“It would save time and money, and look fine if we ran the padded gym flooring throughout.”

“It’d look boring and pedestrian. Bamboo’s got a nice give to it for the classroom, the interior steps and hallways.”

“The steps are going to be a pain in my ass if we use wood.”

“Not budging on it,” Beckett told him. “And you can bet your ass, pain or not, Mom’s not either.”

They stepped into The Courtyard where Owen sat under a cheerful umbrella with three take-out containers and a stack of papers.

“Hope caught me as I was going by and said to eat out here. Nice.”

“What’d I get?” Ryder flipped back the lid of the container, nodded at the panini and fries. “That works.”

“I’ve been going over the paint system for the exterior of the fitness center. It’s a lot of steps, a big process, to get those cinder blocks looking like anything but cinder blocks.”

“Don’t you start,” Beckett warned, and grabbed his own panini. “No way we’re just slapping on some paint and calling it a day. It’ll still be ugly.”

“It’s already less ugly,” Ryder pointed out. “But I’m on your side of this one.”

“Who said I’m not?” Owen stretched out his legs, circled his tired neck. “I’m saying we could do it, but we should go ahead and hire a sub who knows how to do it. It’d take us too long, and there’s too much room for screwups.”

Before Ryder could argue about that, Hope came out with a tray. A big pitcher, glasses, and a plate of cookies.

“Iced tea,” she announced. “And there’s more where that came from. I swear, the calendar turned over to July, and the furnace revved up. They’re calling for triple digits by Sunday.”

“Thanks. You didn’t have to bother,” Owen told her. “Avery said you’re slammed this weekend.”

“Boy, are we. All the guests are off doing something right now, so I’ve got a minute. There’s a lot of interest in the fitness center and the new restaurant. Everybody wants opening dates.”

“Everybody’s going to have to wait,” Ryder muttered.

“I’m telling them to watch Facebook and the web pages. Let me know if you want anything else.”

Ryder downed half a glass of tea when she went inside. “Be right back,” he said, and followed her.

“Does he know he’s hooked?” Owen wondered.

“Ry? Hell no.”

“That was a rhetorical question. Mid-August for MacT’s,” Owen added with his mouth full. “It’s moving good, and I know how Ry is about deadlines, but it’s not going to be a problem. I figure it’ll take about the same time for him to realize he’s hooked.”