He knew his mother was already looking at tile and paint fans, and put that right out of his mind. He had to deal with the right now, and the right now included bringing in steel beams, cutting through cinder block, and installing a shitload of new windows.

No, he corrected, that was tomorrow and into next week. The right now was that cold beer.

He toed the dog awake with his boot. “You can sleep in the truck, you lazy bastard.”

The dog stirred himself to yawn, sit up. And plop his head in Ryder’s lap.

“No beer for you.” Ryder scratched at the dog’s ears, gave the homely face a rub. “You can’t handle it. Remember last time? All you did was lap up half a spilled beer before I caught you, and what happened? You walked into walls and puked. You’re a lousy drunk, Dumbass.”

“My grandmother had a cat who drank brandy.”

This time she gave him a jolt. He shifted, watching Hope as she came in the St. Paul Street door. For a moment the light framed around her, caught at the ends of her hair.

She took a man’s breath away, he thought. It just wasn’t right.

“Is that so?”

“It is. Her name was Penelope, and she had a taste for Azteca de Oro. She had a thimbleful every night, and died at the age of twenty-two. The cat who wouldn’t die.”

“D.A. likes toilet water.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” She walked over, set the pie dish on the plywood. “Payment in full.”

She’d done the fancy latticework for the top crust, he noted. He stuck a finger in a space between, ignoring her appalled, “Don’t! Oh, really.” Scooping some out, he sampled.

It hit that perfect note between tart and sweet. He should’ve figured it. “It’s good.”

“It would be even better on a plate, with a fork.”

“Maybe. I’ll try that out later.”

“Don’t,” she repeated, and this time slapped his hand. Reaching in her pocket, she took out a Milk Bone for the dog. “He may drink out of the toilet, but by and large he has better manners than you do.” She gave D.A.’s head a pat. “Is it all right if I take some pictures in here tomorrow?”

“Why?”

“I thought I’d update the inn’s Facebook page, include some of what’s happening. This, Avery’s, the bakery. We’re going to offer guests free day passes, so some who’re thinking about booking might be interested in the progress. Especially if I can add a projected opening date.”

He circled a finger in the air. “Look around. Does it look like I can give you an opening date?”

“Projected.”

“No. Take pictures if you want. You can put up the bakery’s opening soon.”

“How soon?”