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ChapterTwo
Beau
Too tired to cook, Beau scanned the freezer section of the corner store. Something quick and easy was best, and after eating takeout pizza for the last two days, he craved hearty and homey food.
Staying at Kyle’s apartment was fine for a few days, but he was looking forward to moving into his place on Friday. Fast food and instant coffee weren’t cutting it. Usually, they grabbed a bite to eat together, which meant delivery pizza or takeout Chinese, but it was a bowling night for Kyle, and Beau was left to fend for himself.
The small grocery store wasn’t a supercenter, and the options were limited to three choices. There was some kind of coconut curry, a pineapple and ham pizza, and a Hungry Man meatloaf and mashed potatoes frozen dinner. At least the last one had a fitting name.
“Put that back, young man.” A silver-haired woman zipped over and took the frozen meal from his hand. She tossed it back into the freezer and looked up at him. He was at least a foot taller, but her stern look made him feel like a small child. “A big man like yourself needs a proper meal.” She pointed to the now frosted window of the freezer. “That ain’t it.”
Surprise forced his brows toward his hairline. In New York, no one approached him, much less took something from his grasp. At six foot two, he was a big man and had been told he had a don’t-mess-with-me look. In reality, he wasn’t quite as intimidating. He stared at the freezer door which was beginning to clear and realized he’d missed the fried chicken box. “What would you suggest then?”
“That you leave before you make a mistake.” She pointed to the door. “There’s a diner down the street called Spurs. Have their blue-plate special and tell Bobbie that Midge sent you.” She patted him on the shoulder and smiled. It was a warm, motherly gesture. One he used to crave but rarely received. “You see what that meal is called?” She pointed to the window of the freezer. “It’s called Hungry Man for a reason, young man. That’s because you’ll still be starving when you finish it. Now get. The diner closes early on Mondays, and you don’t want to miss out on the fried chicken and taters.” She walked away and disappeared down the ice cream aisle.
Not sure he was up to a diner visit, he took a last-minute glance at the offerings. A frozen meal didn’t sound as delicious as a hot-from-the-kitchen blue-plate special. The mention of chicken and taters had him salivating, so he took his phone from his pocket and typed in Spurs. Once the address popped up, he walked out the door.
Acclimating to Denver had been easy. The entire city seemed smaller than one borough in New York City. Kyle’s place was on Park Avenue, a far cry from the Park Avenue he’d known growing up. His uncle’s apartment sat on the second floor amidst others with the same features. Being colored differently didn’t make them distinctive or unique. Boring cookie-cutter homes weren’t his thing. That’s why working on this project as the architect and project manager brought him eighteen hundred miles from his home state. He was committed to making his mark in the world, building distinctive high-end lofts.
He wasn’t getting any younger, and his time to make a difference was quickly passing. He was in Denver to take back what life had promised him and cruelly taken away all those years ago. Westhaven Construction, which had died with his father, would rise from the ashes of its past and become more than anyone expected. The dream that had died with its owner was a phoenix and would rise from the ashes to live another day. And maybe someday, he’d stand at a site with his son or daughter and tell them to look at what would be theirs. His father may have passed, but his dreams lived on in Beau.
The path to Spurs took him past his new apartment. Despite its lack of individuality, the neighborhood was decent and near everything he needed. He hated it was on Thirteenth Street, but it was the only apartment left in the building, and the price was within his budget.
The word Spurs flashed across a neon sign that lit up half the block ahead. A bell above the door jingled as he entered.
“Sit wherever you like. I’ll be right with you.” A voice came from someone hidden behind the counter.
He looked around the small diner that displayed cowboy paraphernalia on every wall. Between the spurs and Stetsons, whips and wagon wheels were barbed-wire and framed photos of Hollywood’s Western heroes like John Wayne and Clint Eastwood.
It was a small place with six booths and a counter that had eight stools. Three booths were filled with families, and two older men occupied the stools at one end of the counter, so he sat at the other end and watched the waitress reach for plates in the kitchen window. If her face was as lovely as her backside, this trip was worth the view alone.
When she spun around to face him, his jaw dropped. Standing in front of him was his little rebel. She held two plates, one with golden brown chicken and tater tots, the other with meatloaf and mashed potatoes. He considered turning around and walking out. Hadn’t he had enough of her that day? Then the aroma of the food wafted past him, and his stomach growled. The common-sense part of his brain took over. He came to eat, and that’s precisely what he’d do. He sat and silently stared, or maybe it was glared, while she delivered the meals.
She’d changed into fresh jeans and sported a black T-shirt that hid everything. The cowboy boot logo with a set of spurs conveniently placed across her chest didn’t hide a thing from him.
“Small world,” she said when she turned. “When I said, ‘see you soon,’ I wasn’t expecting this.” She pulled an order pad from her back pocket. “What can I get you to drink? Beer? Soda? Coffee?”
Despite opening and closing his mouth, nothing came out.
She leaned across the counter and put herself in his direct line of sight. “What do you want to drink?”
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Oh yeah, sorry. Diet whatever you have.” What were the odds of running into her by accident? The familiar ringtone of “We Didn’t Start the Fire” meant Russ Payne was calling and he was happy for the distraction.
“Hey man, what’s up?” He twirled his stool around and leaned against the counter, trying to ignore the cute blonde bustling about behind him.
He stared out the window. The sun was setting, basting the city in a buttery yellow glow. You didn’t see that kind of thing in a metropolis like New York City because the buildings were too tall. Everything seemed brighter, bolder, and better here.
The commotion in the background of the call sounded like Russ was back at Brighton’s Bar, where Beau had his going-away party just days ago. It took the entire ride to get over the hangover, and the thought of alcohol soured his stomach.
“Just making sure you recovered.”
“Yep, I threw up for the first five hundred miles, but after that, outside of the splitting headache, I was golden. How’s everyone at the firehouse?” He’d become a fixture at the firehouse months after his father died. Even decades later, the men of that station had never forgotten him. He was the kid on the sidewalk covered in ash, screaming for his dad, and they’d taken pity on him.
“Everyone’s good here. How’s Colorado?”
“It’s interesting.” He peeked over his shoulder and saw Roberta filling his drink glass. “It’s beautiful and mostly peaceful, but as with any place, there are always a few annoyances.” Like the hot little blonde who strapped herself to my building. ”It’s exactly what I needed. What’s the commotion in the background? Are you at Brighton’s?”
“No, it’s just the guys at the station. Everyone’s yelling over each other like usual.” The alarm sounded in the background. “Duty calls. I hope Colorado turns out to be everything you wanted. Stay in touch, all right?” The shrill pitch of the alarm muffled Russ’s voice.
