Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Fletch
Dalton and Spencer stare at me as if I’m an idiot child that just won the spelling bee. To be fair, they often stare at me like this, and I suppose I’ve brought it upon myself.
“Dad, you can’t be serious,” Spencer says not breaking eye contact with me.
I’m both pissed off and also shocked. My father has just announced that he’s decided to put me in charge of our latest store opening. Me. Am I capable? Yes. Am I an expected choice? Hell, yes.
Being the youngest of three brothers, the first two being very type A, makes me the family fuckup.
It probably doesn’t help that I spent most of my teens and twenties doing exactly that…
fucking up. I slept with way too many women; I jaunted off to places like Ibiza on the family jet whenever I felt like attending a rave; and then there was the time I maybe dropped forty thousand on renting a private island for all of my frat brothers and me for spring break.
That last one made the news and not in a good way.
So, yes, I’ve spent the last six-plus years trying to redeem myself, but I’ve dug such a deep hole, I’m not sure any of my family take me seriously…until now.
I turn to look at our dad. Edward McDowell is an icon in the coffee world.
He runs one of the largest coffee and café companies not just in our country but in approximately ten other countries.
He normally has an entire division of the company that works on finding real estate, acquiring real estate, and then building the café.
So, why he wants me to lead that team for our latest acquisition, I haven’t a clue.
“Are you serious?” I ask, reiterating Spencer’s question.
“Yes.” His single word echoes around his office.
Dalton smirks at me and I glare back at him.
Dalton is the oldest. He’s forty, divorced with one kid, a little boy named Timothy.
I love his son. He’s the coolest kid I know.
Dalton can be a bit of an asshole. He’s in line to take over the family company.
I both love and hate him. He’s brilliant, but unforgiving and stubborn as hell.
“Dad, we have a division that handles that,” Spencer points out.
Spencer is the middle child. He likes things neat and orderly.
He’s only three years older than me, but he might as well be one hundred.
He takes life way too seriously. Where I was the wild party child, he was the closet nerd.
He spent his childhood locked in the family library and participating in every club and sport at the elite private academy we attended.
He’s never been married and seldom dates.
He does hook up with plenty of women, but nothing serious.
To be fair, he had a very serious girlfriend who slept with what used to be his best friend, and his best friend’s old brother, and half of his soccer team.
That was in college, and the man has never been the same.
“Spencer, I’ve made my decision. There will not be a discussion.
Louis is taking a leave of absence to be home with his wife while she goes through chemotherapy, and I’m assigning Fletcher to lead them,” he says and steeples his fingers.
That’s Dad’s tell that the conversation is over. Fucking fantastic.
* * *
I look up at the building as I stand on the sidewalk. The operations team has already signed a lease for the property, so at least I don’t have to find us a location. But we haven’t started any of the construction yet. I unlock the door and walk inside.
And, I immediately regret that decision. This place is a total dump. What the hell were they thinking? They want to open in less than four months. There’s no fucking way.
I pull my phone out and call Dalton.
“This is a mess. Who am I blaming?” I ask him as I walk through the space. The building is stripped on the interior but there are boxes and construction supplies everywhere. No one is working, and from the look of it, we need the general contractor to have a crew here around the clock.
“Rich’s team chose the location. And Frank’s team bid out the contract. Why? What’s wrong with it? Dad said it’s a great location,” Dalton asks.
“Great? Has he even come to see it?” I inquire.
It’s unusual for us to open a store in this city.
We have our flagship store downtown and approximately ten others in the greater metro area.
But real estate in this neighborhood seldom comes on the market.
I can understand the draw. It’s a nice street, residential, and that means it’s full of customers that will drink our coffee and eat our baked goods.
“Nope. That’s your job, big guy. Best of luck,” Dalton says and I know that fucker is smirking. He is enjoying each and every moment of this.
“Fuck you. This place is a shithole. There’s no way we can have it ready in four months,” I protest.
“Make it happen, baby boy,” Dalton says, using the obnoxious nickname my mom has used for me, since birth.
“I should have taken that job offer to work in the food television industry. At least I’d be in a climate-controlled office right now,” I state as I unbutton my shirt and loosen my tie. The building’s air system is clearly not operable and it’s an unusually warm winter day.
“Guess so. Have fun, fucker. Dad picked that location for the neighborhood, not the building. You have your work cut out for you,” he says as he disconnects.
I run a hand through my hair and sit down on a box.
I pull out my phone and call the only person besides my brothers that I trust. My grandmother.
I love my parents but they are delusional.
And the few friends I have left after leaving the party scene have zero idea about this shit and could care less.
Now, I just want to prove to my father that I can do this.
Maybe, if I can make this work, he’ll trust me to do what I really want to do.
I’ve pitched him the idea to sponsor some reality food competition shows.
We could put the winning baked goods in the stores.
I love the idea of finding raw talent. My brief stint working with a professional baker made me appreciate all the small bakery businesses out there with incredible pastry chefs that never get enough clout.
And I could merge what I want to do with the family business.
But he doesn’t see the merit of the idea.
The phone rings and she answers.
“Fletch, my darling, how are you?” she answers in her weathered voice that instantly soothes me.
