. I leave Tad to his detail-oriented inspection of the reception area and cross over to flick on the lights. He’ll spend the next few hours poring over every inch of this place—something I’m counting on.

If I’m the guy that initiates the partnerships and closes the deals, he’s the guy that keeps things operating afterward.

“I appreciate you coming to town,” I tell him, leaning on the bar and watching him test the durability of the hostess stand.

“We’ve talked about it, but I figured a free dinner invite from your sister warranted pushing the trip up a bit.”

“Yeah, about that. Why are you and Taylor⁠—”

He holds his hands up. “Just ran into her in the hallway. We’re neighbors now that you gave her your place. Remember?”

I nod and let him get back to his survey.

Every floorboard, support beam, table, chair, window and light fixture. He leaves no corner of the restaurant and bar space forgotten. Finally, he’s ready to step into the actual brewery.

Sliding the glass garage door open, I move to the side like I’m the proud owner of this place and let the full view hit him. The top-of-the-line brewing equipment. The carefully laid pavers. And the windows overlooking the river—a truly magnificent view.