Chapter 2 Ryder
RYDER
Igrab onto Steve’s shoulder as I tug my shoe off, shaking out the water that enveloped my foot when I stepped into the river.
And… not nearly enough comes out. My sock is soaked, my loafers are as good as ruined, Steve’s giving me that look again that tells me I’m in over my head, and if I don’t get my goddamn shoe back on my goddamn foot in the next half second, I’m going to lose my balance and step directly in the mud I’ve been so carefully avoiding.
I grumble as I slip my soggy shoe back on. Thank god I opted for a hotel room nearby rather than commuting back to New York tonight.
“She seems nice,” Steve comments, letting go of my shoulder and returning to the spot he was measuring in the stream.
“She seems like a pain in the ass,” I say, watching as she stomps away from me, wisps of that dirty blond hair flying out behind her as she moves.
I know she said she was just cleaning the “backdrop,” as she called it, but she looks like she just woke up.
Wild hair on top of her head, overalls that are only fastened on one side and what looks like two different shoes on her feet.
Her clothes are splattered with mud, one knee completely covered in a way that must be stiff and uncomfortable.
She didn’t look quite like that when she stormed into the town council meeting the other day, though the attitude certainly hasn’t changed.
I’m not sure she noticed me patiently waiting for my turn to speak—or anyone else for that matter—because she took it upon herself to march to the front of the room and demand Mayor Reed tell her what the hell is going on next door.
She reminded him that the sunflower farm is a staple of the community. The namesake of this beloved town.
And what she seemed to take as agreement that her sunflower farm would be protected sounded to me a lot more like appeasement so the council meeting could continue.
It certainly wasn’t a response I would accept, if I was as concerned as she was.
She gives me one last haughty look over her shoulder before slamming the front door of the bungalow, and I give her my best sardonic wave.
I’ll be damned if she thinks she can take me down by shoving me into a stream.
I’ve had so much worse.
I’ve been extorted, punched, sued, spat on, and blackmailed—the real kind of blackmailing, not small town threats about misusing a barn—thanks to the reputation my dad built with his shady business tactics. I've done my best to reverse the reputation he built, but these things take time.
And it’s unfortunately in my best interest to work with Evelyn Harper rather than against her, considering any development plan for a community next door would likely include an easement onto her property for a driveway.
A single home with a narrow driveway would be fine, but the grade down to the road is too steep for two lanes unless we were to cut into a portion of her driveway.
And it would only affect the shoddy dirt road that runs through this place—not the precious sunflowers.
“You think you can work your charm on her?” Steve asks, recording another measurement in his notebook with a quick grin in my direction.
Steve has been my contractor for the past ten years. One of the few who hasn’t dicked me over in one way or another. He’s not exactly a stream expert, but like Evelyn Harper said, we’re just looking for a few measurements.
She doesn’t seem to realize she’ll get a nice fat payday if something does go wrong with the stream. The only way I could have been clearer with her was if I outright told her I’m taking the measurements that she can later use them to prove I ruined her precious stream.
If it comes to that, at least. I'm doing my best to prevent it.
I’m really not trying to be an asshole here.
I’m just… trying to get my goddamn grandmother to the park.
Having exhausted email as a means of communication, I started coming to town meetings to try to get an idea of what the holdup is with the construction blocking the road and thus, the sidewalk, that connects the assisted living community across the street with the park behind it.
My grandmother broke her hip a few months ago, and though we’ve been managing with a bus service that I’ve generously been floating for the entire senior community that lives with her, it would be ideal if we could finish the damn road work so she can walk to the park that’s a tenth of a mile from her apartment.
She likes walking, but when she’s home, she can only do loops around a tiny courtyard.
And she needs to walk to build up her strength again.
But her goddamn sidewalk has been blocked for the better part of a year, with no active work being done.
And despite sitting through five town council meetings at this point, I still have no idea why.
So rather than getting answers, I asked for solutions. What could make this go faster? Who can I talk to? How can I help?
And apparently the answer all along was that Mayor Reed—the prickly dick—was just waiting for someone to come along and ask because as soon as the question left my mouth, a grin took over that smarmy face of his.
“Well, Mr. Blackwell. Glad you decided to contribute to our community for once,” he said, turning his attention to me.
And in that moment, I knew I was fucked.
We only knew each other in passing as I was growing up—my best friend Aiden dated his daughter and he was not pleased—but my proximity to their tortured relationship landed me solidly on Mayor Reed’s shit list.
I spent my childhood in this town. My teen years running away from this town. The period of time after my mom left holding onto all the wrong pieces of this town. And the years after my dad’s death cautiously dipping my toes back in.
And now, apparently, an entire foot.
Mayor Reed wants a new community. Something charming but affordable that fits with the town’s landscape.
So, I bought a plot of land.
A plot of land that just happens to butt right up against Evelyn Harper’s sunflower farm.
And if this morning is any indication of how the rest of this project is going to go, I’m probably, most likely, extra fucked.
Because if I want the road outside my grandmother’s apartment opened again, I have to officially start work on this project.
And if I want to start on this project, I need Evelyn Harper to agree to an easement.
“I’m going to charm her or die trying,” I tell Steve, and he only shakes his head, chuckling as he takes a few careful steps forward for his next measurement.
“Well, she’s certainly charmed me,” he says.
I give him a look, crossing my arms over my chest. “She’s charmed you?”
He shrugs. “What? You have eyes, don’t you? She’s cute. Little bit of attitude like that keeps things interesting. You could do well with somebody like her.”
