Page 1 of Built to Last

CHAPTER 1

Gilbert

Kyle Jameson was the bane of my existence and had been since college. He had been and was one of those cocky jocks that turned everything he touched to gold, from our college baseball team to the construction business he’d built from the ground up. Teachers had adored him. Our team had worshiped the ground he walked on. Girls followed him everywhere, making heart eyes at him, even though they were barking up the wrong tree. As much as I hated it, I’d made those heart eyes, too. The jerk could have had anyone he’d wanted.

He wanted me.

Once.

Then he’d panicked, and that was that.

The pounding drone of something being hammered in the forming building on the other side of the wall from Common Grounds felt like the perfect soundtrack to the unwanted memories of those college days as I tried to get some necessary work for my family’s business done.

“I need to make sure the sound system fits into our performance space,” I told Casey, the vendor I’d been negotiating with for new speakers for the last week. “I appreciate the deal you’re giving me, but if the equipment doesn’t fit into the⁠—”

The incessant hammering picked up in volume for a second, like Kyle fucking Jameson was personally out to get me by driving a nail through my head, or at least the wall a few feet from the desk where I sat.

“Damn, that construction is loud,” Casey chuckled on the other end of the call.

“I’m sorry,” I snapped, jaw tight, glaring at the wall. “Let me find some place quieter to finish this.”

I stood, staring daggers at the wall and hoping they shot straight through into Kyle’s chicken-shit heart, marched across the office, then stomped through the main part of the café. The morning shift was trading off with the afternoon shift, and although there weren’t a ton of customers at the tables or in line at the counter, I waited until I was all the way through into the back-room performance space to continue the call.

“As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted,” I glared in Kyle’s direction, hoping my venom cut through the two or three walls that separated us now, “I need to know that your equipment will fit into our eclectic space before I pay for it. We’re a small business, and although our after-hours offerings have grown in popularity over the summer, we’re not made of money.”

In fact, Common Grounds’ evening offerings had quickly become as much of a draw as our specialty coffee and homemade pastries. Sam and Brian’s game nights were becoming something of a local legend, and the open mic nights that I’d been running for years were slowly morphing into ticketed concerts for musicians that had a fanbase beyond just the local Glenside area. If everything continued to go well, and if Kyle’s monster of a construction project adjacent to the café didn’t ruin things, my brothers and I would have the money to open the second location in neighboring Jenkintown that we’d been dreaming of.

“I promise you that the equipment will work,” Casey said. “I’ll accompany the delivery and install it myself.”

I tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but there were just too many moving parts and too many threats to the business my parents had built and then handed over to me and my brothers to feel completely easy.

“I appreciate that,” I said anyhow, trying to mean it.

Trust. It was something I sucked at. I’d sucked at it for ages, probably since my mom had accidentally left me behind in the Acme when I was five years old and she’d been rushing to shop for Thanksgiving dinner. I probably hadn’t wandered around the crowded, bustling store for more than five minutes before one of my brothers pointed out I was missing and she came back to get me, but ever since then, I had a hard time trusting that anyone cared about me enough not to leave me behind.

Kyle Jameson hadn’t helped my trust issues at all in college. We’d hooked up, he’d promised to come out for me, and then reneged on that promise. Trust blown.

“You have my guarantee that this new sound system will be the best your café has ever had,” Casey went on. “I’m giving you an astounding deal on the whole thing because I like your coffee so much.”

“Thanks.” I pushed a hand through my hair and tried to sound grateful, even as a knot of worry formed in my gut.

“The only thing is that some of the equipment is pretty big,” Casey continued. “I’m not sure it’ll fit through the café’s front door.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “This performance space used to be a stockroom before we renovated it. There’s a set of double doors that were meant for deliveries back in the day. We keep them locked and haven’t used them in years, but they do still open.”

“Sounds perfect. I’ve got your delivery scheduled for next Monday at eleven.”

“Perfect. Thanks. I⁠—”

I would have drawn out the pleasantries of our goodbye, but my whole body froze up as I glanced through the wide arch separating the back room from the front of the café and saw Kyle walking in on his long, thick legs. The bastard glanced around with a grim expression, as though he’d come specifically to ruin my day.

“I truly appreciate all of this,” I told Casey, my voice instantly hoarse.

“No problem, Gil. We’ll be in touch,” Casey said before ending the call.

I lowered my phone and checked to make sure the screen was locked before sliding it into the back pocket of my jeans. About that time, Kyle spotted me, and his expression went stoney.

“What fresh hell have you brought to my doorstep now?” I muttered before heading through to the front of the café. “Jameson,” I greeted Kyle tersely.