Beckett gave Owen a considering nod. “Maybe I will.”
“I’d skip the movie and just go for dinner, the kind of place where they’re not looking to turn your table in an hour. More face time.”
“Might be better,” Beckett agreed.
“Now that we’ve helped launch Beck’s love life, can we get down to it?”
In response to Ryder, Owen pulled out the files on Hope again. “You can check her out whenever, get a little background before we meet with her. If she lives up to the hype, she’d be a real asset. Next deal.” He tossed out brochures. “We have to settle on the gas logs for Reception, and the gas fireplaces for J&R, W&B and The Library. Thompson’s is going to come in, take another look, and we’ll talk about where to bury the tank, how to run the lines. That’s set for Monday. We’re going to meet about The Courtyard—the pavers, the design, and how to deal with accessing the tank, the fencing, the plantings, the whole shot. That’s for Tuesday.”
“I’ve been working on that some,” Beckett said.
“Which is why you need to be there. Tuesday, four o’clock. Mom and Carolee are in on that, too.”
“We’ve got to deal with some practicalities,” Ryder put in. “Like how we’re going to set all the HVAC units, and getting them in, set, inspected, and passed before cold weather sets in.”
“Yeah, we do. And that’s why you need to meet with Mike at Care Services next week. We’ve got down-the-line details to start. And I’ll be meeting with Luther about the railings. But we have to settle on the design and the finish. Then there’s the design for the entrance doors,” Owen continued.
They divvied up work areas, merged some. Then got into a long, protracted argument over mechanics, which required shifting to Beckett’s office and studying blueprints.
By the time Beckett booted his brothers out the door, he figured he could re-create the blueprints—structural and mechanical—in his sleep.
And really, for one night, all he wanted to do was think about Clare.
He’d kissed her. Something he’d wanted to do for nearly fifteen years. Now, in about a week, he’d have her all to himself for an evening. A nice, quiet dinner, Owen had that right. A little wine, some conversation.
What did two people who’d known each other most of their lives talk about?
Then again, there was a lot about her he didn’t know.
He stood at his window looking out at the dark, shrouded inn and wondered what he’d find out. And what would happen next.
WORK-RELATED HEADACHES DOMINATED the next day, starting with a visit from the building inspector who, according to Ryder, arbitrarily reinterpreted codes, requiring a change in exterior doors already installed.
After spending half the day in Hagerstown straightening it out, Beckett came back to the site only to learn the tile supplier had mis-ordered the flooring in one of the guest room baths, and apparently—oops—forgotten to order the entire supply of another pattern. And now claimed their installer couldn’t begin the job for six weeks.
He’d have booted that nightmare to Owen, but his brother already had his hands full in a meeting with the mechanics about the building’s sprinkler system.
He retreated to his home office, and spent the next hour giving the salesman who’d screwed up a bigger headache than his own.
In that, at least, rode some satisfaction.
When he finished, he grabbed a Coke, swallowed some aspirin, then headed back across the street. He caught Owen in the parking lot.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“I’m going to put in some time in the shop. Look, Ry told me about the tile screwup. I’ll kick some ass in the morning.”
“Already kicked. Emergency meeting. Where’s Ry?”
“Third floor, last I checked. Hey, I’d better tell you about the gallery space next to the bookstore, and Mom’s latest brainstorm.”
“Not yet. Let’s go.”
They found Ryder on the third floor, installing one of the custom panels in the window well. “Fits like a glove,” he said, “and looks fan-fucking-tastic.”
D.A. thumped his tail in agreement, and probably hoped someone had food on them.
“That’s one thing that’s gone right today.”
“Tell me about it.” He glanced over at his brothers. “Did Owen tell you?”
“I’m telling Owen, and you. First, don’t get into a pissing contest with the building inspector even if he’s being a dick.”
“Hey, listen—”
“No. You were right, but you cross cocks with County, it can just bog up the whole project. The exterior doors meet code, were approved and signed off on previously. They