Mark rolled his eyes and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Stupid bullshit, but yeah. I have to remodel anyway, the place hasn’t been updated in decades.”
“Well, like I said, Trace has done amazing things here. You certainly can’t have him until he’s dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s for me, but if you need an awesome contractor, Trace is your man.”
Trace really liked the idea of dotting Avery’s i’s and crossing Avery’s t’s.
Mark’s attention returned to Trace, and the air between them shifted. He picked up an intangible vibe of competition.
Mark nodded. “Great to know. You from around here?”
“Santa Rosa, mostly.”
“Trace is Zane Hutton’s brother,” Avery said. “You know Zane.”
Ah crap. As soon as the words were out of Avery’s mouth, Trace knew what would come next, and he tightened his stomach for the inevitable hit of his ugly past.
“Oh, right, Zane . . . ,” Mark said, his gaze clicking with associations. “Didn’t I hear you had some trouble a few years back?”
Fucker. He was definitely interested in Avery. And he’d probably played sports in high school or college, because he’d gone straight for Trace’s knees.
Trace had tangled with men who would eat this kid for a morning snack, but he’d left all that behind when he’d walked beyond Folsom’s gates, so he offered a smile and a semi-amiable, “I see the Wildwood rumor mill is working well.”
Mark nodded, thoughts churning behind his dark eyes. “Where’d you end up?”
Trace’s fingers flexed. He deliberately tamped down the spurt of anger. “Folsom.”
“Hard time.”
Like you’d know, punk. “Very.”
“You still have your contractor’s license?”
“Sure do.”
“Good for you.”
Condescending prick.
The way Avery sidled closer told Trace she sensed the subtle confrontation. “Didn’t you buy the barber shop? Mr. Stein’s place?”
Mark grinned at her. “Good memory.”
“It’s where my dad used to get his hair cut.” She narrowed her eyes a little. “I don’t suppose that old piano is still there? I used to pound on it whenever my dad dragged me along.”
“As a matter of fact,” he said with a sour look as he rubbed the back of his neck, “it’s only one of the relics I’m going to have to get rid of.”
Her gaze darted to Trace for a split second, but he caught the spark of excitement before she refocused on Mark. “If you’re going to give the piano away, I’d love to take it off your hands.”
“Really?” Mark asked, hopeful. “Are you sure? I doubt it’s any good, and I don’t want to dump my trash on you.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I doubt it was played much, and we don’t have the temperature swings or the humidity that would cause a lot of damage. I’d be willing to take my chances.”
“Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”
“Just enough to get into trouble. I played in school as a kid.”
“Well, I’d be happy to get it off my hands. It’s sitting in a corner gathering dust and taking up space.”
“Then it’s a deal.” Avery was beaming, and Trace knew exactly why she wanted that old piano—for his dad. The emotions that hit him when he’d come down the stairs returned, even more intense than before. “And I bet you’re probably going to need some nice cabinets right? Come look at my kitchen.” She pulled Mark by the arm. “Trace built all these himself. Everything’s custom.”