I stop and stretch my arms over my head. I yawn for good measure. Maybe Dane will take pity on me and let whatever this is go.
He frowns.
Maybe not.
“I know Meredith is quirky, which is what ‘eccentric’ means,” he says like I’d care. “But she’s also got a really good heart and a lot of money.”
“Good for her. I don’t have either.”
Dane’s laugh barrels through the air. “You do too. The heart, that is. You have the financial sense of a monkey.”
“Don’t tell anyone that, will ya?”
“What? That you can’t manage money?”
“No,” I say, making a sour face. “Everyone knows that. Don’t go spreading around that I’m a nice guy. It’ll give people expectations and shit.”
He tries not to smile. “Fine. Now, back to the issue at hand—”
“I don’t even like kids,” I whine. “They’re loud and they don’t listen and they fuck shit up. Your kid is the only one I can tolerate . . .”
Shit. Dane’s eyes light up at the opening I just handed him on a silver platter.
“And if you don’t help me here,” he says like I’m a child, “I won’t be able to take my sweet little Mia to the land of giant mice and princesses. Think how disappointed she’ll be if I have to tell her that her buddy Penn won’t help me out and is ruining her vacation.”
“Low blow, Dane. Low blow.”
“So, you’ll do it?”
I stick out my bottom lip. “I don’t want to. I’m supposed to be on vacation too. Doesn’t anyone care about me?”
My play for sympathy falls on deaf ears. Instead of capitulating, he shifts his weight and digs in for the kill.
“This is going to get a ton of press, and we’ll get paid without having to chase anyone down.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath. “The Kellys are going to be investing thousands of dollars in Dogwood Lane, Penn. We have a great opportunity here to secure a lot of work. They already trust us. We know they’re going to pay well. And to be honest, we need to bank the money now so when winter comes and the projects slow down . . .”
I toe a rock with my boot and try to hold my ground. But as he continues to stand next to me, I feel myself start to give in.
Winters are hard on construction guys like us. The work slows, but bills still have to be paid. It’s not that bad for me or Matt, because we’re bachelors with basic rent and truck payments. For Dane, the guy with a family to take care of, it’s worse.
I sigh. “Why can’t Matt do it? Isn’t he required by blood to be your right-hand man?”
“He would, but the doctor hasn’t released him yet. He’s got another week or something.”
“He fell off a ladder,” I deadpan.
“Until you get your MD and release him to work, there’s not a lot I can do about it.” Dane blows out a breath. The lines around his eyes gather, the stress of potentially having to turn this job down evident on his face. “It’s just a week—two, tops. Basic framing and layout work at this point. If Mia didn’t have her heart set on this trip, I’d do it myself. But I can’t break her heart.”
“Don’t use Mia against me.”
He grins. “She already has her bags packed. I bet she’d cry herself to sleep for two weeks if—”
“Fine,” I say before I can take it back. “But you’re an asshole for using your kid. Who does that? It’s dirty, Dane. Real dirty.”
His shoulders fall in relief. “Just get it started, and I’ll take over when I’m back. And Neely said to tell you ‘thank you’ as soon as you caved.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I glance at my watch again. “You tell your fiancée this is going to cost her a pan of lasagna. And for the record, if Meredith even mentions the word ‘spa,’ I quit.”
He beams. “Thanks, pal.”
“Pal, my ass.” I start across the street. “Call me later.”
“Will ya answer?”
I look at him over my shoulder as I cross the centerline. “Probably not.” I flip him the bird for good measure.
Two years. I just got suckered into giving up a vacation I’ve earned for two freaking years. Next time, I’m the one who is leaving town.
Early.
CHAPTER TWO
AVERY
Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Harper’s voice rings through the small, sunlit room. I glance at her from atop a dilapidated ladder I found in the storage shed behind the salon. She’s looking at me over a stack of towels, a concerned curiosity etched on her face.
“I’m hanging a speaker so I can bluetooth my phone to it,” I tell her. “I like to dance while I work.”
Her laugh, easy and free, fills the room. She sets the towels down on her chair. “Just a heads-up, party girl: most of our clientele are farmers and ladies that play bridge. The only dance they know is the two-step.”
I turn back to the wall.
I didn’t know the two-step was still a thing. Come to think of it, I don’t know that much about life here in Tennessee in general. This is probably why experts tell people not to make big life decisions on a whim. Moving from Los Angeles to the smallest town I’ve ever imagined is definitely on the large side of the spectrum and probably not the wisest choice to make after two bottles of wine on a Wednesday. Even so, I feel pretty good about it.
When I told her my plan, Mom thought I’d lost my mind. Dad was sure I was on drugs. Who wouldn’t want to live in LA, the daughter of a famous actress, and take advantage of all the perks of the situation?
Me. That’s who. Mainly because the so-called “perks” make my skin crawl.
I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t wake up another day and pretend to love the life I was living. It wasn’t even my life but more like roles in everyone else’s lives. How it got to that point I don’t know, but I was done.
I was tired of being the daughter who toes the line. The only relationships my parents cared about when it came to me were the ones I had with their associates. As long as I didn’t embarrass Mom and Dad or hurt their connections—or want crazy things like family dinners—we were good.
Work was exhausting on a soul level. There are only so many times you can have a man sitting in your chair and know he just got a blow job from someone in the back room right before his wife walks in. It’s maddening. But you have to keep those secrets or get blackballed . . . even when some of those secrets involve your friends.
More than anything, I was tired of trying to be happy. Every man I met was a smooth talker, a one-upper, someone trying to position himself to use me somehow. It was all so superficial, and I felt that. Deeply.
I didn’t know what to do, but I knew who would: Aunt Harper.
“You’re going to have culture shock today,” she says. “When was the last time you charged fourteen dollars for a haircut?”
“Um, never. You’re joking, right?”
“I’m afraid not.” She laughs, clearly amused at my wide-eyed response.
“How do you even live on fourteen dollars a haircut?”