30. Colt
COLT
Alice is hovering over the cast-iron skillet, frying eggs.
Twice, I try to help, to make myself useful, but she shoos me away.
As I slide onto a barstool at the counter, I note that her under eyes are lightly shadowed, as if she didn’t sleep well last night.
She’s also got an absolute death grip on that spatula, so clearly something is bothering her.
For two days now, ever since she returned from that festival meeting, she’s been on edge.
At first, I worried that she regretted sleeping together, but that didn’t make sense because she was fine, glowing even, the morning after.
So most likely it’s just the soft opening that’s stressing her out, which tracks.
It’s only forty-eight hours away and Alice is still missing a crucial book shipment, and the front window remains MIA despite numerous heated phone calls.
Alice slides the eggs onto our plates next to crispy bacon and sliced figs. I insist on pouring our coffee, and after handing Alice her mug, I squeeze her shoulder. “Alice,” I say, attempting to connect for the third time, “you gotta tell me what’s going on in your head.”
She forces a smile, shrugging away the concern. “It’s nothing. I’m just…nervous. My parents will be here soon, and I’m worried about what they’ll think.”
I reach up, carefully untangling a stray hair caught in her diamond stud earring.
I was there when she received them at her thirteenth birthday dinner.
I’d never seen such luxury. Had marveled how they shone when the box was passed around the table.
Moments later, the waiter had asked how I wanted my steak cooked. Yet another mystery to me at the time.
Once the earring is worked free, my hand returns to her shoulder. “Come on. Talk to me. Please.”
She sighs, her eyes darting to the kitchen window. I follow her gaze, but all that’s out there are three hens scratching through dead leaves. Something flickers across Alice’s face—something substantial and meaningful.
She opens her mouth, hesitates, and then blurts out, “I need a boat.”
I blink, my hand falling away. “I’m sorry?”
“For the festival,” she clarifies, the words tumbling out. “Remember I proposed that we host our own event attraction? I need a boat for it. An electric one, to be precise. Two boats would be even better.”
I smile, shaking my head. Because this woman is a damn force of nature.
Here she is, two days out from a life-defining moment, and she’s worried about the town.
Alice might very well succeed even if the Fall Festival flops.
But if others sink while she swims, she won’t be happy.
I’m still not sure that’s the entirety of what’s bothering her, but it’s what she’s chosen to share, so I accept it.
I pull out a chair. “Show me this boat you need.”
Alice grabs her laptop, and while we eat, she walks me through why this particular boat is crucial.
I ask questions, and she answers them, working out details in her head as she speaks.
By the time we’ve finished breakfast, she seems lighter, and I feel a surge of pride that I could help alleviate some of her stress.
Alice is about to open a new tab when there’s a sudden knock at the front door. It’s not a neighborly knock. It’s impatient, aggressive, and it comes again after only a beat of silence. I drop my fork, the metal clattering against the plate, and cross the room to swing the door open.
Travis stands on the other side. My eyes shoot to Alice, and her face pales.
Travis marches inside without an invitation, and my blood boils. Because this isn’t just Alice’s house. For a time, it was my home too, and I’m fed up with this man throwing his insubstantial weight around it.
“Morning, Colt. Alice.” Travis is curt, looking at neither of us.
Instead, his eyes roam the space, taking stock of what we’ve accomplished despite his interference.
He’s got a device in his hand—a moisture meter.
“Had a report. Anonymous, of course. Says there’s a leaky pipe and that moisture’s been accumulating behind the drywall. ”
I step into his path. “Travis, you need to get the fuck out of here. I’m tired of this shit.”
Travis sneers, and I nearly put my fist through his teeth. “Hey, you want me gone?” he says. “Fine. But then the site is shut down. Official stop work order. I’ll pull your permit before I even hit the sidewalk.”
Alice appears beside me. “Go ahead,” she challenges, no longer pacifying him, which pleases me to no end. “Test the walls. There’s no moisture. You’re only doing this because—” Her teeth snap together. “Just do it and get out.”
My eyes dart in her direction, wondering what else she was going to say, but Travis doesn’t wait for further encouragement. He starts moving along the perimeter, pressing the meter against the drywall every few feet, looking for a win where there is none.
He gets to the main wall—the one that houses the majority of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and Alice’s rolling ladder. He presses the tool to the wood, and the device emits a shrill, steady beep.
Travis spins around, a smug grin splitting his face. He holds up the digital screen. “Just as I suspected. High-level moisture trapped right here. The wall will have to come down to address the pipes or you’ll have black mold within a month. It’s a health hazard to anyone who steps foot in here.”
“Bullshit!” My hands curl into fists. “There’s a steel support beam and foil-backed insulation in that wall. It’s a false positive, and you know it.”
“Well, the thing is,” Travis says, scratching his head, “I don’t know that at all, Colt. What I do know is that I got a report saying there’s a leak, and now I’ve got evidence that they’re right. So…” Travis smiles at Alice. “The wall comes down today, or I condemn the building. Which will it be?”
