The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (mind reading books .txt) 📗

Turning, she caught sight of him and granted him a smile as warm as a toasty fire on a snowy day. “Zane, right?”

He nodded, not having a damn clue what to say that wouldn’t come across as the misogynistic crap that Freya accused him of that day. “Yeah.”

“Thanks again for that pie. I’ve been meaning to return the favor with some cookies or something. You like chocolate chip?”

“My favorite.”

“I’ll bring some by sometime.”

He couldn’t help it; he studied her face, noting the yellow at the edge of her jaw that told of a healing bruise. As she turned away, he added softly, “Sienna?”

“Yeah?” Her expression fell heavy as she took in the gravity of his look. Damn, he was obvious; he needed to tuck a few positive life experiences under his belt. “I know what you’re going to say. I’m okay.”

“Please, Freya and I are a few hundred yards away. Don’t hesitate.”

She squeezed her lips together and looked around. “Thank you. Really. But I don’t need any heroes in my life.”

He nodded in acceptance and turned around to find Larissa delivering his hash. Rescuing him from even more unsettled thoughts while he ate, Larissa stopped by and chatted between customers, filling him in with local gossip, plus a few stories of Asher rabble-rousing in his younger days.

After Larissa ran his card and gave him a friendly wave as he strolled out, he looked up and down the street. He could barely see Grady and Lincoln’s practice a few blocks down, Sophie’s across the way, but he wasn’t sure he was in the mood for company. Across the road, the park was a little too cheerful. And he wasn’t ready to sit and feed the birds like the old guy with a gnarled cane, seated serenely on the bench under a massive dogwood tree.

So, he walked north. Didn’t make it far when a green and blue sign in front of a cedar and steel building blocked his path. Turning, he looked at a large, empty patio, in through the expansive glass windows at a two-story-plus industrial-meets-northwest style vacant building. Flip-flopping in his chest, his heart beat deafeningly.

He pulled out his phone and dialed the number on the sign. A polished charm answered immediately.

Finding his voice, Zane cleared the frog from his throat and asked. “What can you tell me about the building for sale across from the park on Main in Foothills?”

“Glad you asked. The property went on the market this morning. A couple from Denver had it built for their daughter to open a café and gift shop, but, apparently, she had other plans and moved to DC to become an environmental lobbyist. Or that’s the story anyway. You interested?”

“Thinking about it,” he admitted.

“Are you working with a realtor yet?”

“No. I’m really not even in the market, just brewing some ideas.”

“How about this. I’ve got a buddy, decent guy, that’s right down the street from the property and can show you around, and, if you decide to make an offer, if you want, he can represent you.”

“Sounds fine.”

After ending the call, Zane’s phone buzzed in his pocket no more than sixty seconds later and he had an appointment. In twenty minutes. There goes the time to think it over.

Instead of feeding the birds, he leaned against the fence and did some quick research on the basic specs he’d need; space, plumbing, electrical. As much as he had no desire to follow in his parents’ footsteps, his degree was suddenly coming in handy.

Brain swimming with millions of details, more seeming to add on each time he found a new piece of info, he sealed his eyes shut to still the mental vertigo. Dammit. He swiped up his dialer and hit send.

“Hey, Zane,” Grady answered. “Please tell me you’re behaving yourselves.”

He rolled his eyes and let out a weak laugh. “Mostly. Actually, I’m not calling as a client, but… What do you know about running a craft brewery?”

“I don’t know squat about beer. But I know enough about business.”

“So, no pressure or anything. But Asher mentioned you’re bored and need a project.”

“Hey, Asher’s just pissy because the bathroom’s a mess and I’ve been refusing to clean it until he realizes there’s nothing wrong with the toilet, the black grime is the result of no one cleaning it for an extended period of time.”

Crossing his feet as he relaxed against the fence, he laughed, “Don’t tell him about toilet brushes or bleach tablets.”

Grady laughed out loud mirthlessly, “That’s brilliant. Seriously though, I’m not exactly bored, but my job satisfaction is low, and I need something interesting to do.”

“I fucking hate talking to people. I’m decent with numbers and projections and all that bullshit, but I’d rather make good beer and maybe even design a menu and, hell, even use that stupid-ass architecture degree for something and make a place people can come to drink the beer, have some food while they do, and maybe hang out and relax.”

“Sounds like you’ve been thinking this through.”

“I’ve been letting the idea bounce around since you brought it up at Ahab’s.”

“I can talk to people. And run numbers, projections, market, network. Interested in taking on a business partner?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“Or you could get me drunk. But no backing out after I've signed the dotted line.”

“Hey, I fully blame Freya’s cousin for getting me trashed. And I have no intention of backing out.”

“On the marriage or the partnership?”

“Fuck. I’m not looking for a damn therapist.”

“And I have no interest in being your therapist, but I’ll be happy to give you shit when you need to get your head out of your ass.”

“That I can handle. So I’m looking at the place on Main. Owners backed out.”

“The new construction? That place