Page 13 of Take This Heart (Windy Harbor #1)

“I never knew anything about it until Bruce mentioned it. And then I assumed, since you hadn’t ever said anything about the Whitmans, that you wouldn’t care if I continued a working relationship with Everett. Honestly, he’s become a friend. I’ve wanted to ask—what’s the story there?”

“Your grandfather and Everett’s father—Augustus—were friends once. Best friends, actually.”

“What happened?”

She sighs. “I haven’t talked about it because I hated what all of this brought out in my dad and brother.

Everett’s father and mine went into business together,” Mom says more gently.

“They were starting a business together in St. Paul, but there was a falling out. Your grandfather believed Augustus went behind his back and tried to steal his idea. Augustus claimed it had always been his baby and that he was just bringing Dad along for the ride. It got ugly fast.”

“Ugly how?”

“Court battles. Public accusations. Families dragged through the mud. And Bruce was always a little too eager to carry the torch. He’s the one who escalated everything after Dad passed.

He’s been trying to outmaneuver the Whitmans ever since.

Bruce and Everett went to school together and never got along. ”

“And now you’re getting closer and closer to him,” Dad says, whistling under his breath.

I run a hand down my face. “I didn’t know you’d be against this too. And since we rarely talk about business relationships—even the people I get close to—I’ve never talked about Everett with you.” I sigh. “So you’re saying I’m deeper in a long-standing war than I realized.”

“Yes,” Mom says. “And Bruce isn’t taking it lightly.”

“Well, I don’t like being on his bad side, but I like Everett…I respect him. And it didn’t feel right, what Bruce was trying to do.”

“It’s okay, honey. We don’t always agree with my brother either.”

“But you’re not thrilled I’m working with Everett.”

“Not especially,” Mom says.

“Everett’s not his father,” I say.

“Maybe not,” Dad admits. “Just be careful, Milo. These things have a way of repeating themselves.”

I sigh and stare out at the water, the sky exploding into shades of pink above it.

“We love you,” they say together, because they’re weirdly in sync like that.

“I love you too. I’ll call again soon.”

“Soon better mean this week,” Mom warns. “And dinner next week, don’t forget.”

“All right.” I laugh. “Promise.”

I hang up and sit there, letting the sound of waves roll over me.

I know that it’s critical that I have a conversation about all of this with Everett, but he’s got more important things to be worried about right now.

I work in Minneapolis for a few days and when I drive back to Windy Harbor, I realize how much I’ve missed it. I’ve especially missed arguing with Goldie.

When I rap on the door and she answers, her face brightens before she schools it back into nonchalance, and my life is made.

“How are things going?” I ask.

“He’s sick of me hovering,” she whispers, leaning forward. “He’s not feeling bad anymore and now he’s just cranky.”

“I heard that,” Everett says, shuffling to the door. “Hey, Milo. Have you come to mother me too?” He grins to soften his words.

“I think that’s already covered.” I walk in when Goldie opens the door wider.

“Is it ever,” Everett groans. “Do me a favor and get her out of the house for a while.”

“Dad!” Goldie gasps. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Please.” He leans over and kisses her cheek. “Please leave me. Go do something fun. It will make me feel better.” His eyebrows lift and he points at her. “It’s Thursday! Trivia night at The Loon…that sounds like just the thing. Huh? Huh?” He elbows her and she scowls at him before sighing.

“Okay. But only if you promise you’re feeling fine.”

He holds his hand up. “I swear. I’m feeling fine.” He points at me. “You should go with her. We can get back to work tomorrow.”

I open my mouth to protest and he shakes his head.

“I think the only place you’ve been is Kitty-Corner Cafe. You gotta see more of this place than that!”

My eyes narrow and I bite the inside of my mouth. “Okay. You’ll message us if you need anything?”

He holds his hand up again. “I swear. I’ll message if I need anything.”

I glance at Goldie. “I see now where you got your sass.”

She rolls her eyes and starts reciting a list of rules for her dad to follow while she’s gone. He shoos us out the door.

