7. Owen
I spent the rest of that week holed up in my office, practically glued to my phone and email as my contractor, Delia, and I corresponded back and forth about the new plans. I’d sent him Delia’s drawings, and he’d managed to take her bare bones renderings and turn them into stunning digital 3D models. Thankfully, I’d worked with Jay frequently enough that turnaround was quick. The switch from Clarke and his firm to Jay’s only set us back a week, but by the time the day finally came to start construction, my skin tingled almost uncomfortably with anticipation.
Monday morning, I pulled up to the job site early, inhaling a deep lungful of fresh air as I got out of my truck. I lived for this feeling, the high of the first day on a new project. It was almost like the start of a fresh football season, when the possibilities were endless. While I knew there were innumerable things that could—and would—go wrong between now and opening, it did nothing to quell the excitement bubbling up in my chest .
Truthfully, I wasn’t even required to be here. Jay and his team had completed hundreds of projects like this over the years; they certainly didn’t need a washed up football player overseeing things, pretending like I knew what I was doing when I didn’t.
But…this was a big moment, and Delia and I agreed we wanted to be here. I wanted her here, to be present the moment our great adventure began.
At last, we were breaking ground.
The land, which was only a few miles away from the lot I originally wanted to purchase, was flat and free from trees, brush, and other natural debris, thanks to the maintenance crew I’d hired the second the ink on the deed was dry. While Delia and I had been dealing with the Clarke of it all, that crew had been hard at work out here. Jay’s team could’ve done it, certainly, but as they were wrapping up another job, that would’ve only set us back further. I didn’t have the patience for another delay.
I flipped my hat forward as I made my way toward the collection of men and women gathered near the heavy machinery, shielding my eyes from the early morning sunlight. The days were getting shorter, reminding me of the obscene amount of money I was paying to complete everything before Thanksgiving so we could open in early December.
As I got closer, I was pleasantly surprised to find Delia had beat me here, and was striking up conversation with one of the construction guys. I didn’t miss the appreciative glances the others standing around shot her way. All of them carried on their own conversations while sneaking covert looks at her long legs in her slim grey pants. I had half a mind to call them out, to come to her rescue. But something told me Delia was fully aware of the way their gazes rolled over her, and I knew she could handle them herself.
So instead of doing something stupid in her honor, I stalked toward her. When she saw me coming, she offered me a wide grin. At her reaction, the guy she was speaking with turned, and I realized he was my contractor.
Brows drawn together, I picked up the pace. Jay turned fully to me and extended a hand when I reached them.
“Good to see you again, Owen,” he said. “Been a while.”
“Yeah, not since we opened Overtime last spring,” I said, surprised by the span of time. “Did you guys have a good summer?”
He nodded. “We did. Been busy, so I can’t complain. Good to be back on one of your projects too. This should carry us right up until winter, when I’ll give the guys a few months off. I won’t be surprised if most of them spend a lot of that time right here,” he said, turning to survey the property. When he faced me again, he had a wide grin on his face. Something about it was so familiar, something outside of the fact that he’d been my go-to contractor since I opened Lawless five years ago.
“I’m really excited to get started,” I said, shaking off that sense of deja vu and clapping my hands together. “And this, of course, is my business partner, Delia Delatou. Delia, meet Jay—”
“Daniels,” she finished for me. “I’m aware.”
That feeling I was missing something important snuck back up, and my eyes darted between the two of them. “You’ve met before?”
Jay and Delia shared a look before breaking into laughter. “You could say that,” Jay said.
My ire rose the longer they kept me out of the loop, and I blurted, “Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Delia composed herself and said, “ Daniels , QB. As in Logan Daniels , my brother-in-law? Jay is his dad.”
My eyes widened, and I mentally punched myself in the face. I’d only met Logan for the first time a few months ago, but how in the hell had I never made that connection? Jay’s company was literally called Daniels Contracting and Real Estate, owned and operated by him and his wife, Michelle.
