Chapter 5
DELANEY
After Brewer had stormed off all shower-damp and angry, I’d barely had a chance to recover my equilibrium before my sister showed up.
“I think they’re very… industrial. Very you.” Tam’s voice was carefully neutral as she examined my new cabinets while bouncing baby Tierney against her chest in a baby sling. The darkness outside the kitchen window made it feel much later than it was. Incredibly late. Probably bedtime. “But the important thing is how you feel. Obviously.”
I swiped dust off one of the boxes stacked on the floor tiredly, more for something to do with my hands than because it would make a difference.
My kitchen was a disaster… and not simply because every surface was covered in construction dust, the refrigerator and pantry had been moved to the laundry room two days ago, my trash was mostly takeout boxes, and the space that should have been my sanctuary—where I’d imagined myself preparing elaborate meals while NPR played in the background—was now a chaotic war zone.
“Me? Oh, I love them!” I said, forcing enthusiasm into my voice. “Love them. They’re exactly what I wanted, so how could I not, right?”
As if sensing my lie, one shiny red cabinet door swung open with an ominous creak.
I closed it and gave it a proud little pat.
The second I removed my hand, it swung open again.
I groaned and rubbed a dusty hand over my forehead. “There might still be a few bugs to work out?—”
“Oh my God, you hate them, too, don’t you?” Tam said in a relieved rush. “Thank fuck. I thought I was going to have to get Lawson and Wells on FaceTime so we could stage a sibling intervention. Delaney, what were you thinking?”
From her chest, little Tierney was giving me the same expression her mother was—tiny eyebrows drawn together, rosebud mouth pursed in disapproval. It seemed the Monroe women were united against my decorating choices.
“I—” I began to argue, but Tam gave me a look that was pure no-nonsense sister—the same look she’d given me when I’d tried to convince her I hadn’t taken her sparkly nail polish while wearing her sparkly nail polish—and I folded. “Fine. I admit it. They’re awful. The red metal manifestation of my poor judgment. And they won’t even sit right on the walls.” I folded my arms over my chest. “But should you really be saying the f-word around my niece? Studies have shown?—”
“Zzzt. Don’t change the subject, Uncle Laney.” Tam rubbed her three-month-old daughter’s back in a soothing motion. “Lucas and I know Tierney’s going to hear curse words anyway, so we’re focusing on teaching her when, where, and how to use them appropriately instead of pretending they don’t exist.” She eyed the cabinets again. “And I can’t think of a more appropriate circumstance than this one, frankly.”
I huffed. “They looked so good in the pictures online. Kind of… industrial loft meets 1950s retro. They were supposed to make me smile every time I looked at them?—”
“Said every homeowner who ended up on Zillow Gone Wild.” Tam crossed to the pizza box I’d propped atop a bunch of paint cans on the dining room table and helped herself to a slice. “I know I live in a Colonial in the suburbs, but I want my whole house to look like a dingy ’70s cabaret! I’ll smile every time I see the stripper pole in the corner and the leopard-shag carpet running up the wall!”
Against my will, I snorted. “Seriously, though, shouldn’t my house reflect… well, me?”
“Sure. Right now, it’s giving… I’m totally conflicted and not sure what I want to be .” Tam eyed me as she chewed her pizza, then said in a gentler tone, “Was that your goal?”
The weight of always feeling slightly out of step with everyone else made my shoulders tight.
Rolling my eyes, I retrieved an open bottle of wine and a glass from the laundry room that also served as my temporary wine cellar. “You want?” I asked Tam, lifting the bottle. “I can open a fresh bottle.”
She shook her head, so I poured the remaining half bottle into my own glass.
“Delaney.” Tam used her sister voice again. “Why not find something that reflects your style but also works with the house?”
I shook my head in disgust. “You sound like Brewer. He said the same thing after the vanity incident.”
