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“Great,” I said. “I’m meeting with the Dix head today.”
Dad looked up from the mail he was sorting with a scowl.
I held up my hands. “What? I meant that seriously!”
Behind me, Beckett disguised his laugh with a cough. I couldn’t hold back a grin. He’d been more relaxed today, maybe because sleeping together in the same bed hadn’t led to sleeping together, as he’d feared.
The shit-eating grin did little to endear me to Dad though. “You better not make jokes like that at the meeting. People need to feel respected. In fact, maybe Beckett should—”
“I can handle it,” I cut in. “Beck is presenting a landscaping plan to the Michaels today. That’s his specialty.”
“The Michaels as in Mayor Michaels?” Dad asked in surprise.
“They’re unhappy with Greener Garden in Riverton,” I said, failing to keep a smirk from my face. “Might want to rethink that plan to let them take care of your legacy.”
“Poking the bear again,” Beck muttered behind me.
But Dad didn’t snarl at me. He looked appraising. He was impressed that we were stepping up. Not that we hadn’t before. We might have been idiots while on vacation in Vegas, but we worked damn hard the rest of the time.
“Just remember to take that Dix meeting seriously.”
“He will,” Beckett said firmly. “Wes can win over anyone.”
My chest warmed at the few words of praise. After the recent tension between me and Beck, it was reassuring to know he still had my back.
“Fair enough.” Dad flung a few envelopes toward us, spinning them through the air like paper airplanes. “Here, then. Take your mail with you when you go. It got misdelivered again.”
I scooped the scattered envelopes from the floor. “And you say I’m the immature one.”
Finally, he cracked a grin. “Get out of here. Don’t expect to see me next week. I’ve promised Carol we’ll take a trip to visit her sister in the Ozarks.”
Beckett perked up. “Oh, Mom will love that. Wish I could go. It’s been ages since I’ve seen Fisher or Boone.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to tell your cousins hello for you.”
“Thanks,” Beckett said. “I’ll have to make time for a visit myself.”
I slung an arm over Beckett’s shoulders. “I wouldn’t plan on it, bro. Owning a business doesn’t leave much time for travel. Isn’t that right, Dad?”
Dad eyed us across his desk. “You don’t know the half of it yet.”
“But I will,” I singsonged as I pulled Beck toward the door. “Because the project is going perfectly.”
As soon as we were outside, Beckett gave me a little shove. “You’re gonna jinx us.”
“Dude, turn that frown upside down.” I grasped his face and used my thumbs to turn his lips up. “Because we are awesome!”
Beckett twisted out of my hold and smacked me, but not before he broke into a laugh. “You’re an idiot!”
“Got you to smile though.”
Beck drove today, taking a slightly different route to the park so that we could go through the Dix neighborhood to meet up with the liaison. Two blocks were undergoing renovation to revitalize the neighborhood and create more affordable housing as part of the city’s five-year plan to Stop Granville Shrinkage. Thanks to a small-town innovation grant and matching funds from investors, an old, deteriorating portion of Granville was getting a facelift. Some folks were upset it hadn’t been used to improve the town’s most historic neighborhoods, but as Tucker had pointed out, the goal was to create more affordable housing, which was more easily accomplished with modest homes than disintegrating estates.
Work trucks were parked up and down the street. Men crawled over the roof of one house like ants, while two doors down a couple of guys were giving a home a fresh coat of paint. Indoors, plumbers, electricians, and carpenters were all engaged in projects.
Lyle Jennings—an old friend and foreman for the head contractor overseeing the project—stood on the sidewalk with Paul Minner. He nodded so much he could have been a bobblehead doll, a stoic expression on his face, while Paul talked a mile a minute into his ear.
Lyle was a man suffering, and I was about to wade into the breach right next to him.