“And look,” Jay started. “I didn’t want to say anything when you first hired us all those years ago because I wanted our talent and professionalism to speak for itself, but…you were referred to us by Brent Jean, weren’t you?”
“Yes…”
“He’s married to my older daughter.”
“Jesus,” I said. “That explains…so much.”
And it did. I only really knew Brent in passing, in the way that athletes from different sports from the same city knew each other. My teammates and I would go to Warriors’ games when they played at home on days we had off from practice, and they’d come to our games on Sundays if they didn’t also have one. But when I’d made the decision to retire, a lot of guys from all over reached out, and Brent had been one of them. He’d also been one of the few who asked me, “what’s next?”
I’d left college early, choosing to declare for the draft after my junior season—after my dad died—simply for the rookie signing bonus that kept the family ranch afloat while the entire Lawless family figured out how to move on and operate without our patriarch.
But despite foregoing my senior season and putting Oregon—and Idaho—in the rearview in favor of Detroit, it was important to me to finish my degree. Like most athletes, I’d majored in business, and completed my program remotely during my rookie season.
That had been…a lot, and not something I’d advise personally. But after losing my dad, then moving clear across the country from everyone and everything I’d ever known, I’d needed the distractions both school and football had offered.
All that to say I did in fact graduate, and my diploma hung proudly in the office at my house.
So when Brent had asked what my plans were with football over, I already had the answer—an answer I’d been armed with for years, for a distant day when my career ended. Unfortunately, that day came a lot sooner than I’d anticipated. Still, I’d been ready. I’d always planned on opening my own business, and when I found the listing for the building that now housed the night club, I felt a tug, an inexplicable pull toward it. Some higher power nudging me onto my next path.
I told Brent this, even going so far as to share the listing with him, one (future) business owner to another. He’d started a successful activewear company with his younger sister, so I trusted his opinion and guidance. What began as a text conversation turned to extended phone conversations wherein Brent bounced ideas around with me.
Then he gave me Jay’s contact information, not sharing who the man was to him, only that he was the best and I could trust him to take care of me.
That’s how I ended up here, looking like an idiot in front of said man and my business partner. God, I felt so stupid for not having made the connection before. Now that I knew, though, there was no denying Logan was related to Jay. The son was the spitting image of the father, from their hair color and blue eyes to the way they were built and how they smiled.
“Well,” Jay said, “now that we got that out of the way, what do you guys say we get this show going?”
“Yes!” Delia cheered. “Which reminds me, I have a question for you.”
Jay nodded and inclined his head toward an area he and his crew must’ve staked off in the last few days, which we moved toward. The scope of building, even the simple outline of stakes and strings, was impressive. It was hard—damn near impossible, actually—to gauge these things when they were scaled down on a computer screen. But seeing it like this? It was fully sinking in that this little dream of mine was finally becoming a reality.
“What’s your question?” I asked Delia.
“I was hoping Jay would let you and I do a ceremonial first dig of sorts.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Because,” she said, shooting me a sidelong glare that was no doubt prompted by my irritated tone, “shooting some video and photos of this moment would be a great way to kick off our social channels.”
Somehow, I managed to keep forgetting this was a big part of why Delia was here, was what she was good at. I supposed I was of an age where I had difficulty imagining how a few photos and some videos would draw people to our business, but I’d also participated in enough various ad campaigns over the years to recognize the benefit .
“Okay,” I agreed at last. Then I turned to Jay. “Is that okay with you?”
“Perfectly fine,” he said.
“Actually,” Delia broke in. “I was hoping Jay would join us. We can do a couple shots with just us, but I want one of us shaking his hands or something. We can hang it up in the distillery when it’s finished.”
“Do you want me to get one of my guys to do this for us?”
“Sure,” Delia said. “That’d be a lot easier than getting my tripod set up.”
Jay turned and hollered a name at the group gathered nearby. One of the men broke free, ambling toward us. He spared no glances for me or his boss, his gaze focused solely on Delia. Appraising. Clearly wondering how he could find his way into her pants.