“So why didn’t you listen, especially after the vanity incident? I know you’re stubborn. It’s part of your charm. But I’ve never known you to be stubborn to the point of…” She wrinkled her nose at the cabinets. “Madness.”
“Because he’s bossy. He never explains his reasoning; he just acts like he knows best all the time, and I’m supposed to automatically trust him. And he gets this expression like…” I gave Tam a disparaging eyebrow lift. “His jaw gets all tight, and his eyes go all crinkly at the corners, and… he doesn’t listen.”
That look made me want to strangle him… and also kiss him until both of us forgot what we’d been talking about.
“So you decided you wouldn’t listen to him?” Tam gave me a scathing look and tucked a caramel-colored curl behind her ear. “Sure. Great plan. That’ll show him.”
Unlike me, Tam had always moved through the world with easy confidence—whether on the hockey rink or in motherhood. Her entire being radiated a sense of belonging that I’d never quite managed to capture for myself.
I gulped at my wine. “You wouldn’t understand, Tamsen. You get along with… people like that.”
“People who know how to do their jobs?” she retorted. “And have tons of satisfied clients?”
“No! Big, beautiful, muscly…” Feeling my face heat, I stared into the depths of my wine. “Never mind.”
The past week of cohabitation had been a special kind of torture. Brewer had been scrupulously polite, moving through the house like some kind of renovation ghost, materializing when I least expected him with tools in hand or, like this evening, coming out of the bathroom.
The image of him like that—water droplets sliding down his chest, towel knotted precariously low on his hips, body like a marble statue but so much warmer—flashed in my mind. His broad shoulders had tapered to a narrow waist, skin golden in the hallway light, dark hair curling damply at his nape. The brief glimpse had been enough to burn itself into my memory, and thinking of it now made my mouth go dry.
I took another gulp of wine.
Was it any wonder I’d taken to hiding in my office, emerging only when necessary… especially after what I’d heard through the wall that morning?
“Ahhh, I see.” Tam moved her fussing daughter out of the sling and onto her shoulder. “This isn’t about who’s right. It’s about you not feeling incompetent in front of someone you’re attracted to.”
“I’m not… That isn’t…” I blew out a breath and motioned toward the cabinets. “I’m tired of looking at these things. Let’s move to the living room, shall we? I’ll even light a fire.” I shot her a look before she could tease me again. “In the fireplace.”
“That’ll be a first,” she murmured, following me out of the disaster kitchen.
I knelt in front of the fireplace and attempted to start a fire, following all the standard best-practice advice. I wadded newspaper into balls, arranged them under kindling with competent precision, and placed a few logs in a crisscross pattern on top.
But after three attempts to light it, I’d barely managed to make the paper catch before fizzling out, leaving the logs untouched.
“Here. Take your niece, and let me do it.” Tam transferred Tierney to my arms. “Before people start talking about how you burned something else down.”
I held the baby in the crook of my arm while Tam knelt and did something with the newspaper that made the logs catch in minutes.
“You make that look so simple,” I said, mildly irritated.
“It is.” She stood and dusted her hands. “When you have practice. Remember, the summer after Mom died, Dad tried teaching us survival skills? You sat on a log reading the fire-building manual out loud while Law and Wells and I had a competition to see who could build the biggest blaze?—”
“And nearly set the woods on fire? Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Ironic that everyone acts like I’m the fire hazard now.”
“I was joking. Nobody around here actually thinks that,” she scoffed, curling up on one end of the couch. “You said the camper fire was an accident, and from what I’ve heard, Brewer says the same.”
“It was. A series of several accidents, actually—” I broke off when Tierney started to fuss.
“Hold her upright a little more,” Tam advised, demonstrating the motion with her arms. “She’s not a newborn potato anymore, and she needs more stimulation. She wants to see new stuff.”
I shifted the baby, and she immediately quieted.
“You know,” Tam went on, “you never actually explained what happened out at Brewer’s camper. Or why you were even there.”