“Steve,” I say, gesturing to the bungalow she disappeared into. “I have enough people in my life who would like to see me crash and burn. I don’t need another one.”
He stands up straight, pocketing his notebook and stepping out of the stream. “She’s just protecting what she loves,” he says, brushing my statement off. “That’s a great person to have in your life, you know.”
“I’m trying to have her in my life as briefly as possible.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Well, ‘brief’ is probably going to be at least two years.”
My nostrils flare. “It’s going to be a long two years.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Well, pucker up, Princess. Looks like you’re going to be kissing a hell of a lot of sunflower ass.”
When we finish up at the stream, I take one last look at the bungalow Evelyn disappeared into. It’s a beachy pink color with white trim, and the whole thing is covered in painted sunflowers.
As if there aren’t enough around here to begin with.
Steve waves over his shoulder as he heads back down the road to the small, unkempt dirt parking lot where his muddy work truck is parked next to my… also now very muddy BMW.
I know I should march up to her door, knock, and make another attempt to forge a healthy working relationship with her.
But my soggy foot is begging me to get in my car and leave.
And I’m not sure a healthy working relationship is even possible with her.
She’s unwilling to listen, demanding—at least from what I saw at the town meeting—and pushy.
And… she just caught me openly staring at her house.
Fuck me.
The curtain on the second floor flies shut almost as quickly as it opened.
My only consolation is that, just like I was staring up at her, she was peeking out of that window looking for me.
But now I have to convince her that I’m not an asshole or a stalker, and she’s at least already convinced of the former.
I let out a long breath as I make my way to her front door, mentally preparing myself for some kind of emotional negotiation.
I can argue with the best of them when it comes to money or lawyers or other superficial things, but there’s a part of me that always feels like my dad when emotions come into play.
Because as much as I don’t want to be like him, I know that I have the power to.
He built this business that I now run from the ground up, and when he died, I inherited it.
He was a gifted businessman. A hard negotiator with a take-no-prisoners mentality.
And it ruined the best thing he ever had.
My mom, who left when I wasn’t even a teenager yet.
We have an okay relationship now, but I can’t help wondering how things might have been different if my dad had been a nicer person.
If they didn’t spend dinnertimes screaming at each other.
If he didn’t have mistresses on the side that he taunted her with whenever they got into the worst of arguments.
It’s one of the reasons my specialty is in affordable housing. This business ruined his marriage and my childhood, and it ultimately killed him after he suffered two strokes within a week.
He’d be livid if he knew his high-end luxury apartment company now makes subsidized housing, but it was the only way I could think of to help people with the vestiges of a company that, in the past, only produced hurt.
So sure, I’m his son by blood. His heir and likely his greatest disappointment.
But the shady business practices and morally corrupt tactics end with me, if I have any choice in the matter.
So with a huff and a prayer for my life, I head for the bungalow and rap gently on the door.
A few moments later, she opens it, wearing a Sunflower Hill Farm and Preserve T-shirt, her hair pulled into a braid over one shoulder. Her leggings highlight long, sculpted legs that were previously hidden by her overalls.
“What do you want?” she asks.
And there’s that attitude again…
“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” I say, gesturing to my soggy shoe in an attempt to add some levity to the situation.
She gives me a flat look, and I quickly wipe the grin away from my face.
“Ms. Harper—”
She holds her hands up. “For the love of god, why do you keep calling me that?”
“Evelyn?”
“Eve.”
“Eve,” I repeat, pausing to make sure she’s not going to interrupt me again. “I’m really not trying to be an asshole here. I want to be a friendly neighbor, you know? But I can’t know what’s going to upset you or affect the farm if we don’t have some sort of open communication.”
She shakes her head. “I understand that you think you’re not the asshole here. But you are here, by definition, to fuck with the sunflower farm.”
“How so?”
“By developing right next door. Construction noise, disruptions to the land, any and all sorts of chemicals, workers who don’t recognize the importance of this place.
And that’s before your ugly-ass apartments are even built, which are going to totally ruin the charm!
It is my job as caretaker to take care of the farm, and you’re in my way. ”
This chick needs to stop calling my fucking buildings ugly.
“Okay. What if I can promise you that we will guard against those things?”
She rolls her eyes. “Nice language. Sounds like a whole lot of measurement instead of planning.”
She goes to close the door in my face, and without thinking, I stick my soggy foot in it.
She glances down at it, and when her eyes return to my face, I’m pretty sure they leave scorch marks along my skin. “You looking to lose that foot today? I’ve got plenty of land and a number of tractors that can dig you a comfy grave in a hot ten minutes.”
I ignore the threat. “All I’m looking for is a cooperative relationship with you.”
She holds her foot on the opposite side of the door as mine, keeping it in place as she crosses her arms and pops her hip out. “That’s really interesting because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you want something from me.”
Whoops.
Yes, I need her to eventually agree to an easement, but I know she’s not going to do that unless she can be convinced that the development next door is a good thing for the farm. I know better than to push too hard too soon, but apparently I’ve shown my cards.
“I don’t want anything from you other than to not make an enemy.”
Her eyes narrow as she studies my face.
“Yeah, that’s a load of bullshit, and I’m not buying it.” She kicks my foot, and rather than getting into a physical altercation with her, I let her believe she gave it enough force to actually move it. “Come back when you’re not lying through those pretty teeth.”
And she slams the door in my face.