Alice pulls out her phone. “I’m calling City Hall. Harold needs to verify what you’re saying.”
Travis laughs dryly. “Good luck with that. Harold hasn’t been in the office for almost two weeks. The buck stops with me now, Ali.”
“I’m not taking that wall down.” I step into Travis’s personal space, staring down at where sweat beads on his upper lip. “Get. The Fuck. Out.”
Travis glares at me. Then he turns and storms out the front door. For a second, I think he’s caved. That he’s crawling back into whatever decrepit hole he must sleep in at night. But then I hear his truck door slam for a second time and suddenly he’s back, lugging a sledgehammer.
“Are you kidding me?” I roar, because if I had any doubt that he was inventing excuses to sink us, I don’t anymore. “You just happen to have that with you?”
“If you won’t do your job,” Travis pants, hauling the heavy tool. “Then I’ll do mine as an inspector.” He raises the hammer, aiming for the custom shelving.
I lunge, grabbing the handle, muscles locking as I wrest it to the floor. He shoves me, and I shove him back twice as hard.
“Stop it!” Alice squeezes between us, her hands spread, separating us. I tear the hammer away from Travis, afraid to leave him alone with it, especially with Alice nearby. Alice looks at the wall, then at the tool in my hand. Her eyes brim with angry tears, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Before I can stop her, she yanks the sledgehammer from my grasp. She’s small, but she’s also fueled by months of suppressed frustration.
I step toward her. “Alice, don’t—”
She swings.
The hammer head buries itself into the drywall, right between two hard-carved shelves. She yanks it out and swings again.
“Alice!” I reach for her.
She spins around, hammer head thumping against the floor. Tears stream down her face, her jaw tight. “The sooner it’s down, the sooner we can rebuild it,” she snaps.
Alice steps right up to Travis. “You will never stop me, Travis. You will never own my family’s home.
Find an issue, I’ll fix it. Find another one, I’ll fix that too.
You could burn this place to the ground, and I’d rebuild it, brick by brick.
So go ahead.” She shoves the handle into his stomach. “Take it down.”
Travis takes the tool, stunned that Alice actually did what he challenged her to do.
He looks at me, looks at the hole. I wave my hand toward the wall like you heard her.
Travis bites down, determined to save face, and struggles to lift the hammer.
He swings, hitting the wall three, maybe four times.
Almost immediately, he’s winded, sweating through his button-down.
Travis stops, red-faced, and wipes his brow. He leans toward the hole he’s made, reaches in, and yanks on a cluster of wires. “Well, look at that,” he pants, pointing to the yellow casing. “Non-metallic cable without a conduit. That’s a fire code violation.”
That’s it.
I grab him and slam him against the adjacent wall. My right fist is pulled back, a second away from shattering his jaw.
“Do it,” Travis hisses, spittle flying from his mouth. “Hit me.”
My heart shotguns in my chest, because I want to. I will.
Alice is tugging on my arm, trying to get me to let go. And it’s only when I look at her face that I hesitate. Because if I hit Travis, he’ll ensure I spend the next day or two in jail. And then who will fix this mess?
It’s exactly what he wants, and I’ll be damned if I give him the satisfaction.
I stare back at him for a beat longer, and then shove him against the wall once more before stepping back.
Travis stumbles, almost falling. Then he rights himself and releases a shaky laugh. He straightens his shirt, emboldened by the fact that I backed down. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he sneers. “You’re a real tough guy, aren’t ya, Colt? But you don’t want to go to jail, do you?”
A new voice cuts in from the open doorway—
“I don’t mind going to jail.”
I freeze. Because I know that damn voice.
Standing in the door frame, one arm propped lazily against the wood, is a man who resembles the reflection I see in the mirror every morning. He’s wearing a faded denim jacket and an amused expression.
Warren.
I haven’t seen my brother since our mother’s funeral, and before that, not since I watched his taillights disappear when I was fourteen.
“Who the hell are you?” Travis spits.
My eyes swing toward Alice.
I’m sorry, she mouths.
“This is a restricted site,” Travis continues. “You need to leave or I’ll—”
Warren flicks his fingers toward Travis. “Quiet, small man.” He looks at me. “So? Should I hit him?”
“You won’t if you know what’s good for you!” Travis yells, already making his way toward the door, seeking an exit path that doesn’t involve coming in contact with my brother’s willing fist.
Warren blocks the doorway and raises a questioning eyebrow in my direction.
“Colt, I think he’s serious,” Alice says.
“Yeah.” I scrub a hand over my face. “He is. Warren, let him go.”
Warren shrugs and steps out of the way, and Travis scurries toward his vehicle, sledgehammer forgotten.
Alice reaches for me. “I was going to tell you. I didn’t know if he’d actually come and—”
I hug her, pulling her close against me and kissing the crown of her head. Because I know Alice had the best of intentions when inviting my brother.
Warren gestures between the two of us. “Didn’t see that coming.”
I release Alice and turn to face Warren. “Wherever the hell you came from,” I say, my voice dead serious. “You go right the fuck back.”