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“If this works out,” Austin says, “I think I oweyoucookies.”
“And I will take you up on that,” I tell him.
Hal returns, giving us a satisfied nod. “You should have an email.”
Austin pulls out his phone and refreshes the screen. Sounding surprised, he says, “I…Dohave an email. They estimate two to three days for approval.”
I clap my hands, thrilled that this worked. “Hal, I hope you’ll accept a spa membership with our thanks. And I’ll call Lottie with an invite for the grand opening.”
“Sure could use a steam once in a while,” Hal muses happily. “Thanks, honey. Lottie’ll like the night out. See you for knitting night at our place in a few weeks?”
“You bet.” I lean forward to air-kiss his cheek.
“Hopefully you’ll be my good luck charm!” he calls, turning back to the water. “If I catch something, you’re both coming over for dinner.”
I practically skip back down the path. Austin is quiet—deep in thought—and, at first, I assume he’s stunned by my permit-wrangling skills. But I’m starting to learn his rhythms, and I quickly realize that this is fretting.
“What’s up?” I ask him. “That worked like a charm. We’re back on track.”
Austin gives me a worried look. “I know. But was that some kind of corruption or quid pro quo? Offering a membership in exchange for putting a call in?”
“Hal isn’t employed by the city anymore, so he doesn’t have any authority,” I explain. “We didn’t ask him to push a flawed permit through—just locate the slowdown. And, I promise, Hal would never do something unethical.”
Austin smiles, nodding in relief. Success. “You’re right. Of course. I just want everything to be above-board,” he adds, running a hand over his head. “Doing things the right way.”
Honest… Above-board… There’s that guilty twinge in my gut again.
But I’m not lying to him, I tell myself. Not really. And didn’t I just pull off a major win for the spa?
But Austin, of course, has no clue about my internal moral conflict. He looks around and seems to brighten.
“I think it’s time for your payoff.”
“Now who sounds like a mobster?” I tease.
He grins. “I’m a man who pays his debts. And since I promised you cookies… Come on, I know a place.”
“How can I refuse an invitation like that?” I laugh.
We stroll along the river, admiring the view. He tells me about construction on the spa, which one of his contractor friends has been heading up. Every time he gets into the tiniest decisions about his business, Austin lights up. It’s infectious.
“You’ve really hit the ground running,” he adds. “I can’t believe how much you’ve accomplished this week—not even including that permit Hail Mary. I feel really lucky to have you on the team.”
I stifle a swoon. Did anyone ever say that to me at SNZ? Clearly and earnestly? No. Not in eight years.
“Thanks,” I manage to sound casual. “It’s a great team you’ve put together. It’s easy to be excited about a good product.”
Austin all but beams at me. “That’s nice to hear. You have no idea.”
He always seems so genuinely relieved to hear praise. For someone who was renowned for being good at his job, Austin Banks doesn’t carry the tiniest shred of hubris.
He slows when we near a lineup of food trucks. One has a giant chocolate chip cookie illustration on the side.
“No way,” I say, marveling. “How could you possibly know here was a cookie food truck right here?”
Austin grins. “My buddy, Dash, is a pretty eclectic investor, and this company happens to be a secret juggernaut. They make a killing in Brooklyn at two a.m.”
We stare at the menu, marveling.