I darted a look at her before focusing on the baby again. “Brewer’s dog startled me,” I admitted, ignoring the latter part of her question. “I tripped into the pole supporting his awning, which landed in his grill, and… well, things proceeded from there.”
“Brewer’s dog.” Tam bit her lip, immediately understanding in a way hardly anyone else on Earth would.
“I wasn’t afraid,” I said quickly. I didn’t look at Tam, in case she was giving me the soft, pitying frown that was the inverse of her sister look. “I was being… justifiably cautious. Teeny’s living here now, and I’m fine with it. Mostly. Brewer’s been very good about keeping us separated.”
“Does he know—?” She shook her head. “What am I saying? You can’t talk to the man about cabinets. Of course you didn’t tell him what happened with Gretzky.”
“What, am I supposed to tell every new person I meet, ‘Oh, hey, by the way, I got bitten by my family dog almost twenty years ago, and it turned into a whole thing that traumatized my entire family, so could you please disclose if you have any dogs or dog-related paraphernalia that might trigger me’?” I huffed. “No, thank you.”
“Laney,” Tam said in that gentle voice again.
“Anyway—”
“You know no one blamed you for what happened?—”
“Anyway,” I repeated, louder this time, before bouncing my niece a little bit. “Tierney says she’s no longer interested in discussing this.”
For a second, it seemed like Tam would argue, but finally, she sighed, allowing the subject change. “She seems fascinated by something on your bookcase,” she offered.
“She does.” I followed Tierney’s gaze to one of the bookcases that flanked the fireplace. “Studies show babies like bright colors, right?” I picked up a small, intricately carved and painted wooden doll and held it closer so the baby could get a good look. “Is this what you see? Smart girl. This doll is from the Yanomami tribe in Brazil. I interviewed one of the tribal leaders a few years ago about deforestation policies and the impact on indigenous traditions. Can you say Ya-no-ma-mi?”
Tam laughed. “She can’t even say Dada or Mama yet.”
“My niece is brilliant, Tamsen,” I informed her, “and you don’t know what she’s absorbing. It’s never too early to instill in her an appreciation for cultural artifacts?—”
Tierney seized the doll with both hands and clumsily directed it at her mouth.
“Yes, just look at her appreciating the culture!” Tam teased.
I removed the doll from the baby’s grip, dropped a kiss on Tierney’s forehead, and handed her back to Tam. “Never mind, Tierney. Ignore the haters.”
Tam got the baby arranged on her lap and pulled up her shirt to feed her while I retrieved my wine.
“I meant to tell you… Samuel Purchase was asking about you today at Lyon’s Imperial Market,” Tam said.
I frowned as I sat on the far side of the couch. “Who?”
“Older guy?” Tam said. “Loves scarves? Has a yappy little dog called?—?”
“Oh, Admiral Barkington?” I shuddered lightly. “Yeah, we’ve met.”
She laughed softly. “Samuel said the Admiral was very taken with you. And since he’s the editor of our local paper—Samuel, I mean, not the dog—he wondered if you’d be interested in writing for them occasionally.”
I blinked at her in surprise. “Me? Writing for…”
“The Gazette ,” Tam supplied. “And yeah. Why not? Their money’s as green as anyone else’s, and it would help get you involved in the community, wouldn’t it?”
“Maybe, but…” I frowned, trying to think of a way to explain it that she’d understand… and that wouldn’t make me sound like an asshole. “It’s like if Wells or Law decided to give up the NHL and play for a local rec team. My career might be taking a slight beating at the moment, but I don’t think it’s headed toward me covering the local Pumpkin Princess and the selection of apples at the grocery store either.”
At least I sincerely hoped it wasn’t. My career was an integral part of my identity.
Tam shrugged. “He said to hit him up if you were interested. But no pressure. If you’re not into it, fair enough.” After a pause, she asked, “Why is your career taking a beating?”
