“You promised,” Jo warns.
Biting her lip, Lindy steps back, her eyes aglow. “Sorry, Jojo. We’ll keep the PDA to a minimum.”
It’s not easy. Not when we have those five lost years to make up for. I give Lindy a look that says I’ll give you some PDA later, and she laughs. Not sure the exact meaning got across, but I’ll just have to show her.
The newly renovated town square is already decorated with lights for Christmas. A LOT of lights. Because Tank has always loved Christmas, he wants downtown Sheet Cake to officially open Thanksgiving weekend boasting more lights per square foot than any other city in the world. It would mean attention by way of the Guinness World Records people, and it also means it practically looks like daylight in the waning November afternoon.
This is the first time I’ve seen it all lit, and it is nothing short of magical. Tank’s smile is the only thing brighter out here.
“Wait here for a sec,” Lindy says, “I’ve got to go speak to Val.”
She disappears into the crowd, which consists of my family and friends, just about all of the old Sheeters, and even a few faces I don’t recognize. Probably people from new Sheet Cake or even Austin who just happened to come see what all the buzz is about. Now they’ll all probably stay for the party, not even realizing what they’re celebrating.
Hey—the more, the merrier.
“Can I steal my granddaughter?” Tank barely has the sentence out before Jo has launched herself at him.
“I think you have your answer,” I say, but Tank and Jo are already off, admiring the lights strung over the square and across the streets and on top of every single building. We’re going to need some blackout curtains for the loft for the remainder of the season, since the new house won’t be done for several months.
Turns out, Lindy wasn’t emotionally attached to the little farmhouse, which upon inspection, was condemned. “It’s got too many sad memories,” she said, and we sat in camping chairs and watched bulldozers take it down.
I would have loved the drama of a wrecking ball, but it turns out they’re expensive and make more of a mess. Also, Miley Cyrus pretty much ruined wrecking balls for everyone, so bulldozers worked just fine. The new foundation has been poured, and this week, they’ll start to frame it up. The dogs are still with Val and Mari, but I caught sight of Elvis watching over the place.
“Hey, brother. Congratulations again,” Collin says, giving me a hearty slap on the back. “This place looks great. I couldn’t have pictured it when you first brought us out here.”
“Tank is doing well.”
“You’re both doing well,” Collin says. “Heck, even James. Still can’t believe you got him in on this.”
Me neither. And I’m still not sure what pushed him to say yes, but he’s starting to make progress on the warehouse and silos, sometimes crashing at Tank’s place, which is now done. Dad splits his time between here and the house in Austin. I have to say, it’s been great having him just across the street. Not only does Jo get the benefit of more family, but he’s a great babysitter when Lindy and I need some alone time. Which we do. Frequently.
“There’s a whole empty part of the warehouse that would be perfect for a gym,” I remind Collin.
He sniffs. “A very rudimentary gym, maybe.”
“Nothing wrong with humble roots. Fitness is fitness, right? It doesn’t have to be fancy.”
And Collin’s gym certainly has gotten fancy. His clientele of elite athletes has attracted a whole host of wealthy Austinites who care more about meeting those athletes and taking a photo of the latest trendy green smoothie for Instagram than they do actual fitness. They are everything Collin loathes, but it’s great for business. I’m just not sure that his business is great for him any longer.