“Made out to cash, right?” she inquires. Her condescending tone has me feeling even more ridiculous.
A lone tear trickles out from the corner of my eye, scorching a path of shame along my cheek. “They said it had to be cash for the cash price…so they didn’t have to claim it on their taxes.” It sounded totally reasonable at the time.
I can practically see the “I told ya so” fighting to escape her lips through the phone. “Well…what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know,” I cry. “Why do you think I called you? It’s a complete disaster. All the old woodwork is in pieces in the back yard. We only have the one tiny makeshift chapel set up in the smaller viewing area. This is gonna kill our business.” I don’t have to tell her that the upcoming holiday season is always our busiest. It’s a sad reality that suicides and car accidents spike this time of year, and she’s been in my life since kindergarten—long enough to know the ins and outs.
“Wait a second…” she muses, an idea already taking shape. Kate is a problem solver and has saved my ass more times than I can count. “You remember Beau’s cousin, Wyatt?”
“From your wedding?” I ask—as if there’s any way I could forget him fucking me up against a dumpster in an alley on Bourbon Street the night of her and Beau’s joint bachelor/bachelorette party.
“Mmmhmm,” she singsongs. “That’s the one. Well, he’s actually just moved to town and is lookin’ to get his construction business started here. I bet he’d be willing to—”
“No,” I blurt, cutting her off. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on, Whit, that was years ago. He probably doesn’t even remember you.”
“Good! And we’re gonna keep it that way.” My cheeks radiate enough heat to melt the makeup I just applied to poor Mrs. Thibodaux’s face. I’ve been so careful not to introduce any of the guys I’ve hooked up with to my daughter. It’s bad enough her father chose not to be a part of her life. She deserves better than a revolving door of men. The last thing I need is one lurking around for heaven knows how long.
“But—”
“No buts,” I argue. “There has to be another solution.”
Any other solution.
“Home sweet home, Rufus.” I throw my old, beat-up Chevy into park beneath a limb of the sprawling oak that drapes over the front of the fixer-upper I snagged for a steal in Moss Pointe, Louisiana. The mature trees and property alone are well worth every penny I paid. This little slice of heaven was my present to myself two months ago, on my twenty-fifth birthday, when I finally gained access to the trust my parents set up before they died.
The eighty-pound puppy follows me out through the driver’s side door, immediately popping a squat.
“You piss like a bitch,” I grumble, shaking my head at the sight while hauling my luggage and essentials to the porch.
I laugh when I catch myself looking around to be sure no one is watching the shameful act. All that surrounds us are acres of unkempt land that’ll keep me busy for months on end. Such a welcome change from the apartment life we left behind with my maternal grandparents in Dallas.
The spotted Dane looks up at me with his head cocked to one side. He’s a good listener, even if he seldom understands a word I say.
“Come on.”
Rufus is right on my ass as I ascend the drooping steps, leaning every bit of his weight against my thigh while I wiggle the key into the lock. We’re welcomed by the musty scent of mildew and rot. “She doesn’t look like much right now, boy, but her foundation is strong.” I slap my palm against his ribs, giving his coat a nice rub. His back leg lifts, vibrating with delight. “They don’t make cypress frames like this anymore.”
His tail wags, slapping me behind the knee a few times.
After transferring my belongings inside, I head right to the sink to fill Rufus’s water bowl. The sound of a vehicle approaching steals my attention. I move the yellowed curtain aside and peer through the window above the sink to find my cousin Beau’s Jeep rumbling to a stop.
Dropping the water bowl on the worn linoleum, I hear, “Wyatt, my man!” Beau comes charging in and moves his briefcase to the other hand so he can hit me with an enthusiastic one-armed hug. The genuine smile splitting his face reaffirms that this was the right decision. “How was the drive?”
“Long.” I yawn, stretching my arms up, my fingertips easily meeting with the low ceiling. “But it’s good to be back.”
I’ve spent every summer since the accident in Moss Pointe, bouncing between our Maw-Maw and Paw-Paw’s house, God rest their souls, and Beau’s parents’—Uncle Curtis and Aunt Sue.
To see the two of us together, him in his three-piece suit and short tapered cut and me in my worn jeans, dingy tee and my unruly hair that’s always in need of a trim—well, you wouldn’t imagine our fathers were brothers, or that despite our differences we could be as tight as we are. But even growing up hundreds of miles apart, in completely different states, we’ve managed to remain thick as thieves.
“How’s your Mimi doing with all this?” he asks, referencing my big move to the country.
I roll my eyes. “Ten times worse than whatever you’re imagining,” I answer, smiling to myself at her theatrics. “You’d swear I was moving to another continent.”
“Ah,” he waves me off. “She loves you.”
“I know it.” I shut the door behind him to block out the chill. “Was just about to take a walk through and check out the furniture I had delivered last week.” I motion with my head for him to follow.
Rufus needs no encouragement to join us. I’m forever tripping over the big galoot.
The rich brown leather sectional looks out of place, surrounded by scuffed wood floors and the wall of cracked bricks that’s crumbling around the old fireplace. This living room is in desperate need of some TLC. But that’s what I love about construction—where most would see nothing but headache, I see endless possibilities.
“Lotta work to do,” Beau says, whistling as he runs a hand over the mantle. With a frown, he walks into my space and wipes the layer of dust he just picked up right across the front of my T-shirt. Pretty boy.
“Yup. Dig out your work boots. I’m gonna need all the manpower I can get.”
He snorts. The mere suggestion that he owns anything besides loafers and brand-name tennis shoes is hilarious.
“I actually came by to talk to you about something.” He’s still grimacing as he peers into each of the doors, one after the other.
“Oh?” I peek my head into the master at the king-sized bed that’s beckoning me, dying a little inside as I walk away.
“Yeah.” He follows me back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the little wood breakfast table. “I know you’re literally just pulling into town, but Kate’s got a friend in a bit of a bind.”
I retrieve two beers from the box on the top shelf of the ancient fridge, literally the only thing besides dog food I bothered to pick up on my way in. After sliding one over to Beau, I whip out the chair across from his and straddle it. “She need a date to Christmas dinner or something?”