I glance at the tree house, rebuilt and restructured to accommodate Zack’s twin boys, Trevor and Oliver. The original platform once supported my father, Zack, and me, and we’d spend nights staring up through winter-bare limbs and make wishes on stars.
Wishes are for kids, I’d tell Dad now. Because I’d wish to continue working at the Magellen. I’d still have my condo on Lake Shore Drive. If wishes came true I’d be in Chicago.
Instead, I’m here, and a heavy clap on my shoulder reminds me where I stand.
“Noah?” Concern etches my younger brother’s voice.
“What’s up?” I tip up my chin.
“Isn’t that what I should be asking you? You’re the one standing in my backyard, staring at that old tree.”
Zack and I remain quiet, gazing at the new structure that’s more like a small house among the branches. The fort, as we’d called our platform, was no more than a few boards and a rickety ladder of rungs nailed into the large trunk. We’d built that “fort” with our father, or at least I had, and the memory was one of a handful from when I believed in happy families and the promise of a future.
Turning to face Zack, his worrisome expression tightens my chest. He’s a decent guy, if a bit standoffish to some. He loves harder than people give him credit. He’s devoted to our mother, adores the family next door, and would die for his three lifelong best friends—Logan, Mason, and Ben. He also loves his twin boys, despite them being rambunctious at times, and his heart and more belong to River, his future wife. My brother eventually obtained the happy family and future of love I once wished for on those stars Dad pointed out to us.
And those melancholy thoughts have me asking my brother for a drink.
“Whiskey neat, coming up.” Zack excuses himself, disappears inside the house but quickly returns. The early spring night is cold because the Midwestern weather can’t decide if it wants to remain in winter or move on to warmer days. I’d vote for option B. I’m certainly living a B-plan lately.
“How is the inn?” Zack asks, and I tell him about my three days with my annoying new boss.
“So what you’re saying is you’re attracted to her?”
“I didn’t say that.” I snort as I lift the crystal tumbler and swallow the remaining contents in one gulp. The burn of alcohol warms my insides but does nothing to settle the hammering of my heart. Thoughts of Tessa’s mouth on mine, heated and spicy like this whiskey, fill my head. She’s a little spitfire, and I enjoyed her warmth, but I can’t get too comfortable with her. I’m only here temporarily.
“But all you’ve mentioned is her, not the inn.”
“I…What can I say? The place is a hot mess.” And so is its owner. “We need a bulldozer.”
Zack scowls. “That inn is historically protected.”
Leave it to the lawyer to know the property rights of the old place.
“I’m kidding,” I chide. “What the place needs is a structure.” Her organizational system is complete mayhem, and shit is stored willy-nilly. I mean, who keeps light bulbs in a bathroom and toilet paper behind a bar?
When I applied for the manager position, I spoke to Joe Brogan, Tessa’s uncle. He’d told me the manager position was temporary which worked for me. I needed to get out of Chicago for a while to realign my head. I’m better now and back in the job market for something new, something wild, something that makes my heart race and renews my passion for hospitality.
Tessa didn’t seem to be in on the memo about hiring me, though.
“The place is so…old. It could use an updated kitchen. A restaurant. A café for breakfast. And an event space.”
“You know I can help you with that,” Zack states, and I look over at my younger brother. We’ve taken seats around a firepit where wood already lay at the ready, and Zack lit a few pieces of kindling to start a warming flame.
We should have a firepit at the inn. Outdoor spaces for relaxation.
“I do own a construction company.” Sarcasm fills my brother’s tone. Four Points was a joint venture between my brother and his three best friends. What started as a drunken vision as college freshmen came to fruition in their forties when they asked the almighty question—why hadn’t they followed that plan to work with one another?
Zack has fulfilled even more dreams in the past year as he works with his best friends and owns his own business.
And here I am, back to thoughts of wishing on stupid stars. Fuck, I’m a sap tonight. Swiping a hand down my face, I stare at the fire.
“You guys deal in family homes, not commercial properties,” I remind my brother of the Four Points vision to build environmentally friendly houses on valuable lakefront property.
“How difficult could it be to renovate an inn? It’s like all bedrooms.”
“Plus, a ballroom, a veranda, and a lobby.”
“I’m not the construction guy, but that sounds like dining room, porch, and living space. You should talk to Mason.”
Mason Becker. I roll my eyes. Zack’s friend just doesn’t seem to fit with the others. He’s more the type of man I might encounter in the big city living the lush life, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, and spending beyond his means. His father owns a construction company that builds million-dollar homes and waterfront condominiums, thus Mason’s experience in the industry.
“I’m only the manager.” Bitterness seeps through the statement.
“Then introduce Mason to the owner.”
The suggestion has the hairs on my neck rising. Mason is a panty-charmer. I’ve seen him in action. He knows how to work the ladies. I wouldn’t let him within ten feet of the inn, let alone Tessa. Mason can’t have her.
My reaction is perfectly primeval, yet everything in me bellows she’s my little bird.
4
[Tessa]
“Mommy!” The squeal of Jonas’s little voice rocks me out of another stupor. I’d been daydreaming again about Noah and that moment—what the hell was that— the other night in one of the guest rooms. Days have passed. Our new manager has been busy doing God knows what, and I’ve taken front desk duty for the morning. Three clerks normally rotated shifts. Isaiah had been on the schedule as well, but with his sudden absence, life took a spin as well.
“Hey, buddy.” I bend to catch my five-year-old son as he tackles me around my waist. He’s growing so fast and getting too heavy for me to lift. His dark brown hair would match mine if I didn’t put a red rinse over the tresses. His dark eyes belong to his father. His smile is all his, too.
“Who’s this?” Noah’s voice snaps me out of my moment of pure bliss. A hug from my child changes my mood in an instant.
“I thought you were folding towels in the laundry.”
“I don’t fold towels.” Noah scowls at me. His list of things he doesn’t do is longer than what he’s willing to do. Then again, he has become our resident handyman, surprising me with his skills.