“Yeah, the boys can’t wait to hit the park tomorrow. We’re going early so they can eat and run off some steam before the fireworks. And we can claim enough territory for everybody. It’s too bad Hope can’t make it.”

“She’ll be able to see the fireworks from the top porch of the inn.” But it was a pisser, he admitted. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d hung out on the Fourth without a date. Not that he couldn’t ask somebody else—technically.

“Don’t you have something to do?” Ryder asked him.

“I’ve been doing it. You’re on the last windows. Roofers are on the shingles; looking good, too. Owen texted from MacT’s. The steel’s on its way here. Looks like we’re getting those beams up today.”

“Place’ll be full of subs next week.” Finished, Ryder stepped back from the window. “You sit on Mom until she picks out the style and finish of the rails for this place.”

“Why do I have to sit on her?”

“Because I thought of it first.” He checked the time. Close enough to lunch to take the break, but he didn’t want to leave the site if the steel was en route.

“And you can go get us some lunch.”

“I can?”

“I’ve got too much going on to leave, and I want to go over a couple things on the plans with you.”

Beckett’s jaw set. “Changes, you mean.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, sweetheart. Just some adjustments, some clarification. If we’re going to have the bones of this place in, I want to nail down the lighting.”

“We’ll do it now. I’ll call in an order. What do you want?”

“Food.” When one of the men hailed him, Ryder left Beckett to figure it out.

They used a back corner, what would eventually be the circuit-training area, to bargain over the plans. Ryder always wanted changes, Beckett knew, just as Ryder knew Beckett only held the line against them if they messed with the vision or didn’t make architectural sense.

“I’m making Mom a list,” Beckett began. “Number of lights, types, areas. She knows the look she wants.”

“Don’t let her order until you check the wattage.”

“It’s not my first rodeo, Ry.” He pulled out his phone as it signaled. “Owen’s in The Courtyard with food.”

“What’s he doing over there?”

“You want to eat, let’s find out.”

He did want to eat, and he’d be within sight if the steel arrived. And since the plans were burned in his brain, he didn’t need the blueprints to bug Beckett about them.

“About the bamboo floors,” he began as they started out.

“Mom’s set on bamboo; so am I for that matter. Don’t even go there.”