Page 4 of Building Romance
I run a hand through my hair and sit down on a box.
I pull out my phone and call the only person besides my brothers that I trust. My grandmother. I love my parents but they are delusional. And the few friends I have left after leaving the party scene have zero idea about this shit and could care less. Now, I just want to prove to my father that I can do this. Maybe, if I can make this work, he’ll trust me to do what I really want to do.
I’ve pitched him the idea to sponsor some reality food competition shows. We could put the winning baked goods in the stores. I love the idea of finding raw talent. My brief stint working with a professional baker made me appreciate all the small bakery businesses out there with incredible pastry chefs that never get enough clout. And I could merge what I want to do with the family business. But he doesn’t see the merit of the idea.
The phone rings and she answers.
“Fletch, my darling, how are you?” she answers in her weathered voice that instantly soothes me.
“I’m sitting in our new location on Hearts Lane,” I say, because I don’t have the heart to tell her it needs more work than I think we have time to complete. My grandparents have long ago turned the business over to Dad, but they still deeply care about it and run most of our charity work.
“Oh? I heard Eddie put you in charge. That’s so exciting. You get to put your very own spin on it,” she encourages. She’s not wrong. I do. But my heart’s not really in Hearts Lane.
“I suppose,” I agree.
“Go on any dates lately?” she asks.
I roll my eyes. Gran Hattie, or Gran Ha as we affectionately call her, is determined that all three of us boys will get married and give her great-grandbabies. Dad’s younger brother, Jasper, married an awesome man named Giddeon. I love them dearly, but they are more interested in spending time at their Cape Cod beach house, gardening, and going to the local pub for trivia night. Neither has ever been interested in our family business.
“Nope. Pretty busy, Gran Ha,” I say, using her nickname that Dalton created when he was two and couldn’t pronounce her name.
“You need to enjoy life a little. I’m proud of you for working hard lately, but all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” she states.
“I’ll work on that,” I say, attempting to appease her.
I’m quiet for a bit and it’s as if she senses my unease.
“What’s really wrong with my off-the-record favorite grandson?” she asks. I smile. I know I’m her favorite. We’ve had a connection since I was a baby.
“It’s just…overwhelming. What if I fuck this up?” I admit.
“What if you mess it up?” she corrects me.
“Yeah, that,” I say as I roll my eyes again.
“Well, you figure out how to fix it. You’re a smart boy. Even when you messed up as a kid, you always figured out a way to make it right,” she points out. I did. And damn, fixing my fuckups were often ten times harder than planning them.
“What would you do?” I ask her.
She pauses and I know she’s considering it. “You need to win over the neighborhood and get them excited. And you need to get our team to meet with the general contractor. Maybe we need to hire a different one if you aren’t pleased with their work. Is that the issue?”
She’s so fucking smart.
“Yep. Place is a mess,” I admit.
“I figured so. I know the building. It’s right by Al’s place,” she says.
Al O’Brien. He’s played poker with my grandfather for years. Maybe I should pay him a visit.
“Yes, it is.”
“You there now?” she asks.
“I am.” I stand and dust off my pants.
“You should go visit him. I’m sure he’d love to see you,” she suggests.
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Gran Ha,” I say.