“How’s your week been?” I ask on the brief drive to The Loon. I feel strangely nervous with her in my SUV.

“Well, you saw that man at the house. Impossible.” She grins fondly. “The highlight of the week was the chocolate-covered strawberries I made last night.” She sighs. “I can never resist a strawberry. Put chocolate on it and I’m gone.” Her hand flies up in the air and I laugh.

Trivia night at The Loon is already loud when we walk in. There are lights strung haphazardly above the booths and the floor is sticky with beer. Someone yells, “Oh, fer the love of Pete!” across the room, only to be met with, “I s’pose you thought you could schlep that attitude in here!”

Goldie beams. “Man, I’ve missed this,” she says, practically bouncing as she spots someone.

A woman who looks like she could be the We Can Do It! lady walks over from the corner booth. Except her bandana is blue with white polka dots and her tank top says Trivia Slut.

“That’s Erin,” Goldie tells me. “Brace yourself.”

Erin thrusts a laminated sheet at me and waves a dry-erase marker. “You must be the architect. Very sexy, very proper. You look like you alphabetize your porn collection and silently judge people who don’t.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, he’s quick, Goldie.” She winks at me. “And you’re hot. I get it now.”

“Erin,” Goldie groans, but she’s laughing as she motions for me to sit down. I do, and she slides into the booth beside me, her knee brushing mine. “Hands off. He’s on my team.”

“Baby, you know I swing for the other team,” Erin says, giving Goldie a mischievous smile. She points at me. “My last name’s Cox and I’ve had enough Cox in my life…that’s why I turned to women.”

With that gem, she winks and walks away.

Goldie groans. “That is not what I meant, and you know it,” she yells over the racket.

“Team name?” the host calls, looking at us.

Goldie grabs the marker from me and scrawls: Whitman Genius + Architect Who Thinks He’s Right About Everything.

“Menace,” I mutter.

She beams. “Thank you.” Her head tilts. “Or would you rather do a celebrity couple moniker?” She crosses out the long title. “Mildie? Golo?”

My eyes narrow and I grin. “Couple, huh? Damn, Goldie, I knew you were into me, but I didn’t know you were ready to commit.”

She lets out an aggravated sigh and her cheeks flush bright pink. “You and Erin are determined to misunderstand me tonight. I see how it is.”

But she doesn’t cross out Mildie/Golo, which pleases me more than it should.

Round one begins. I answer the first three questions before she even uncaps the marker. She snatches it from me by question four.

“Excuse me,” she says under her breath. “Let a real nerd shine.”

“Oh, it’s on,” I whisper back.

We start tallying points between rounds. It’s neck and neck with a team called Smarty Pints, and Goldie is vibrating with competitive energy.

“I will die before I lose to that tourist in the Green Bay jersey,” she hisses, pointing two tables over.

“He’s a cheesehead,” I say flatly. “We cannot lose to that.”

Round five is a disaster. One of the questions is a Star Trek reference and Goldie writes down an answer with such confidence that I hesitate—then erase it and write mine.

When they announce the answer…it’s hers.

She looks at me, completely insulted. “You didn’t trust me?”

“I panicked!”

“You’re sleeping on the deck tonight.”

“I don’t live with you.”

“You’re moving in just so I can throw you out,” she snaps.

That gets me. I laugh and she straightens, trying to hold back her laugh too, but then it bursts out of her and we can’t stop. We barely get it together enough to keep playing the game.

But we manage and we win by two points. Goldie jumps out of her seat, arms raised victoriously. I stand too, caught up in her joy, and we both yell something unintelligible while Erin films the whole thing on her phone.

“You’re buying me a drink,” Goldie says, breathless, her face flushed from adrenaline.

I step closer. “Only if you admit I carried us through the literature round.”

“I will never admit that,” she says, poking me in the chest.

And then it’s like she realizes she’s touching me and she drops her hand, taking a step back.

She turns on her heels and walks off, and I sigh.

I guess the brief truce was a fluke.