"Look, I get you guys want this done. But the fact is, I can't meet your impossible deadline. You gotta work with me here,” Simon whined.
I exchanged a glance with Drake, my mouth thinning into an unimpressed line. He rolled his eyes before looking back at the road.
"Simon, we told you six months ago our deadline. You assured us you'd have the crew ready to go when we settled here. Our specifications for this build aren't unusual. If you can't meet our deadline, we'll find someone who can."
He huffed and puffed and tried to wheedle me into a compromise. Fact was, we needed this guy to start the project now. We were heading into winter, and unless he started it over this period, there was no way the boat would be ready for spring/summer next year. The boat would seat up to fifty tourists and would be equipped with a catering area, toilets, and storage for all our various gear.
"No," I finally snapped as Drake turned into the nursing home complex. "We're terminating this contract. I expect our deposit to be returned by next week."
"But—"
"You signed an airtight contract. You can't deliver by our agreed date; we have every right to pull out,” I informed the sorry excuse for a human being. "My lawyer will be in touch."
I hit end, blowing out a breath.
"We gonna be able to find another builder?" Drake asked lightly.
"Give me a week. If we can't, we'll start looking at alternatives. Maybe buy something cheap to tide us over."
That was the worst-case scenario. We wanted to start this enterprise exactly right. No cutting corners, no second-hand purchases. We needed to be taken seriously in order to attract the kind of clientele we wanted—rich corporate types ready tosplash the cash for a little thrill. This was why we were giving ourselves a full six months to get everything settled.
That, and six months would be a nice fucking chunk of time to woo Belle. Though I didn't expect it would take quite that long.
"Oh, shit,” Drake murmured as he pulled to a stop in front of Mr. Henderson's small unit. "Isn't that Belle's car?"
Sure enough, in Mr. Henderson's tiny driveway was the same navy blue, no-nonsense Impala that we'd witnessed speeding out of the grocery store's car park yesterday—Belle's pale face tight with anxiety at the wheel.
"Well," I drawled, unsnapping my seat belt. "Ain't this a nice surprise."
"Fucking jackpot,” Drake agreed.
We exited the car into the sultry late afternoon. Autumn had settled, but we were experiencing a late heat spell—complete with a crackling storm the night before. Despite the wind and lightning's best efforts, our little farmhouse had stood strong. Clean-up had only been a few branches this morning.
Drake hurried to the door, hitting the bell.
"Settle, bro,” I murmured, clasping his shoulder. "We don't want a repeat of yesterday."
Drake took a steadying breath, then nodded. "Slow and easy."
Mr. Henderson pulled the door open, beaming as he ushered us in. "Boys! Come in, come in. I didn't expect to see you so soon."
We'd reconnected in the grocery store. The old guy had been our lifeline these past few years, slipping us intel on Belle, what she was up to, who she was dating. Hell, even before we'd shipped out, he'd been looking out for us. The old man had overpaid us for maintaining his garden and car. He'd been theone to suggest we look at the Marines as an option. Hadn't hurt that he'd served and gave us all the gory but enticing details.
We stepped through, allowing him to wrap us in back-clapping hugs. Mrs. Henderson had passed two years ago. It was part of the reason why we'd decided to call it quits. Time was passing, and we'd been overseas, unable to return in time for the funeral.
We were fucking good at our jobs. Enjoyed the shit out of the travel and adventure. Fuck, even the regimented schedule hadn't been that bad. But we weren't getting younger, and we knew Belle wanted kids. Mr. Henderson had told us she'd stepped up her dating game, trying to snag herself a man. It had taken us two years to transition out, but now we were ready. Ready for her.
"Good to see you," I muttered, accepting his hug.
"You're just in time. Belle just arrived, and I've put a fresh pot of coffee on. Come join us."
He led us down a hall that had three bright pink suitcases leaning neatly against the wall. "Ignore the mess; Belle's staying here for a few days." I glanced at Drake, finding his gaze already on me. He lifted an eyebrow, a small satisfied grin settling on his face.
Minuscule and clinical, the unit was nothing like the homely house Mr. Henderson had lived in before. Oh sure, there were pictures hung, while photos and knickknacks sat scattered about on display. But underneath, the place felt like a hospital room masquerading as a home.
I exchanged a look with Drake. He nodded, his normally jovial expression completely wiped from his face.
For a man we cared so deeply about, this was unacceptable.