I didn’t like it at all. After the shit with Clarke, I was feeling protective of the girl, and I didn’t appreciate the way men tended to leer in her presence. She wasn’t decorative, something sent here to dress up the job site. She was here because she owned this land, and because she was half responsible for paying them.
Before she could speak, her phone already brandished in her hand, I took it from her and passed it over to the construction worker. “We need you to take a video and some pictures of us breaking ground,” I told him gruffly.
Jay disappeared briefly and reappeared with two spades, passing one to Delia and one to me.
“Where do we want to start?” I asked him, and he pointed to a spot on the edge of the staked outline of our building.
“Here is good. ”
As Delia directed the worker on what exactly she wanted him to do, I took a deep breath, anticipation dancing along my limbs. It was finally happening, the day I’d dreamed about for years. Lawless, Birdie’s, and Overtime were successful, and businesses I was proud to have my name on. But I’d never built something from the ground up, and I couldn’t wait to watch the distillery take shape over the next few months.
Once Delia finished her instructions, we took our places in the spot Jay had indicated. Delia counted us down, and we dug in. The gusto with which she approached the task surprised me. I’d half expected her to tease out a little clump from the surface, but she really slammed the shovel into the ground, going so far as to slam her foot down on the edge of the blade to drive it deeper into the dirt. The mound of earth she moved was bigger than mine, and when we paused with them on our shovels to pose for pictures, I couldn’t help but grin at her.
“What?” she asked when she met my eyes. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Your face is fine, Whiskey,” I said softly around my smile. “You just continue to surprise me.”
She scoffed. “‘Your face is fine.’ What a compliment.”
I opened my mouth, ready to tell her what I really thought of those beautifully arranged features, but snapped it shut. Now was not the time or place.
Hell, never was not the time or place.
“Is that it then?” I asked instead, gesturing between us.
She called to the construction worker, “Did you get what I asked?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said .
“Then yes, that’s it.”
After setting our shovels down, we paused for a few photos with Jay, and then left him to his work. He began barking orders, and the team moved in a perfectly synchronized dance, breaking apart to attend to their various tasks. Soon, the job site was a flurry of activity, the rumble of Diesel engines and shouted directions filling the fall air.
“Well, that was fun,” I said to Delia, wiping my palms on my jeans. “I’m going to head back into the city. Worry about my other businesses for a while.”
“Actually,” Delia said, halting me with a hand on my arm. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about first.”
“Okay…”
Delia laughed at my skeptical tone. “It’s nothing bad,” she said. “I promise. Just something I want to run by you about all this.” She gestured behind us at the backhoe now excavating a bucketful of dirt from the ground.
“Want to go grab a bite to eat and discuss it?” I blurted. My stomach let out a loud grumble, and I grimaced. “Clearly, I’m starving.”
“Growing boy and all,” Delia said knowingly, reaching out to pat my stomach with a familiarity that somehow didn’t bother me as much as it should have. “We can go to the diner. They have the best breakfast spread.”
“Perfect,” I agreed. “I’ll follow you down.”
The drive from the job site near the tip of the peninsula—not far from Delia’s parents’ house, she informed me—to Apple Blossom Bay took about ten minutes, mostly owing to the fact that the road was winding, the posted speed limit below fifty miles an hour. It gave me time—too much, in fact—to consider what Delia might want to talk about, to worry if it would instigate another argument between us. But I had told her we make decisions together or not at all, and I meant it.
As I followed Delia onto Main Street and parked beside her. In front of us stood an old-timey box car with a sign out front indicating it was Sydney’s Diner. I took a moment to study my surroundings. I hadn’t spent much time in the area, mostly only passing through on my way up to the winery or that one day last week when I’d gone to Delia’s house. Unsurprisingly, it was the epitome of a picturesque coastal lake town. Striped awnings covered the entrances to businesses up and down both sides of the street, the brick facades painted bright, inviting colors. In the distance, down a gently sloping hill, lay the marina and the bay beyond, the water sparkling in the early morning sunlight.
