Page 55 of Business Casual
“What?”
“Your dad. Did he call you again?”
I grab my shovel and wander over to the next spot Beckett has marked. I forgot he heard that conversation. “No, he hasn’t.” I don’t expect he will either. His preferred method of communication is more indirect. He likes to shoot the shit with my clients at his country club, plant a few seeds of dissolution, then wait for me to call in exasperation.
I finally got ahold of Mr. Billings and had to talk him down from reallocating his entire portfolio. It seems like half of my other clients are in a similar state of distress. I wish I knew what my father was trying to accomplish. But I’m trying a new thing where I don’t give my dad headspace he hasn’t earned. It’s a work in progress.
Beckett hums, watching me dig my silly little hole. I glance up at him. “Are you going to help, or…?”
He frowns at me. “Is this too much for you?”
“The fence? Yeah, probably. I haven’t been to the gym since before Stella’s wedding, and apparently I was doing the wrong things when I was there.” My biceps are tired. Though that could be Nova’s fault—specifically when I held her up against the wall of her bedroom, eliminating the height difference between us, her legs curled high around my waist and my mouth at her neck while I—
“I’m not talking about the fence.”
“Oh.”Stop thinking about his sister in front of him, my mind begs.Stop it. But my brain has never been great at doing what I ask of it, and Nova has wedged herself firmly into my thoughts. Her and her smile and her butterfly lingerie.
So much for working her out of my system.
I blink and then blink again. “What are you talking about?”
“The farm,” Beckett says. “Is running the farm too much while you’re still working the job in New York?”
“Why?” Unease bottoms out my stomach. “Did I forget to do something? I ordered you that fancy fertilizer, right?”
“No, no. You did. I got the invoice. You’ve been doing great for us. It’s not that.” Beckett adjusts his hat, discomfort in the rigid lines of his body. “You’ve just been…working a lot. No one wants to see you run yourself into the ground trying to make other people happy.”
“I’m not. I’m managing.” I’ve had to stay up late and wake up a little earlier, but there’s nothing I would change about the situation. Client needs are still being met in New York. Selene is filling in the gaps. Farm operations seem to be running fine here, and I even managed to put together that spreadsheet for Nova. I know all of this was my idea, and I know I probably wasn’t the first choice to take over for Stella, but I think I’m holding it together nicely. “Everything is fine. I’m doing fine.”
“Fine,” Beckett snorts. He grips the handle of his shovel. “Christ, you sound like Nova.”
Awareness makes my skin flush hot. Her name is a blinking neon sign. I feel like I’m being painfully obvious when I ask, “How so?”
“Her studio. She hasn’t stopped since she bought the place. She’s doing too much, but she keeps saying she’s fine.”
I drive my shovel into the ruddy earth. Comparing me to Nova is laughable. She is wildly out of my league, brilliant and kind and driven and a million other things that make her shimmer and shine. While I am doing the bare minimum and cashing in on a position awarded out of nepotism. “Nova wouldn’t lie to you. And the studio is important to her. She wants it to do well.”
He grunts again, eyes fixed on some far-off point. The creaky weather vane on top of his house grates in the morning breeze. A light turns on in the kitchen. Evelyn appears in the window with her long hair tied in a ponytail and a cat on her shoulder. She squints through the glass and waves when she sees us. We both wave back. Mine looks weird because I can’t lift my arm above my shoulder.
“She’s doing the thing she loves best. Look at her work.” I nod at the tattoos that peek out from the rolled cuff of his flannel. “Do you think she should be doing anything else?”
He rubs his thumb over a maple leaf on his wrist. “I just worry.”
“Well, don’t.” I nudge him with the tip of my shovel. “If she finds out you’re babying her, she’s just going to get pissed. You know that.”
Beckett’s eyes narrow. “Are you going to tell her?”
I hold my hands up, palms out. “Absolutely not. I don’t have a death wish.”
His shoulders relax with a sigh. “That reminds me.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Oh, good. I’m glad ‘death wish’ reminded you of something.”
He shoots me a look. “Mom wants you at dinner tonight.”
“Family dinner?” The entire Porter clan has family dinner once a week. I’ve always been deeply envious of their desire to spend time together. Also, his mom makes the best broccoli cheddar casserole I’ve had in my life. “Isn’t that for…family?”
It takes Beckett a second to answer. He’s distracted by the sight of Evelyn on the back porch, wearing an oversized hoodie down to her knees and a pair of muddy rain boots. She has a cup of coffee in one hand and a watering can in the other, tending to the plants that crowd the ledge.
