Page 8 of When We Are Complete
“Hang in there,” she says, giving me a pat on the arm as we part ways.
I head into my office, where papers are scattered across my desk—bidding documents, a contract for review, invoices, and plans all demanding my attention. I sink into my chair, roll up my sleeves, and get to work. A couple of hours later, I stand and stretch, feeling the need for coffee.
On my way to the kitchenette, I spot Joan Donovan’s silver hair and familiar frame standing by the coffee machine. She’s our office manager, a no-nonsense woman who keeps the place running smoothly. Joan’s been with the company since it started, and nothing slips past her.
“Any news on the Founder’s Day bid?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe as she stirs her coffee.
“Nothing yet. Heard through the grapevine the mayor wants the new event planner settled first before they award the contract. They hired someone from out of town.”
“Makes sense.”
“Should be soon, though,” Joan adds.
“Hopefully. Let me know if you hear anything.”
She steps aside, and I make my cup of coffee, adding a splash of already heated milk before heading back to my office to call Adele. Settling in my chair, I grab my phone, dialing her cell number. After a couple of rings, she picks up.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, kiddo. Just wanted to check in. You doing okay? Did you want to talk about anything that’s going on?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. And no, there’s nothing to talk about. I just have a headache.” The words come out quick, clipped.
“There’s food in the fridge from last night,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the practical, on the things I can still control, not the widening gap between us. “And we’ll talk with Mom tonight when I get home. But you’re going to school tomorrow, right?”
“Sure,” she replies, her tone indifferent. I can picture her now, sitting on her bed with that same detached expression she’s been wearing for weeks.
“Alright.” The words feel so damn inadequate. “I just want to make sure you’re doing okay, you know?” My voice softens, and I hope she hears what I’m really saying.I miss you. I don’t know how to fix this.“I love you, Adele.” It’s a truth I feel in every fiber of my being, but it lands with a dull thud.
“Sure, thanks.” And then the call ends, leaving me sitting in silence, staring at the phone.
I sit there for a moment longer and run a hand through my hair, frustration and love tangled together in a knot I don’t know how to untie. I blow out a breath and check my watch: it’s time to get to the French Street worksite. I head out of my office and find Mark and Dan. “Let’s roll, fellas.”
We all climb into my truck and the engine hums to life, soon arriving at the building site where a bunch of my guys arealready hard at work, the raw wooden skeleton of a home-to-be rising against the sky. I step out, boots crunching on gravel, and I’m met with the smell of cut timber.
As I walk across the site, the steady rhythm of hammers and saws fills the air, a familiar soundtrack that drowns out everything else. There’s something simple about this—straightforward.
Measure, cut, build. It’s the one place where things make sense, where if something breaks, you can fix it. No second-guessing, no worrying about saying the right thing.
Sometimes, no matter what’s going on in life—whether it’s a kid who’s shutting me out or the feeling of something missing in my life—I just have to get the job done. Keep moving. Keep working.
Chapter 5
Kelly
The next coupleof days pass in a blur of unpacking, and the day of Patrick and Emmy’s wedding arrives quickly. Nora and I pull up to the inn in her car, its charm amplified in the soft dusk light.
It’s a two-story building, all weathered shingles and wrap-around porches. The gardens are lush, with large trees rendered in fall colors, while somewhere behind the inn, the ocean plays its endless game of tag with the shore.
I’ve never met Emmy, but I’ve known Patrick and the rest of Nora’s family since I was a kid. Nora told me that Emmy moved to Harbor’s Edge a couple of years ago to work as a live-in nurse for Nora’s grandmother, Granny Sloane. She and Patrick fell in love, and apparently the two of them are a perfect match.
“This place still looks like a postcard,” I say as my gaze traces the lines of the inn’s silhouette against the sky that’s now smeared with pastels. “I can’t believe Patrick is getting married. It feels as though we’re all just kids sometimes.”
We both get out of the car, slamming the doors one after the other. Nora grins at me. “Right? I’m not old enough to be an adult. But this is a perfect spot for a wedding. It’s so damn dreamy. Come on, let’s find Emmy—you’re going to love her. And remember, no brooding about running into ex-boyfriends tonight. This is a no-brood zone.”
“Got it. Brood-free evening.” I try to sound casual, even though my stomach does another one of those annoying flips.
I can’t believe I’ve been back in Harbor’s Edge for only a few days, and I’m already having to face the possibility of spending an entire evening in Jake’s company. Just the thought has me on edge. “You’d better keep your promise to be my buffer.”