Chapter Three
If he hadn’t heard Ivy Weaver was going to be at the airport, Grant would have slowed down at the curb and let his siblings dive into the truck as he rolled past.
Okay, that wasn’t true. He would have stopped for Piper. He missed the little shit.
Austin could hitchhike.
Grant’s eyes flicked from the road, to the time, to his odometer. He was late.
It wasn’t his fault. He’d plotted. He’d schemed. And at the last minute, all his carefully laid plans had gone up in smoke.
He’d gotten up that morning, showered, bothered to shave, squirted on some of the cologne Lorelai had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago that he only wore on (extremely rare) dates, and then his phone rang.
“Hey, Dad,” he said, leaning close to determine if a hair on his cheek was still attached or a loose stray from shaving.
“The flooring for the Sandersons came in. I need you to go get it from the warehouse so we’ve got a prayer of finishing this damn kitchen by Christmas.”
Grant swallowed a sigh and looked at the sink. “I’m great, thanks for asking. I told Mom I’d pick up Austin and Piper at the airport today, remember?”
“That’s not for hours. You’ve got time.”
“Can someone else get the Sanderson flooring?” The question was met with heavy silence, so he followed up with, “Does it have to be today?”
“Why are you asking so many questions? Get the damn floors. Deliver the damn floors.”
And he hung up. Grant recognized the stress in his dad’s voice and tried not to take his bark personally.
Underwood & Son was overextended. Again.
People wanted remodeling projects, large and small, done before Christmas so they could show off to their family and friends.
And they all thought they could be squeezed in during the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Tim Underwood thought they could be squeezed in, too.
God forbid they tell anyone no.
Grant drove to the office, hooked up a trailer, drove to the warehouse, loaded the flooring, drove to the Sandersons’, and unloaded the flooring, making his shower essentially moot.
He could go back to his apartment and take the world’s quickest shower. He’d be cutting it close, but he could make it work.
His phone rang.
“What’s wrong, Tony?” Grant groaned. Tony’s calls invariably heralded some extravagant expense, because his foreman and best friend did his best to keep everything off Grant’s plate.
“So, theoretically, if everything in the shower at the Muellers’ was installed upside down and backward, and the piping wasn’t secured properly so the shower head is loose…”
His stomach dropped. “What do you mean upside down and backward?”
Tony sighed. “We have to start over. We need to pull this out and redo it.”
The Muellers’ bathroom was supposed to be a three-day project, max. It had been a month. The only reason Tony had been at the house today was because a new door had come in and needed to be installed quickly.
Grant bit down on a frustrated roar. “This is why I fucking hate subcontracting.”
“Yeah, buddy, I know. But it is what it is at this point. Do you want to break it to them or should I?”
“I’ll come over and do it.” So much for his shower.
Bless the Muellers for being the kindest, most understanding people, but fucking hell could they talk. Grant watched the minutes disappear on their kitchen clock as he politely drank the coffee they’d poured him. Tony, a professional yapper if ever there was one, was not helping.
For once, he was relieved when his phone rang.
“Hi, Mom,” he said, hunching his shoulders against the cold as he trudged out to his truck.
“Did you leave to get Austin and Piper yet?”
“No, because everyone thinks this number is the national crisis hotline. I’ve put out more fires than the fire department today.”
“Don’t be dramatic. At least you didn’t have to call the parents of two students caught fondling each other under the bleachers during the holiday spirit assembly.”
Grant shuddered. “Ew. Don’t they know they’re babies?”
Grace laughed. “Have you forgotten what a hormonal mess you were at sixteen?”
“Yes. I’ve blocked out the entire experience.
” The only thing worse than being a teenager was being a teenager at the school where your mother was the principal.
Grant couldn’t fart without Grace Underwood finding out about it.
He had no idea how Austin—and especially Piper—had gotten away with so much.
He started his truck. “Did you just call to check in on me or did you need something, too?”
“I was going to butter you up with pot roast first, but Mrs. Karnacki needs help with her Hanukkah lights. I got your dad to hang them back in October but when she went to plug them in last night, they were all dead. And you know how much Mrs. Karnacki loves Hanukkah.”
Grant did know how much Mrs. Karnacki loved Hanukkah.
He couldn’t remember a time when their neighbor hadn’t been old, though he questioned how much of that had been a child’s skewed perspective.
Mrs. Karnacki had babysat the Underwood kids after school, and every year had bought them each an advent calendar so they’d have something to look forward to each day in December.