“I’m sitting in our new location on Hearts Lane,” I say, because I don’t have the heart to tell her it needs more work than I think we have time to complete. My grandparents have long ago turned the business over to Dad, but they still deeply care about it and run most of our charity work.
“Oh? I heard Eddie put you in charge. That’s so exciting. You get to put your very own spin on it,” she encourages. She’s not wrong. I do. But my heart’s not really in Hearts Lane.
“I suppose,” I agree.
“Go on any dates lately?” she asks.
I roll my eyes. Gran Hattie, or Gran Ha as we affectionately call her, is determined that all three of us boys will get married and give her great-grandbabies.
Dad’s younger brother, Jasper, married an awesome man named Giddeon.
I love them dearly, but they are more interested in spending time at their Cape Cod beach house, gardening, and going to the local pub for trivia night.
Neither has ever been interested in our family business.
“Nope. Pretty busy, Gran Ha,” I say, using her nickname that Dalton created when he was two and couldn’t pronounce her name.
“You need to enjoy life a little. I’m proud of you for working hard lately, but all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” she states.
“I’ll work on that,” I say, attempting to appease her.
I’m quiet for a bit and it’s as if she senses my unease.
“What’s really wrong with my off-the-record favorite grandson?” she asks. I smile. I know I’m her favorite. We’ve had a connection since I was a baby.
“It’s just…overwhelming. What if I fuck this up?” I admit.
“What if you mess it up?” she corrects me.
“Yeah, that,” I say as I roll my eyes again.
“Well, you figure out how to fix it. You’re a smart boy. Even when you messed up as a kid, you always figured out a way to make it right,” she points out. I did. And damn, fixing my fuckups were often ten times harder than planning them.
“What would you do?” I ask her.
She pauses and I know she’s considering it. “You need to win over the neighborhood and get them excited. And you need to get our team to meet with the general contractor. Maybe we need to hire a different one if you aren’t pleased with their work. Is that the issue?”
She’s so fucking smart.
“Yep. Place is a mess,” I admit.
“I figured so. I know the building. It’s right by Al’s place,” she says.
Al O’Brien. He’s played poker with my grandfather for years. Maybe I should pay him a visit.
“Yes, it is.”
“You there now?” she asks.
“I am.” I stand and dust off my pants.
“You should go visit him. I’m sure he’d love to see you,” she suggests.
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Gran Ha,” I say.
“Love you, Fletch,” she says.
“Love you, too,” I reply as we hang up and I walk out onto the street.
I walk down the block to one-eleven Hearts Lane.
I glance across the street and see a small café, but it’s not the competing business that draws my attention, it’s the mess of red hair atop the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.
The woman doesn’t see me. She’s busy making a coffee drink and talking to a man at the counter.
I stand transfixed for a minute, unable to turn away.
“Checking out your competition?”
I turn and see Al. Smiling, I hug him, patting his back before pulling away.
“How are you?” I ask as I stand back and look at him. He’s aged, but he still looks like the same kind man I remember from my childhood.
“You know, getting old,” he answers with a laugh.
“Well, you look the same to me,” I reply.
And I’m not lying. The man hasn’t changed a bit in nearly twenty-five years.
My brothers say his hair was more brown when we were little, but I only remember him from the time I was in first grade.
That’s when Gran Ha would pick me up after school three days a week so we could work on my reading.
I had dyslexia and she had a degree in special education.
And as a treat, I got to sit in on my grandfather’s poker game on Thursday nights.
Al was always my favorite of his friends.
“Guess all the walking keeps me young.” He points to a trail at the end of the street. There’s a park there and it looks inviting. “Care to join me?”
I shrug. “Why not?” I say as we begin to walk.
“So tell me, what is the great Fletcher McDowell up to these days?” he asks.
I chuckle and fill him in as we walk along a river down to a pond. By the time we make it back to the street, I’m feeling better. Al didn’t say much, just listened, and I think that’s what I needed, someone who is willing to listen to me, no judging, just listen.
“No ladies in your life?” Al asks as I see him to the door of his apartment building that he owns.
“Nope,” I reply, glancing over at the café to see the redhead rolling some dough on a marble counter. She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and I get the overwhelming urge to want to touch that hair. I quickly look away. I’m being crazy.
Al follows my gaze. “That’s Cam. She just bought the place recently. It’s the neighborhood favorite.” He leans forward. “I’m on Team Cam’s Café, by the way.”
I laugh. “Is that so?”
He nods. “I love your family, but that little café has so many memories for me. Edith loved it.” He gives me a sad smile as he says his late wife’s name.
“I remember. Didn’t Phyllis own it?” I ask, remembering the owner’s name.
“She did. She just retired a few weeks ago,” he explains.
“Oh.” I had figured Phyllis would retire soon and close shop, but it appears my competition is remaining. Al raises a good point. It’s a neighborhood hot spot. I need to figure out a way to make us different from this café. And that means, I need to scope it out.
“Well, I need to get back to the office,” I say as I shake his hand.
“Good luck, kid. I think you’re going to need it,” he calls out with a smile as he walks inside his building.
I smirk. “I don’t think I will. The best part of being underestimated is that no one sees you coming,” I murmur to myself. I look back over at the woman. “Prepare to go down, Cam’s Café.”