Love Next Door (Lakeside #1) by Helena Hunting

“It’s a work in progress.” I pass out plates and napkins and snatch the bag from my dad before he can pass it around to the guys. I use a pair of tongs to distribute the fritters before I dump the rest on a communal plate and take a seat.

Conversation ceases, replaced by the sound of chewing and humming. I take a bite of my own fritter, teeth sinking into the sweet, light dough, past the apple center. These aren’t like normal fritters from regular doughnut shops, where they cut the apples into chunks. These are made with an entire ring of apple, dipped in lemon juice and cinnamon sugar and then again in fresh batter, fried in batches, and then coated in a sweet icing sugar glaze or another round of lemon and cinnamon sugar. They’re sweet, decadent, and delicious. I polish off the first one and reach for a second, aware they won’t last long. This one I savor.

“How’s the McMansion reno going?” I ask between bites.

“You know how it is over there. The owners always hover,” Uncle John grumbles.

“At least they’re keeping us busy,” my dad says. I found out that they lost a couple of big contracts after Billy’s accident. There were rumors that he showed up to work high and drunk on more than one occasion, and people were worried about the liability. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I have to hope that the gossip dies so that the business doesn’t take a hit. “And this one isn’t making it any easier to get things done.” Dad nods to Aaron.

Back in high school, Aaron played on the school football team. He was a sophomore when I was a senior, but that didn’t stop the girls from trailing him, starry eyed and desperate for his attention. I doubt much has changed. He’s grown up, his soft boyish features sharpening into a rugged jawline and a full-lipped smile. Not to mention that he’s filled out, thanks to his athletic history and his current job.

“Mowing lawns shirtless these days?”

Aaron shrugs and grins. “Might as well work on my tan while I’m grooming lawns.”

I roll my eyes at the thinly veiled innuendo my dad and uncle miss. I have no doubt that Aaron is grooming more than the lawns on the other side of the lake. With his chiseled features, ridiculous body, and the tattoos he’s added over the years, he’s every rich girl’s idea of a bad boy they want to tame.

“I hope you’re following safety protocol while you’re mowing all those lawns.”

“Don’t worry, I always protect what matters.” He knocks on the side of his head, but we both know which one he’s actually referring to. “And I love that you’re still looking out for me, Dee. It’s just like old times.”

I snicker and shake my head. Aaron was notorious for asking me to grab him a handful of condoms every time I went to the birth control clinic to have my prescription filled back in high school. The last thing I wanted was to end up a teen mom. No judgment, but there were enough of those around here.

Aaron used to hang out with Billy, since they were in the same grade. Aside from providing free prophylactics, on plenty of occasions I picked them up from some beach party or other, drunk and barely coherent. “I’m actually more worried about the liability for these guys than I am you.” I motion between my dad and Uncle John, who remain oblivious as they chuckle.

The conversation shifts to the project they’re currently working on. Most of the time the projects for the richies are things like garages, boathouses, and pool sheds—yes, they have pools, even though there’s a gorgeous, pristine lake they can swim in. But this new contract is a first, and also, from what I’m gathering, it’s a headache.

“I need them to make a decision on the flooring. It’s not like it’s life or death,” Dad says.

“Did you at least persuade her not to go with the brazilian cherry? That stuff burns through saw blades like nobody’s business.” Aaron stuffs another fritter in his mouth.

“Are you billing for all the extra time? Mileage and whatever other incidentals there might be? Does she realize that her not making choices also means she’s delaying the project?” I ask.

“I got it all marked down,” Uncle John replies. Which I take to mean he hasn’t actually billed for those things.

I lick the icing off my finger. “Look, these people have money to burn. They aren’t going to balk at being charged for whatever runs you’re making to the hardware store, but at least let them know that the more they delay the decision, the longer the job is going to take, and rush deliveries add charges. And I doubt Harry’s stocks brazilian cherry, so you have to be ordering it from Chicago or something, and there’s bound to be additional delivery charges on that, or at the very least mileage if you have to pick it up.”

My uncle nods, as if he agrees with me, but I know he has an excuse for being hesitant to do what I’m suggesting. “They’re spending a lot of money. And it’s not like she’s difficult. She’s forever making us meals, and coffee, and they’re nice people. She agonizes over every decision, and her husband is so wrapped around her finger he won’t press her on anything. All he says is, ‘Whatever Lainey wants, she gets,’ which is fine and all, but man, it makes it hard to finish a job.” I can tell that since he likes these clients, he doesn’t want to cause conflict.

“Do you want me to come in and talk to her about flooring choices so you don’t have to deal with it?”