Page 77 of One Touch

My mouth felt dry. Sullivans were known for shoving down feelings and avoidingthose talks, but in the cramped space of the speakeasy, Lee had me cornered. He and I had always been the closest. As kids, we had relied on each other after Mom died, and despite how “well adjusted”everyone said he was, I knew his time overseas had permanently changed him. There was a weariness, a sadness, that never let up despite the wisecracks and easy smiles.

Lee was hurting as much as the rest of us, only he was much, much better at hiding it.

I stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. When he sighed and sagged into me, my heart squeezed for him.

I held Lee at arm’s length and smiled at him. “You’re a great brother.” His white smile beamed down at me. “But get out of here. You’re messing with my lighting.”

He laughed and threw up a jaunty salute before ducking and trudging up the stairs.

* * *

Soft rain patteredagainst the massive glass windows of Beckett’s house. In the darkness, I could just make out the angry, churning water of Lake Michigan. Water slammed against the beach, dragging bits of it back to disappear beneath the surface.

The swirling chaos matched the unease that rolled through me. As the autumn temperatures dipped, our list for the renovations shrank.Home Againhad another huge uptick in popularity once images of the hidden speakeasy were posted. I struggled to keep up with the questions and comments, but overall I waslovingthe interaction with people from all over the world. More and more questions started rolling in about the Brutish Builderand our next project.

What is the next home renovation reveal?

Where will it be?

Come to my hometown!

In all honesty, I mostly avoided those comments. Not only were there zero plans for anything beyond renovating my aunt’s home, but a part of me enjoyed living in the fantasy where renovating and documenting the journey was an actual part of my life.

While taking pretty pictures was fun, the real joy came from hearing about the history of the home, talking with the small business owners who had perfected their craft, and uncovering hidden secrets of a historical space. Our local library was a treasure trove of information now that I knew what to look for. Plus, the physical labor was giving me some very nice definition in my arms.

The thought of this phase of my life coming to a close was depressing. It didn’t help that after each day wrapped, Beckett and I went back to his house and pretended there wasn’t an end date to whatever was happening between us. He didn’t talk about Chicago, and I didn’t talk about the end of the renovation.

Ignorance is bliss.

Only I wasn’t ignorant. I was willfully finding more work around Tootie’s home—a garden bed here, new molding there, an enclosed area designed to keep the hens and Bartleby happy, occupied, and away from his nemesis, Beckett.

Even that was a stretch. Earlier today I caught Beckett sitting with his crew in the yard, enjoying lunch. When I walked up, I spied him pulling vegetable scraps from his lunchbox and tossing them to Bartleby Beakface, who happily pecked at his offering. Apparently they had come to some kind of arrangement. An arrangement where Bartleby didn’t attack so long as Beckett kept him fat and happy. Though I didn’t miss it when Beckett had called out, “I’d still eat you.”

“How does a movie sound?” The deep rumble of Beckett’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. As I turned from the large windows, I appreciated the long lines of his physique as he strode toward me.

A delicious shiver danced up my spine.

He’s mine, even for a little bit.

“A movie would be great, but first ...” I reached for a small metal box I’d set on the table beside me. “Look what I found.”

The rectangular metal box was dark green and heavy. The simple latch on it was sticky, but once I’d pried it open with a screwdriver, I couldn’t believe what was inside.

I handed it to Beckett, who looked it over. “Where’d you find this?”

“It was tucked under the bar. Like, on a special shelf up under the bar top. Definitely hidden.”

He examined it closer. “How in the hell did you find that?”

I laughed. “Lee wouldn’t leave me alone, so I bet him ten dollars he couldn’t squeeze into the cabinet underneath the bar. It kept him busy for a whole five minutes as he tried to contort himself to fit. He’s the one who found it.”

Beckett lifted the latch. Inside were several loose bits of brittle, yellowed paper, a small notebook, and a ring of mismatched keys. His eyes lifted to mine.

Excitement coursed through me. “Cool, right?”

“Did you look through it?”

I scoffed. “Of course I did. Curiosity got the best of me.” I reached in and took out the small notebook. “I’m pretty sure this is a ledger of the bootleg alcohol deliveries.”

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