Page 31 of Love, Legacy, and Little Green Aliens

“Xander’s wasting his time here. He oughta come back to Seattle and join the family business instead of draining his bank account to prop up this wreck.”

Heat licked up her spine and tightened her jaw. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Anagnos. I’ve only known your son for a short time, but already I can tell he’s got a sharp mind, a kind heart, and his uncle’s determination. Xander is right where he’s supposed to be.”

The older man studied her for a moment, then cracked a faint smile. “Well, well, looks like Xander’s got the family way with ladies. But you’re wasting your time on this one. Second sons never amount to anything.”

She crossed her arms and returned glare for glare. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Chapter Eight

“Uh-oh.”

Damn it, that was the third “Uh-oh” in ten minutes. Gripping the building inspector’s ladder, Xander peered up at the grizzled harbinger of doom.

“What now?”

The inspector pointed. “See this here spaceman?”

“Yeah, I already found the soft spots. What’s the verdict—water damage or dry rot?”

“The first one. Looks like Gus painted these little green men over water stains for years. I’m surprised chunks of ceiling haven’t fallen on you.”

Xander tensed, imagining his family’s reaction if that had happened during the funeral service.

“I’m almost afraid to ask: are we talking leaky pipes or leaky roof?”

“I’ll know more when I climb up there. Let’s take a look at your electrical panel box first.”

“Electrical panel. Right.” Where in the hell was that? He scanned the vast, empty building.

“Probably in back, near the restrooms.”

“Of course.” Embarrassed, he swiped a hand across his sweaty brow. He’d been working on this wreck for over two weeks and still had no idea where the breaker box was. Or the electric meter or the water shut-off valve. Caught up in Gus’s chaotic bookkeeping, not to mention moving his own belongings into his rented apartment, he’d barely paid attention to the building itself. He knew it had been some kind of auto-related business before Gus bought it—a showroom? A garage?

“What kind of mess have you saddled me with, Gus?” he grumbled, watching the inspector flip open the electrical panel and scribble notes on his clipboard.

The pipes running up the rear wall rumbled ominously.

The inspector rubbed his chin. “Does it rattle like that often?”

Xander gave a sheepish shrug. “Whenever someone flushes. The old building makes lots of noise. Gus would say it has personality.”

“Cute,” the older man deadpanned and jotted another note. “Don’t suppose you’ve got some coffee around here?”

Xander’s only attempt at making coffee with water from the bathroom sink resulted in a rusty, muddy brew. Never again. “I’ll get you some from the bakery next door.”

“Thanks, man. Cream and two sugars, please.”

“You bet.”

A cloud of sugar- and coffee-scented warmth greeted him as he entered Sweet Dreams Bakery. He’d come to think of this cheerful space as his second office. With white-painted brick walls, antique brass light fixtures, and old black and white photos of Trappers Cove’s early days, he felt at ease here. Plus, the coffee was excellent, ditto the pastries, and getting through this renovation was going to take lots of caffeine and carbs.

On duty at the register, Garrett greeted him with a look of sympathy and two maple bars on the house. “Who’s your inspector?”

“Frank something. Italian name.”

“Giordano?” He wrapped the pastries in tissue paper and tucked them into a paper bag along with a handful of napkins. “He’s good. Found termites in my front porch posts. I’d never even noticed the damage.”

“Termites? Out on the coast?”