She made them latkes and jelly doughnuts on Hanukkah, and they were definitely the only kids in their catechism classes who knew how to play dreidel.
They’d sneak gelt into mass and try to unwrap the gold foil without making a sound.
The idea of such a sweet woman being sad yanked hard on his heartstrings.
“Yeah, I can help Dad fix her lights.”
“Actually, I thought you could get Austin to help you.”
“Remember the time Austin failed woodshop? I do.” Grant sighed, searching for a quick solution. “I’ll ask Tony. He owes me a couple dozen favors.”
“What’s wrong with having Austin help?”
“He famously stapled his sleeve to a board,” he reminded her. “Mom, it’s hanging string lights in the cold, not letting him tag along while we ride bikes. I don’t think Austin is going to complain about sitting inside where it’s warm, eating cookies.”
It was Grace’s turn to sigh. “He’s never going to learn if you and your dad won’t let him try.”
“He can try when it’s above forty degrees. I want to be in and out before I freeze my nut—fingers off.”
“Nice catch, slick.”
Grant rolled his eyes, ignoring the blush that burned his ears. “Why can’t Austin do the lights with Dad if he needs to learn?”
“Because your dad yells.”
Grant was aware of that fact, and would have pointed it out if his mom’s desk phone hadn’t started ringing.
“Duty calls. Literally. I love you,” she said and hung up before he could respond.
Grant rested his forehead on the cold steering wheel.
Tap, tap, tap.
He jumped, smacking the horn as he flailed, and heard Tony’s laughter through the window.
“I thought you were leaving,” Tony shouted.
“I am!”
When Grant finally swung into the airport parking garage, his siblings had already landed and were headed to baggage claim.
All hope of catching Ivy at the airport had evaporated, but he could orchestrate a casual drop-by at her parents’ house.
Volunteer to deliver some fudge or shovel the driveway the next time it snowed.
Passengers were already crowded around the baggage carousel when he walked up. He glanced at the screen, then looked again, longer and harder. Los Angeles and Boston.
What the fuck were the odds?
Maybe he’d see Ivy after all.
Grant found his siblings in no time because of Piper’s distinctive cackle, which carried in a crowd like a tornado siren.
“Why are you wearing a hat and sunglasses inside?” he asked Austin.
Piper grinned. “It’s so he doesn’t get mobbed by adoring fans. Guess how many people have recognized him?” She didn’t wait for Grant to guess. “Zero.”
Grant couldn’t help but smile back at her. “I mean, come on, Pipes, the hat and sunglasses make him invisible. How can they ask for his autograph if they can’t see him?”
“Maybe we should follow him around with his headshots?” Piper suggested.
“What about a cardboard cutout of Deputy Sheriff Dickerson?”
“With or without a shirt?”
“I didn’t know he owned a shirt.”
“Where would we find such a cutout?” Piper asked. “Would Tony know where to get one? I feel like Tony would know where to get a shirtless Deputy Sheriff Dickerson.”
Grant gave an exaggerated shudder. “I didn’t need that image in my head.”
Piper was pure innocence. “What image?”
“You know what image.” Grant didn’t want to have to say anything along the lines of, My best friend masturbating to my brother.
“Are you done? Or are you going to act like the old guys from The Muppets the entire way home?” Austin said through gritted teeth, his mouth hardly moving.
“You know, if the abs don’t work out, you could go into ventriloquism,” Grant told him, prodding his little brother’s jaw with his pointer finger.
Austin growled but kept his face neutral. Years of Underwood family road trips had taught them all how to keep a straight face while being relentlessly tortured. Showing weakness only encouraged the dogpile.
“Would you be his dummy?” Piper took a large sidestep to avoid Grant’s brotherly shove.
He was going to get her back for that.
The small hairs on Grant’s neck prickled.
Was someone watching them? He scanned the crowd—if the polite gathering of mild-mannered Cheeseheads could even be called that.
Everyone around them seemed too absorbed in themselves to pay any attention to them, but Austin was a C-list celebrity, which made him at least a B-plus in Wisconsin.
Maybe someone did care that they were standing in close proximity to his brother.
Would Ivy still care about Austin?
The baggage carousel warning bell rang. Grant watched six bags float by before he remembered that he had no idea what his siblings’ luggage looked like.
The back of his neck tingled again. He scanned the area as much as he could without turning his head, hoping that if he wasn’t obvious, he’d catch whoever was looking at them, but he didn’t see anyone.