Page 225 of Daddy's Pride
I slanted him a dry look before turning my attention back to the foundation our crew was pouring. “That stopped being funny back in high school.”
“Nah, hermano. It never stops.”
I shook my head, huffing out a laugh. “I think Karl is going to work out just fine for the foreman position.”
Juan cocked his head to the side, studying the man in question as he supervised the pour. “Maybe. Let’s give it another week to see how he gets on with the guys before we bring it up.”
I grunted an acknowledgement, and we stood in companionable silence for a few minutes watching our guys work before I broke and asked a question I knew I’d probably regret.
“Any idea where the 608 area code is from?”
Juan’s head snapped around, his eyes lighting up with glee. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
“Because Google probably has the answer.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, staring straight ahead. “It’s not important enough to check.”
“And yet, you just asked me,” he said, his shit-eating grin still visible in my peripheral vision.
“Christ,” I groaned, shaking my head. “I shouldn’t have. Just drop it.”
“No.”
“We have work to do.”
“We’re the owners. We pay people to do the work now.”
I laughed, shaking my head. It was true if you counted actually getting in there and swinging hammers, and yet somehow, even running three full-time crews, owning the business often left me more exhausted at the end of the day than I’d been back when Juan and I were first learning how to do basic construction from his uncle in high school.
“North,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder and forcing me to turn and look at him. “Dime. Tell me. Who is he?”
“Who is who?”
He rolled his eyes. “Your 608 area code. Did you finally find yourself a new boy? Because I’ve been telling you, all work and no play isn’t healthy.”
“That’s why I keep my membership at the club.”
His expression settled into something more serious, and he squeezed my shoulder before dropping his hand. “And I’m glad you make time to blow off steam there, but the occasional scene isn’t enough, my friend. It’s not what you’re built for. You need a boy of your own.”
I sighed. It was a conversation we’d had too often to count, and I knew I shouldn’t be irritated that my best friend not only knew me so well, but also cared. And yet, for all our similarities, this was one thing we would probably never see eye to eye on. Juan came from a huge multi-generational family that supported each other in every aspect of their lives, and always would. My upbringing had been different, and as the only child of a single mother who—yes, loved and supported me, but had always struggled to support the two of us—I knew that I needed to build something stable and get myself financially set before I could turn my attention to a real relationship.
I wanted to be able to provide for my future boy in every way, and despite our company’s success, I still worried that it could disappear at a moment’s notice, the way so many of my mother’s part-time jobs had back when I was growing up.
“I know,” I told Juan. “But there will be time for that later. I need to get myself in a more secure position before I look for someone of my own.”
He shook his head, giving me that annoyingly pitying look again that I only put up with because there was so much fondness and understanding behind it. “You are secure, hermano. You and I have built a solid, profitable business with an excellent reputation. You have a beautiful home, an impressive investment portfolio, and…” He grinned, thumping his chest, “the Ruizes.”
“Well, I guess I’m set then,” I said, nudging his shoulder. His family had been calling me an honorary Ruiz ever since the first summer I started working for his uncle Carlos, and though I never planned on leaning on them for help, it meant a lot.
“Damn straight,” Juan said. “Now tell me about this Wisconsin boy.”
“Who?” I asked, getting a little whiplash from the conversational pivot.
He grinned. “Your new boy. The 608 area code is somewhere in Wisconsin.”
“And how do you know that?” I asked, an unexpected pang of disappointment hitting me.