The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,8
looks at us. “This one is going to be a little different though. I, as an individual, am going to be the buyer. Then I’ll hire Wright Design + Build to do the development.”
I blanch. “Can you do that?”
He nods. “Most definitely. I’ve been looking for something to invest in for quite some time, and this feels like the right opportunity.”
We’re quiet around the table. I don’t know what there is for any of us to say.
Dad directs his gaze at me. “We are flying out this afternoon and meeting with Beau and the realtor tomorrow morning.”
My eyebrows cinch. “We?”
He points to his chest. “Me.” His finger rotates my way. “And you. I want you to design it.”
Brandt makes a choking noise. He tries to cover it up with a fisted hand at his mouth and a fake-sounding cough.
“Dad, I don’t think—”
“You’re ready for this, Dakota. Really. You grew up around this business and you’ve been in the office learning everything you need to know. Also, you have a real knack for it.”
It’s his stare, the belief in his gaze, the certainty in his voice, that suspends the argument hovering in my throat. Well, that and the fact we have an audience.
I want so badly to be worthy of his unyielding confidence in me. But the truth is, I’m not sure I’ll ever make up for the pain I’ve caused him.
“I’ll go home and pack a few things,” I tell him, and his face splits into a grin.
“Sheila will email you the flight information,” he says, sitting back down and pulling his laptop closer. “Meet me back here at one.” His shoulders are lifted, pulled higher by the possibility of winning a big deal. It’s a lovely thing to see; for so long his shoulders drooped as if the weight of the world was using him for push-ups, and it was largely my fault.
“See you soon,” I say. “Don’t eat, I’ll bring us lunch.” I wave half-heartedly at Brandt and Jon.
My dad focuses on the computer, and I step away from the conference room with a stomach that feels as if fireflies are buzzing around inside it.
I wonder what my mother would say if she were here? Would she believe in me, the prodigal child, the way my dad does?
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
I spent the longest time thinking it was my fault she was dead. And there’s a small part of me that still does.
“Abby, are you home?”
I called my sister as soon as I sat down in my car. The phone is on speaker, resting in my car’s cupholder, as I tap my chipped cherry red nail polish on my steering wheel.
“No, I took the girls to the Children’s Museum.” She sounds distracted. She’s probably watching them climb the monstrous treehouse in the middle of the museum. “What’s up?”
“Dad asked me to fly with him to Phoenix to look at a prospective property. He’s going to buy it himself and hire the company. He wants me to design it and—”
“That’s wonderful!” Her shriek fills the cabin of my small SUV. “Seriously, Dakota, you totally deserve it. Like, for real.”
My lips curve into a smile. My big sister morphs into Valley girl language when she’s excited. I love that about her, because the rest of the time she’s a grammar nazi. It’s both a welcome break and a reminder that she’s human.
“Thanks, Abby. It’ll just be for a couple days. Long enough to take a meeting with the seller and see the land.” Though now that I think about it, I don’t know when we’re flying back. I haven’t looked at the itinerary Sheila sent, and my dad never said. A couple days is probably a safe bet.
“No worries,” Abby assures me. “But I am going to miss watching The Bachelorette with you tonight. Who will eat popcorn with me and laugh at the catfights?”
“Armando?”
She snorts. Abby’s husband would never watch that show with her, and we both know it.
I pull into the driveway of Abby’s house and cut the engine. “I just got to your house. Please—”
“You just got home,” Abby corrects. “It’s your home, too.”
“Right,” I say, because I’m not interested in having that discussion again. Despite the fact that I live with Abby and her family, it is not my home. Home isn’t something I have at the moment, but I am grateful I have a place to live. “Give Taylor and Emerson kisses and hugs from me.”
“Will do,” Abby says cheerfully. “Enjoy Arizona,” she adds, then hangs