“ Ugh. You remember me telling you about the Empire Ridge article I’m working on?”
“Sure. The David and Goliath one that Marjorie’s all excited about.”
“Yeah.” I blew out a breath. “So, my whistleblower sent over some financials, which I’ve been trying to untangle. From everything I can see, Anthony Harmon had spent years trying to level up the family business he’d inherited—bigger jobs and bigger payouts, that kind of thing. So when this mega-huge company called Empire Ridge approached him about doing some work for them as a preferred vendor, it was a no-brainer, right?”
Tam nodded. “Unless there was a catch?”
“Exactly. I mean, Anthony admits himself that he should have known better. I guess this company had approached Anthony’s father a bunch of times about buying some of Harmon’s property, and Anthony’s father had refused, claiming Empire was shady. Anthony thought his dad was just being shortsighted.”
“Oooh.” Tam rubbed Tierney’s back. “Trust your parents, kids.”
I snorted. “I guess. Anyway, Anthony hires more guys, takes out loans and buys equipment. Scales up the business, you know, since now he and Empire are best friends and he’s got all this work coming in. But then Empire says, ‘Since we’re besties now, why don’t you let us buy this piece of property from you for an obscene amount of money?—’”
“Wait, the same land Anthony’s father hadn’t wanted to sell?” Tam demanded.
“Yep. Except now, Empire Ridge has Anthony over a barrel, don’t they? If he tells his besties he’s not interested in the land deal, are they gonna take away all his pretty contracts and leave him broke? Now, according to Anthony, he’d already started to suspect his dad had been right, so he tried to back out…”
Tam winced. “Didn’t go well?”
“Nope. They came at him with both barrels,” I confirmed. “They invited him to a meeting and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. ‘Oooh, sorry, friend. See this map? We’ve bought all the property around you, and if you don’t sell us your property, too, so we can build River Bend—that’s the name of the housing development they built, worst name ever—we’re gonna use our shady contacts and connections to get the town involved. See this firehouse here, on the land you currently own? The town wants that firehouse, and we’re gonna get them to take your land by eminent domain. If they do, you’ll walk away with a pittance and no contracts. Orrrr you sell it to us for way more than the land is worth, and you get to stay our bestie subcontractor, and we’ll all be happy.’ Can you guess what he did?”
She shook her head. “He sold the land.”
“Ding ding ding. And Anthony got the money and contracts as promised. He claims he hated every minute of doing business with Empire Ridge since they insisted on cutting corners, but he was too cowed at that point to speak out. Says he just wanted to get the project over with.” I took a sip of wine. “But then, as a parting shot, Empire Ridge pointed the finger at Anthony’s company, accusing them of shoddy workmanship and using improper materials.” I shook my head. “Poor guy can’t get hired to screw in lightbulbs now.”
“Fuck,” Tam breathed. “I’m with Marjorie. This sounds like an important story to tell.”
“Sure would be,” I agreed, “if I had any proof besides Anthony’s say-so. Anthony’s financial records show Empire Ridge knew exactly what materials they were buying and approved them. Great. But what shows they bullied him? What shows he’d been manipulated from the start? What’ll help sway public opinion, at least enough to let him rebuild his business? I feel like it exists, but…” I shook my head. “I can’t figure it out.”
Tam made a considering noise, then sighed. “I can’t imagine what’s distracting you. I mean, it’s not like you’re living in a construction zone, with a certain… big, beautiful, muscly person as your new roommate.”
My stomach flipped, but the wine was already hitting me pleasantly and loosening my tongue. “Yeah,” I said in a small voice. “There’s that.”
“So why not just jump him?”
I blinked, sure I’d heard wrong. “Jump Brewer? The man renovating my house? The man doing work for me? That’s the very thing I want to avoid doing.”
Lie.
“Okay, but wait. Let’s talk this through. You said yourself that Brewer’s beautiful. He’s sweet?—”
Regrettably true.