the stairs. A kitchen with butcher-block counters and a breakfast nook with benches on either side, sun streaming in through a skylight above the island. Colby sat at the table and took the cup of coffee Doug put in front of him, waiting silently while he got half a crumb cake out of the fridge.
“Your dad used to talk about you all the time, you know that?” Doug asked, putting a slab of cake on a plate and sliding it in Colby’s direction.
Colby shook his head, surprised. “No, sir,” he said. It was funny to think of his dad out in the world talking about him. It was funny to think of his dad out in the world doing anything, really. At some point, Colby’s memories of him had started to narrow to the very end part, but of course he’d been more than that: he’d been the star of an old-guy bowling team and an excellent remover of splinters and the person throwing Colby in the air as a kid in the picture that hung in the hallway back at home—over and over, up and up. “I didn’t know that.”
Doug nodded. “You and your brother,” he said. “All the time.” He took a sip of his coffee. “He left you the Paradise property, didn’t he? What are you going to do with it?”
Colby frowned, caught off guard by the question. “I mean, nothing right now,” he replied, picking the crumbs off the top of his cake. “I don’t have any money.”
“But when you do?”
He opened his mouth to say he hadn’t thought about it, just like he’d told everyone else who’d asked since the day they’d read the will—just like he’d tried to tell Meg—but for some reason, all of a sudden, it felt like a cowardly thing to lie. “I want something like this,” he confessed, looking around the kitchen. The dog had gotten bored and passed out on the rug in front of the sink. “Like what you’ve built here, I mean. I don’t know how I’m gonna get it, or if I ever will, even. But, uh . . . That’s what I want.”
Doug nodded at that, taking a sip of his coffee. “Look,” he said finally, “I’ve got another project starting in a couple of weeks, an addition on a place over in Castleton. We can try it, see how it goes.”
“Really?” Colby asked, immediately cursing himself for sounding so fucking eager. Then again, maybe there were worse things than sounding eager every once in a while. “Um, I appreciate that,” he said, unable to keep himself from grinning. “Thanks a lot.”
Doug nodded. “I’ll call you with more details when I’ve got them,” he said. “And pick up the damn phone this time, all right?”
“I will,” Colby promised. “I will be sure to do that.”
He finished his cake and waved goodbye before heading out across the driveway. The sun was warm on the back of his neck.
Later, he brought Joanna an iced coffee from Bixby’s and they sat on the curb outside the hair salon, her feet in her flats narrow and officious-looking against the blacktop. It was a warm, steamy afternoon, the smell of trees and car exhaust thick and heavy in the air. “I owe you an apology,” Colby said.
“Uh-oh.” Joanna’s lips twisted knowingly. “What’d you do?”
“I think it’s, like, more what I didn’t do?” Colby frowned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It had felt important on the way over here to own up to what he’d done with Joanna, but now that they were face-to-face he didn’t know exactly what to say. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be vague.”
“Oh no?” Jo leaned over and nudged him with her shoulder, the vanilla-cupcake smell of her hitting his nose. “Don’t worry about it, Colby. It’s fine.”
Colby blinked. “It is?”
“Sure,” she said with a shrug, running a freshly painted thumbnail along the plastic lip of her cup. “We’re friends, right? We’ve always been friends. And if the timing isn’t good for you, or whatever . . . I don’t know.” She smiled. “Life is long.”
“No, I know, but . . .” Colby broke off. He had the distinct impression he was getting off entirely too easily here. Shouldn’t she be pissed at him? After all, he’d objectively been kind of a dick about the whole thing. “I just mean—”
“I’m a big girl, Colby.” Jo smiled. “I knew what I was getting into with you. Like I said, we’re good.”
“I . . .” Colby