“Of course, and unless you want to share with your brothers and your dad, I suggest we hide it.”
He licked his lips with a loud slurp. “Let me find someplace for these, and we’ll stash the cake upstairs.” He squeezed his body and the balloons through the hallway that led to the bar and dining room. Placing the weight on a corner of the bar top, he let the balloons soar toward the burnished tin ceiling. Only then did he notice they were sage green and gold, the same colors as his logo. The realization that his mom had gone to the trouble warmed him all over.
Hustling back to where he’d left her, he took the cake carrier from her hand and gestured for her to climb the stairs. “Now I can show you the apartment before all hell breaks loose.”
“Whoa, I didn’t realize how steep these are. Better not be tipsy when you go to bed,” she laughed.
“That’s how they built them back in the nineteenth century.” He followed her up, one hand ready to shoot out and break her fall if she toppled backward—not that he expected it. Marilyn Hunnicutt was a youngish fifty-six in great health.
“Oh, Noah!” She stood at the landing, peering through the door he’d left ajar.
“Like it?” He held his breath. For reasons he didn’t comprehend, he needed his mother to approve of his new home. Then again, it was important she approved of anything he did when he was doing therightthing. Not that she withheld it like his dad did, but her good opinion was pure gold to him.
“It’s adorable! Charlie did a wonderful job, and you’ve fixed it up so nicely.”
He nudged her inside, shut the door, and closed the distance to the kitchenette, where he deposited the cake on a butcher-block island barely bigger than the sink. “I’ll take you on the penny tour.”
She gave him a sly smile. “Not the nickel tour?”
“This place isn’t big enough to cost a nickel.” He led her to the three-quarter bath, a closet, and the foot of industrial iron steps leading to the sleeping loft. “Bedroom’s up here.” Noah had to duck to avoid hitting his head, but at five-two and a full foot shorter than he, his mom had no trouble with the clearance.
“This is cozy … and neat as a pin. Not that I expected messy from my neatnik middle child.”
He plopped on the edge of his king-sized mattress. “What do you think?”
She glanced over the railing to the space below before sweeping her eyes around the loft. “I love it! The exposed brick, the metal, the refinished wood trim … it suits. I have to say, though, I still don’t understand why you felt the need to move out of our place—especially with us being in Florida most the year and you having it to yourself.”
He dipped an eyebrow in response, and she rushed to add, “But I understand the appeal, even if this space is a little on the small side.”
“Cramped, you mean,” he chuckled. “Less to maintain that way. Plus, when I’m pulling late nights, all I have to do is head upstairs instead of climbing into a cold truck and driving the fifteen minutes to yours and Dad’s ranch.” Not to mention the satisfaction from finally being independent, such as it was. As his dad liked to point out, twenty-eight-year-olds should not be living at home, sponging off their parents. Noah didn’t disagree, but circumstances of his own making had left him few options.
When he’d decided to buy the building and turn it into a bar, he’d asked his contractor brother, Charlie, to convert a dingy attic space into the apartment.
His mother sat beside him. “That makes sense. Plus, this offers you a bit of privacy when wearehome and a place to escape to when you and your dad, um, butt heads.”
“Exactly.”
She looked at him, the sparkling green eyes he’d inherited from her probing his. “I’m proud of you, Noah. It hasn’t been easy, but you’ve pulled yourself up by your bootstraps, and look what you’ve accomplished.” She waved her hand in the air.
The doubter in him wanted to caution her not to get too high on him yet. In the back of his mind, his father barked the word “quitter” over and over, and while Noah wanted to prove him wrong so badly he could taste it, he couldn’t deny the barb was dead-on.
“I couldn’t have done it without your help, Mom. In case I haven’t told you lately, I really appreciate this chance. I promise I won’t let you down this time.”
She patted his knee, and though her skepticism was written all over her face, she gave him an encouraging smile. “I know you won’t.”
Her unconditional support both elevated and devastated him. More than anyone, he wanted to do right by her. She’d stood by him, a stalwart soothing his self-inflicted wounds and fending off his father’s fury every time he had screwed up. Not once had she uttered a word about her own disappointment in her one son who marched to the beat of a drummer no one else could hear, let alone understand. Wyatt wasn’t the only one who had put faith in Noah, nor was he the only one Noah couldn’t fail.
“Have you told Dad about the loan yet?”
“What loan?” She blinked—repeatedly—feigning complete innocence.
“You haven’t, have you? Mom, you need to tell him before he finds out.” Noah could shoulder his dad’s disdain, but he couldn’t stand the thought of fostering a wedge between his parents. In thirty-some years of marriage, Noah had never witnessed his parents exchange a cross word. There was no mistaking how much the two loved each other. As abrasive as his father could be, his tenderness toward Noah’s mother gave him a glimpse of the man’s softer side and allowed him to cling to a sliver of respect for his dad.
“You’ll have me paid back before he finds out. Besides, all he would see is the money I transferred to Charlie’s business so he could restorethe place. An investment in our town and the family legacy, in other words.”
While Wyatt had forked over cash directly to Noah, Noah’s mother had financed fixing up the building. Charlie had gutted and restored the structure to its former glory days when it had been a mercantile owned by their great-greats many generations back. It had gone through a number of iterations and businesses, passing from the family to one owner and the next in the process. Once a proud addition to the town, it had become an eyesore—not unlike many of the other properties surrounding it. Fall River had been in decline for decades. With a recent surge of investors buying and rehabbing the historic buildings, Noah had recognized opportunity and had thrown in his entire pot, gambling on catching that wave and riding it to its crest. If he succeeded, he would earn himself a steady livelihood, pay his mother and cousin a tidy return on their investments, and contribute something positive to the town where he’d grown up and loved to live.
And the biggest carrot: maybe his family could forgive his past and see him as someone other than the only brother who had blown through his grandparents’ trust fund—all two million of it—in two years.
