“What happened to sleeping in?” Delaney asked. “It used to take a crowbar to get you out of bed before ten.”
“I have a business to run.” She stood from the car with a crate of coffees in one hand and a pink pastry box in the other and closed the door with a bump of her hip. “One of my girls called in sick. I had to get the store ready to open and her shift covered.”
“Don’t you look like a spring angel in the midst of fall?” Delaney took in her aunt’s gauzy white blouse and her silver hair waving softly to her shoulders. Her still-smooth skin glowed, the apples of her cheeks were still high, and her clear blue eyes still sparkled. Her dark-blue jeans hugged slim curves, and she’d slipped on thos
e sparkly sandals again. “God, I hope I look as good as you do when I’m your age.”
She reached for one of the coffee cups tucked into the cardboard carrier, greedy for caffeine.
“You make me sound ancient.” Phoebe set the small pink box of pastries on the hood of Delaney’s Jeep. “Eat something. Don’t down that coffee on an empty stomach.”
Delaney sighed as the coffee warmed a trail down the center of her body. “Oh, Auntie, coffee is a food group all its own.”
That made Phoebe laugh, and any shadow of frustration with Delaney’s habits vanished in a bright smile. The woman positively radiated goodness, energy, and joy, even at the most troubled times. If there weren’t so many bad memories in this town, Delaney would really enjoy living close to Phoebe again.
Maybe closer to the red-hot, epic Ethan, too.
“Have a peek,” Phoebe said, nodding to the box. “Got your favorite.”
Her brows shot up. “Scones?” She leaned over to peer in the box. “Oh, please, please, please tell me you got—”
“Orange cranberry. What else?”
Delaney squealed and picked up the scone, immediately licking off a drop of icing ready to fall from the side. “Mmm. I so needed this.”
“I know. It’s been a rough few weeks for you.”
Delaney took a bite of the dense pastry, and flavor burst in her mouth—sweet sugar, tangy orange, tart cranberry. “Mmm, my God,” she mumbled around the bite. “Heaven. Was everything okay at the store?”
Phoebe owned a large building at the center of town, called Wildly Artesian, where local artists rented space to sell their handmade arts and crafts. Her aunt was a master artist in more medias than Delaney knew existed and filled her own large space in the store with watercolors, stained glass, ceramics, jewelry, and more. So much more. The woman had more talent in her pinkie than Delaney had in her entire body. But Delaney had picked up her aunt’s keen attention to detail, something that had served her well over the years.
“Yes, I found someone to cover Tori’s shift.” Phoebe’s gaze turned to the building. “Is it as bad as it looks?”
Delaney was about to take another bite, but mention of the bar killed her appetite. She took a sip of coffee instead and looked over the building again. “Unfortunately.”
Delaney set her unfinished scone back in the box, her coffee on the hood of her Jeep, and dusted crumbs off her hands. Combing her fingers through her hair, she collected the strands into a tail and used the elastic band around her wrist to secure the mass into a messy bun. Kind of like the way she was trying to wrangle a massive amount of information about the bar and all it needed into a condensed package for Phoebe.
“It needs a new roof, new walls, reinforced foundation,” she said. “New floors, new plumbing, new windows, new doors.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I’m not done yet. New appliances, new fixtures, new cabinets. New stairs, new hardware, new insulation, new HVAC.”
“You learned all that in the short time you were here?” Phoebe asked with awe in her voice.
Delaney nodded. “What I can’t see yet are structural issues that are hiding behind the walls and ceilings. In a building a hundred years old, I’m sure we’ll come across at least a handful.
“There are so many code violations in there, even if something was still good, we’d likely have to rebuild it to meet current codes.” She turned her gaze back to Phoebe with the enormity of the project sitting in the pit of her stomach like a boulder. “There are very few things that are still solid. Everything else has to be replaced, rebuilt, rewired, replumbed . . .”
“If it’s so bad, why didn’t the city come down on Joe sooner? Why’d they let the place stay open so long?”
Delaney lifted a shoulder. “Buildings don’t need to meet updated codes unless they undergo renovations or additions, or unless the city passes new ordinances or laws, like the visual nuisance ordinance that this place violates in spades.”
“I knew there would be a lot involved,” Phoebe said, worry creasing her brow, “but not to that degree. Maybe the inspector can shed some light on things.”
Frustration whipped through her chest—a knee-jerk reaction. Delaney took a breath and waited for the coil to release. “I’m not doing the walk-through with the inspector so he can tell me what I need to fix. I’m doing this so I can meet him, get a read on him, see how we’ll get along. Aside from a good crew, there is no relationship more important than the one a builder has with their planner and inspector. Those men can make the length of a renovation a living hell or a dream.”
She caught sight of a white truck turning onto the drive, and her tension flared again.