Things here were quiet—slower. The slice of life I’d been chasing when I left Detroit with my tail between my legs after announcing my retirement. Living in Traverse City made sense because of its proximity to the businesses, and the Torch Lake house was my escape when I needed it but…I could see the allure of settling in a place like this.
When we walked inside the diner, greetings rang out in Delia’s direction, and she returned each welcome in kind, knowing the name of every person seated at every table. I had to remind myself that the Delatous were basically the first family of this place. I wasn’t overly familiar with their history, but I knew that Delia’s great-grandfather settled here in the early 1900s.
This woman—she was beloved by everyone here. It reminded me of home, of Dusk Valley and the community exactly like this one that I’d left behind all those years ago.
“Well well well,” a woman said as she pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen, eyes landing on Delia. “Two days in a row? To what do I owe the honor?”
“It’s not you,” Delia said flippantly, sliding onto one of the chrome and leather stools bolted to the floor at the long Formica counter. “It’s the pancakes.”
“Pumpkin spice makes gluttons of us all,” the woman agreed, then turned her attention to me. “I know you.”
She didn’t, not in any way that counted, but I nodded. “Owen Lawless,” I said, extending a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Sidney,” she said. “Before you ask, not that Sydney. That Sydney was my grandmother. My name is spelled S-i-d-n-e-y.”
“Noted,” I said with a smile, dropping onto the seat next to Delia. “Now what’s this I hear about pumpkin spice pancakes?”
Delia turned to me, animatedly explaining the seasonal offerings, and how she recommended pretty much everything on the menu. Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have come within ten feet of anything so fatty or sugary, but after years and years of a highly regimented diet, I now ate what I wanted, when I wanted. It took some getting used to, the knowledge that I didn’t have to watch my weight anymore. I still worked out regularly and ate fairly healthy, but I didn’t beat myself up when cravings got the better of me.
And the scents of cinnamon and sugar and butter twining in the air were making my mouth water.
After we placed our orders, Delia folded her hands together atop the counter, her entire countenance shifting from playful to serious in a second .
“Am I…in trouble?”
Her brow furrowed. “No? Why would you be?”
“You just look…” I waved at her face and posture in explanation.
“I’m in business mode now.”
I snorted. “Okay then,” I said, crooking my fingers for her to continue.
“Before I go ahead and make our social profiles and start posting stuff, I wanted to talk to you about the distillery name.”
“What’s wrong with the name?” I asked. “It’s literally mine.”
“And it’s a great name, QB. It’s just…”
I sighed heavily, hating that this normally blunt woman was beating around the bush now. “Spit it out, Whiskey. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.”
“Well, you already have a club named ‘Lawless,’” she said slowly. “And I don’t want people getting confused. I love the whole vibe you’ve got going with the names of the spirits, and I don’t want to change any of that. But I had an idea…”
“Lay it on me, then.”
“Unlawful Spirits,” she said quickly. “It’s still keeping with the whole theme, but it’s different so people won’t get confused by Lawless the night club and Lawless the distillery. They’re two separate entities right? For branding and marketing purposes, we want to keep them as such.”
Unlawful.
I turned the word over and over in my mind, mouthing it silently, testing it from every angle. Trying to come up with some way to refuse Delia, to tell her it just didn’t work.
But—why? Honestly, it was perfect, and I was pissed I hadn’t thought of it myself.
“That’s a kick ass name,” I said at least.
Delia’s nose crinkled despite the wide grin on her mouth. “Don’t say ‘kick ass.’”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes you sound like an old man.”
“I am an old man,” I joked. Though, my career as an athlete often had my joints feeling far older than their thirty-seven years, so maybe it wasn’t so funny after all.
Delia turned away from me, her lips forming words, low enough that I knew she hadn’t intended for me to hear.
“Not from where I’m sitting.”
I opened my mouth to press her, to beg her to repeat herself. But our food arriving saved me from poking that hornet’s nest.