After All (Cape Harbor #1)(72)
The door to the inn swung open, and a group of guys walked out, then picked up shiplap, loaded their work belts with supplies, and carried in loads of drywall. He had learned from Brooklyn that he wasn’t managing his crew very well, which embarrassed him. Because of his divorce, he had slacked as a boss, and it had showed when they started on the inn. He could see now why Brooklyn shut herself off, especially while she worked. Job first, emotions later. A motto now instilled in him.
He pulled out his phone to call her to make sure she didn’t need anything. He scrolled through his contacts, not once, twice, but three times looking for her number. His brow furrowed in confusion. He was certain he had added her number, but where was it? Not under the b’s and nothing under the h’s. He reached across the bench of his truck and pulled the clipboard Luke sat on. Flipping through the work orders, he scanned every inch of paper, looking. Nothing.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He looked at the carriage house, wondering if Simone was home. He’d have to ask her for it and couldn’t even imagine how awkward that was going to be.
He finally got out of his truck, and as with every day when he arrived, Luke jumped out of his truck and ran directly to the main house, where his pooch sat at the door, waiting for Brystol. Never in his life had he seen an animal become so attached to someone and so quickly. Sure, he had pets when he was younger, but they never favored him over his father or mother. Luke was different, though. It was like he yearned to be with Brystol, or maybe he knew she was going to need the comfort that only a dog could provide.
When the door swung open, Bowie smiled at the sight of the girl. More and more, he thought she was a carbon copy of Brooklyn with a very little hint of Austin. He stood there, watching as she crouched down to greet Luke, burying her face in his scruff. His dog basked in the attention. He thought about Austin and how he would have been with a daughter. He wanted to give his friend the benefit of the doubt but wasn’t sure he could. Austin was a rough-and-tumbler, “a man’s man,” as the saying went, and would’ve likely had trouble raising a girl. Although he was incredibly close to his mother, so some of their bond would surely have transferred over to his relationship with his daughter. He hated even thinking Austin wasn’t around to raise his child. If he hadn’t died, he and Brooklyn would’ve ended up married and would’ve probably had enough children to man a fishing vessel.
Brystol finally glanced up and waved at Bowie. He’d use this as a chance to ask about her mom; he walked over to her with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. Brooklyn had called him out for asking Brystol too many questions, and yet there he was again, about to do the same thing. “Your mom home?”
She shook her head. “I think she’s still with Nonnie. Simi’s home if you need something.”
He didn’t. He merely wanted to see Brooklyn, to know that she was okay. “I’ll give her a call.” Except he couldn’t because he didn’t have her number, and he wasn’t about to ask Brystol for it. “Can you watch Luke for me today? I’m going to be inside a lot, and the pavers are coming to fix the driveway and parking areas. I don’t want him to get in the way.”
“Of course. My mom says that if I need anything after Simi leaves for the hospital, I should ask you.”
On the inside, Bowie was beaming. Elated. Brooklyn trusted him with her child. “Absolutely,” he told her proudly. “Do you have a cell phone?”
She rattled off her number to him. He carefully put each digit into his phone, saved the contact information, and then sent her a text.
“Call me, anytime. And if you leave the house, shoot me a text so I know where you are. Otherwise, we’ll meet for lunch?”
Brystol nodded again and stood. She opened her mouth to say something but quickly closed it. There was a sadness in her eyes, one that he had seen many times with her mother. He wanted to reach out to her, give her a hug, but didn’t know how Brystol would react. Instead, he offered her a soft smile and turned toward the inn, intending to use work as a distraction. When he showed up here weeks ago, he had no idea what to expect. If someone would’ve told him that the woman he had spent most of his life simultaneously in love with and hating was going to show up and completely rock his world, he would’ve easily called their bluff. Good things—and yes, he considered this a win in his book—didn’t happen to Bowie. He wanted to believe his string of bad luck had run its course, but if it hadn’t, he was going to do whatever he had to in order to make sure it was ending soon.
Inside, construction activity was bustling. He checked the progress in every room, jotting down notes in case Brooklyn asked. As far as he was concerned, the rooms were shaping up to match her specifications perfectly, and as much as he had initially balked at the idea of the shiplap and overdone farmhouse look, he appreciated how Carly’s vision was coming together. The fine lines, attention to detail, and old-fashioned vibe were adding a lot of character. The inn was shaping up to feel like a home rather than a place people rented so they could sleep.
With Carly out of the house, Bowie did the one thing he knew he shouldn’t. He ventured into the kitchen, a place he was all too familiar with while growing up. As soon as he stepped into it, a wave of emotion came over him. Memories of the sound of laughter hit him squarely in the chest. The day before Austin had died, they had stood in here, hovering over Carly as she had baked a cake. They had dipped their fingers in the batter, testing her patience. It didn’t matter that they were in their twenties; every time they were here, it was like they were kids again.