Dream On(50)
Devin’s face lights up when he catches sight of me, and he jogs over. “Cass, you made it!” He sweeps his lips against mine in a burst of a kiss. Heat climbs up my neck.
“Hey, Devin. You remember Brie, right?”
He nods. “You were at Zelma’s the other week.”
“That’s me.” She juts her hip in a mock curtsy. “Nice to officially meet you.”
“Likewise. Is Marcus coming?”
“I’m right here.” Marcus steps up behind us. “Thanks for the invite.”
“Of course. Glad you could make it.”
Behind Devin, the man I’m guessing is his father spots us. Excusing himself from his conversation with a pair of middle-aged men, he ambles over and claps Devin on the shoulder. “Introduce me to your friends, Devin.” His piercing brown eyes peer at each of us in turn.
“Of course. Dad, this is Marcus Belmont. He manages Zelma’s Taphouse in Ohio City. We play rec softball together. Marcus, this is my father.”
Devin’s dad looks Marcus over with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Roger Szymanski.” He extends his hand and they shake.
“And this is Cass Walker, the woman I told you about, and her roommate, Brie…” He trails off.
“Owens,” she says.
Roger gives her the barest glance, then pulls a double take. “Owens… Owens?” he repeats. Squinting at her, he tilts his head. “Are you related to Charlotte Owens by chance? You’re the spitting image of her.”
Her lips quake with the effort to keep her smile in place. “She’s my mom.”
Roger’s eyes light up. “Oh-ho! Devin, you didn’t tell me your friends were so well connected. We’re happy to have the daughter of Cleveland’s most beloved newscaster at our little get-together.”
From behind my bag of snacks, I grab Brie’s hand and give it a surreptitious squeeze. She hates it when people fawn over her mother. The world might think Charlotte Owens is as sunny and sweet as her on-air persona suggests, but we both know the truth: she’s Joan Crawford–controlling when it comes to her only daughter. Their relationship is strained, to put it mildly.
She squeezes back, and some of the tension leaves her. “Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”
Roger nods, and turns his attention to me. “And this is the famous Cassidy.”
“Cass,” I correct automatically.
“Cass. Devin’s told me a lot about you.”
“Hopefully all good things.” And nothing about my accident or the defies-the-odds coma memories. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Szymanski.” I extend my hand and we shake. His grip is firm to the point of overpowering.
“Please, call me Roger. Devin tells me you’re an attorney?”
“That’s right.”
“What kind of law do you practice?”
“Litigation, at the moment. I’m a summer associate at Smith & Boone, but I’m hoping to stay on full-time in the fall.”
Widening his stance, he hooks his thumbs in his belt loops. “Smith & Boone is an excellent firm. They represent my business interests.”
“Your business is in good hands then. You’re a real estate developer, isn’t that right?”
“Founder and CEO of Szymanski Enterprises. We operate mostly on the south side of the city and specialize in residential development, but we’re in the process of expanding.”
“How exciting. I bet you love having your son back in town to help run things.”
Roger chuckles, and there’s a sour note to the sound that makes my scalp prickle. “Help out? Yes. Run things?” He grunts. “Devin’s coming along, but he has a long way to go if he wants to call the shots someday.”
Devin’s jaw tightens and his nostrils flare. “I don’t know, Dad. I secured those two hundred acres in Medina County last month for 10 percent less than the seller was originally willing to take. And I got zoning approval for our new apartment project in Ohio City.”
“Of course, you did, son,” he says, his tone the verbal equivalent of a head-pat. “But success takes time, and you haven’t developed that killer instinct yet.”
“Not like you, huh, Dad?” someone calls from behind Roger. When he turns to locate the source of the voice, Perry emerges from behind a knot of people gathered near the food. My heart leaps.
Seeing Perry and Devin standing next to their dad, it’s clear that Perry must take after his mother. He has the same jawline and lean, broad-shouldered build as his father and brother, but his features are softer, less sharp. His eyes, in particular, stand in stark contrast to Devin’s and Roger’s—and not just because theirs are a deep, rich brown, whereas his are clear emerald-hazel. There’s a lightness behind Perry’s eyes, a carefree amusement about the world that shines through every expression, like dandelion seeds dancing in the wind, whereas Devin’s and Roger’s piercing gazes are more like blown glass—smooth, solid, and untouchable.
Roger blinks. “Perry. You’re here.”
“I thought you said you weren’t coming,” says Devin.
Perry’s forearm muscles jump as he slides his hands into the front pockets of his shorts. “I figured it was high time I make another appearance at one of Dad’s famous Fourth of July parties. It’s been a few years, after all. Marcus,” he nods. “Cass.” Our gazes connect and a smile whispers across his lips.