Sami clapped. “Awesome. Eleven-thirty today. I’ll email you an invite. It will have all the details.”
Valerie slipped her phone out of her pocket and checked her schedule. “I can do that. Thank you so much!”
As she walked back to her office, she rearranged her afternoon plans. She’d originally intended to have a quick sandwich at her desk. Now, she knew, she’d lose a couple hours in the middle of the day between driving to and from and the meeting itself.
Back in her office, she took an extra five minutes and pulled up the NAWIC website. Memories of friendships, dinners, and local meetings flooded her mind when she looked at the logo. Intentionally closing her browser, she opened her email. She sent Owen an update on the main lobby of the mall and the color schemes for the second and third-floor handrails and elevator frames. Putting that project to the side, she replied to emails for two other current projects and sent Ken the information for a new wallpaper supplier for a 6,000 square foot home he had contracted. Before she left her computer, she saw the email from Sami with the information for the meeting, along with an invite to ride with her. Shooting a reply telling her she’d meet her in the lobby in ten minutes, she cleaned up the fabric samples she’d had draped all over the office and filed them in the milk crate for that project.
She ran her hands down the side of her orange pantsuit. She’d worn a necklace with large yellow flowers with orange centers, a yellow belt, and yellow heels. Taking a few minutes to refresh her lipstick, make sure she had enough cash in her purse for lunch, and check email one more time, she walked out of her office.
After two weeks here, she had started to get to know people. She waved, smiled, and stopped briefly to say a thing or two to different people as she worked her way to the elevators. Somehow, despite the closeness to lunch, she had the elevator to herself and it went straight to the lobby. Glancing through the sparse crowd, she didn’t see Sami, so she wandered along the walls, looking at the different construction projects Dixon Contracting had built back to the days when the company was called Mason-Dixon Contracting. She stopped at a newspaper article with a photo of Philip Dixon and country music star Melody Mason Montgomery at the thirtieth anniversary of the company’s first groundbreaking. She read the caption:
Melody Mason Montgomery charmed the crowd at the thirtieth anniversary of the Mason-Dixon Contracting first groundbreaking, telling stories of her father’s passion for building in Atlanta.
Valerie thought back and tried to remember if she knew that the Mason who had once partnered with Philip Dixon was Melody Mason Montgomery’s father, but nothing about that sounded familiar.
“Valerie!”
Turning, she spotted a Dixon brother headed her way. Her eyes scanned his blue jeans and worn leather boots and she identified him. He must have gotten a haircut. “Hi, Ken.”
He laughed. “You are one of the few people in the world to do that consistently.”
She smiled. “You have tells.”
“Well, keep them to yourself. You’ll make me self-conscious.” He checked the time. “Do you have lunch plans? I wanted to talk about this new estate house we’re building. The owner is being super picky about colors and I just don’t trust her opinion.”
She shook her head and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I do have lunch plans. I have a NAWIC meeting. Can we do something after work, maybe?”
“No.” He frowned. “Coffee in the morning?”
She smiled. “Perfect.” Waving at Sami, who had just stepped out of the elevator, she added coffee with Ken to the calendar on her phone. “Want to meet here or somewhere else?”
“Here’s good. Seven?”
“Perfect.”
Sami joined them. “Hi, Mr. Dixon,” she said.
“Ken,” he casually clarified, then stepped away from them. “Enjoy your meeting, ladies. Represent us well.”
As they walked toward the parking garage, Sami quietly said, “I can only ever tell Brad, because he wears a suit. I swear they should all have different facial hair or something.”
Valerie laughed. “I’ve always been able to tell them apart. I can see the differences in their faces and their walks.”
Sami glanced at her and shook her head. “That’s not normal. Must be the artist in you.”
“Maybe.” She followed Sami to her convertible VW Bug painted the brightest yellow Valerie had ever seen. She noticed the door was unlocked, so she slipped into the passenger’s side, automatically assessing the back seat. “I’ve also known them my entire life. Grew up with them. That probably helps.”
“True.” Sami started the car. The daisies on the dashboard danced with the vibration of the car engine.
“Jon has a chicken pox scar on his right temple,” Valerie said. “Of course, you have to be close enough to see it.”
Sami laughed and darted out of the parking garage. “I think I’ll just stick with Mr. Dixon.” Valerie held onto her seatbelt as Sami took a corner a little faster than comfort allowed. “Much safer that way.”
Trying not to react to Sami’s chaotic and aggressive driving, Valerie nodded and swallowed. “Safety first,” she whispered, then laughed.
Brad wandered into the kitchenand found his father at the stove. “Smells good,” he said, walking up behind him and looking into the pot of bubbling soup. “Tomato?”
“Buddy was trying out a greenhouse this year. I don’t think he gave enough credit to how well he could possibly grow produce in the late winter.” He gestured to the crate half full of tomatoes. “I told him we’d do soup after church today.”
