“Good. I’m thinking first thing we do is get one of you boys to head up the demolition crew at Mackenzie’s hotel. Frees me up to focus on the Sanderson restaurant.”
I flinch. Just hearing someone say her name stirs up a world of pain. “Yeah. Maybe Evan’ll handle that. I don’t think Mac is ready to have me around on the site every day.”
Levi’s brow furrows. “You two are still on the outs?”
I nod miserably. “She won’t answer my calls or accept my gifts.”
“Gifts?” he echoes in amusement.
My brother speaks up, taking great delight in describing to our uncle the field’s worth of flowers I’d sent, the numerous heart-shaped chocolate boxes, the overstuffed baskets. “So many baskets,” Evan stresses. “It’s disgusting.”
“And futile,” Levi says after a bout of gentle laughter. “Boy, you’re not winning back a girl like that with candy and flowers.”
“No?” Frustration jams in my throat. “Then what do I do? How do I get her to talk to me?”
My uncle claps a hand over my shoulder. “Easy. You need to think bigger.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
MACKENZIE
On my way back to Steph and Alana’s house from the hotel, I stop to grab takeout from their favorite Chinese food place. It’s only been a few weeks since Levi’s guys started work on ripping out all the old carpet and drywall, tossing the damaged furniture and fixtures and anything too far gone to salvage, yet the place is almost unrecognizable on the inside.
A blank canvas.
Already I’m rethinking much of the interior design aesthetic. I still intend to preserve the original look as much as possible, but with an eye toward editing. I want to open the place up more, bring the outside in. Brighten it with natural light and greenery. Reflect a sense of luxurious relaxation. My architect is about sick of me with all my phone calls and emails tweaking the plans. I’m sure I’ll calm down once the new construction begins. I just want it to be perfect. This is my legacy I’m building, after all. With any luck, it’ll be standing for another fifty years.
I pull into the driveway in the used SUV I purchased from the local dealership last week. I finally caved and got a car after realizing I can’t spend the rest of my life in this town in the backseats of taxis and Ubers.
I’m killing the engine when I receive a text message from my mother.
Mom: Mackenzie, I’m forwarding you the name of my designer, as promised. If you insist on continuing on with this little project, then you must do it right.
My snicker echoes loudly in the vehicle. That’s the closest thing to a stamp of approval my mother is currently capable of providing. After months of playing the silent treatment game with my parents, I ended up contacting them a week after I moved out of Cooper’s. I blame it on my highly emotional state. But honestly, despite their overbearing, condescending personalities, they’re still my parents. The only family I have. So I bit the bullet and extended the olive branch, and to my surprise, they accepted it.
A few days ago they even made it out to the hotel—for about ten minutes. Long enough for my dad to grimace a lot and my mom to give me an earful about linen patterns. I can’t say they were entirely enthused about the project, but they made the effort anyway. A small step toward normalizing relations.
I send back a quick text.
Me: Thanks, Mom. I’ll give her a call tomorrow.
Mom: If you need another set of eyes once you enter the interior design phase, contact Stacey and she’ll add you to my calendar if I have the time.
I roll my eyes at the screen. Classic Annabeth Cabot. But nothing I can do about that.
I’m barely in the door of the house before my roommates pounce and tear the takeout bags from my hands. We set the table and start digging in while Steph turns on her nightly paranormal investigations marathon on TV. Six straight hours of grown men in night vision goggles, running through an abandoned mall and screaming about a rat kicking around an errant food court cup or something. But whatever. It’s her thing.
“So what were you saying about some shit that happened at work?” Alana says, picking all the pork out of the lo mein before anyone else has gotten their hands on the carton.
“Oh, right.” Steph talks with her chopsticks like she’s conducting an orchestra. “So Caitlynn tells Manny that his ex blasted him on BoyfriendFails. Everyone’s on it now at the bar,” she tells me with a grin.
“How’d they know it was about him?” Alana demands.