PROLOGUE
TO: Family and Friends
FROM: Cooper Chance
SUBJECT: 50th Wedding Anniversary
You’re invited to celebrate the 50th wedding Anniversary of Peggy and Martin.
- Food and drinks.
- Music.
- Fun.
Party is at the original Watchful Wanderers store.
Sunday, June 2nd.
RSVP to Cooper Chance—just reply to this email
No presents.
***
TO: Cooper Chance, Ford Chance
FROM: Palmer Chance
SUBJECT: Re: 50th Wedding Anniversary
Bro,
Please do not tell me you just sent a wedding anniversary invite through an email? Did that just happen?
Palmer—your not-so-happy sister
***
TO: Palmer Chance, Ford Chance
FROM: Cooper Chance
SUBJECT: I Did
***
TO: Cooper Chance, Ford Chance
FROM: Palmer Chance
SUBJECT: Re: I Did
You know I hate it when you respond in the subject line. It’s more work to delete the subject line and type in your response, than to just reply in the body of the email.
But ignoring that, what happened to the beautiful linen invites I picked out? You can’t just send an email for Mom and Dad’s 50th WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. We look so . . . uncultured.
***
TO: Palmer Chance, Ford Chance
FROM: Cooper Chance
SUBJECT: Re: I Did
The invites you wanted to purchase were going to be twelve dollars a pop. TWELVE dollars, Palmer. That’s a waste of money, a waste of resources, and just a useless way to kill more trees. Also, while you’re out galivanting around the world, who do you think was going to have to address all of those?
Me.
So, I did what was easiest. Sent an email. If you don’t like it, too bad.
***
TO: Cooper Chance, Ford Chance
FROM: Palmer Chance
SUBJECT: Re: I Did
You realize the family owns a multi-billion dollar, franchised, outdoors store, right? Twelve dollars an invite is a blip in the pool of gold Mom and Dad are sitting in. Now we look like cheap asses who send out a wedding anniversary invitation through email. You’re an editor, but you didn’t even beef up the text. You made bullet points.
Food.
Drinks.
Music.
Fun.
^^^ Yup, screams fun, Coop.
***
TO: Palmer Chance, Ford Chance
FROM: Cooper Chance
SUBJECT: Re: I Did
Once again, if you’re not here, you can’t have an opinion.
***
TO: Cooper Chance, Palmer Chance
FROM: Ford Chance
SUBJECT: Re: I did
Just catching up.
The invitation is less than ideal, especially for such a large and monumental event in our parents’ lives, parents who have given us every opportunity to succeed in life. I think we need to treat this anniversary with a little more appreciation and a little less complaining about the time and effort we have to put forth in order to make it happen.
I just spoke with Larkin and she is ordering the linen invites, having them shipped overnight, and we will have them sent out ASAP. We will treat the email as a funny save the date. I will reply all and tell everyone to expect a formal invitation in the mail.
Larkin and I will be flying out to Washington on Tuesday. We will be working up until the anniversary party on some very time-consuming tasks. Please be conscious of our time and energy.
I’ll be sure to have Larkin schedule in some meetings to go over all party arrangements as well as time with the family, but we won’t be staying with Mom and Dad. We booked two rooms at the Marina Island Bed and Breakfast, one being the attic suite so we can conduct business in private.
Please send your itineraries to Larkin and any requests so she can schedule them in.
Thank you.
Ford
CHAPTER ONE**FORD**
“Larkin, did you get the invitations sent out?” I call from my desk as I type out a quick email to our head of marketing. I was supposed to receive mock-ups for our rebranding by end of day. It’s end of day, and there are no mock-ups.
“I did.” Larkin sweeps into my office, tablet in hand and blue light–blocking glasses perched on her nose. “They were sent out at lunchtime. The calligraphist did an impeccable job on the addresses. And as an added touch, I took one of the pictures from your parents’ recent photo shoot and made it into a stamp.”
I smile. “Did you make sure to send them one?” Larkin nods with a knowing glint in her eye. “They’ll get a kick out of that.”
“I also got word from your housekeeper that your bags are all packed, your suits are freshly pressed, and the remaining food in your fridge has been taken care of so nothing goes bad while you’re gone for the next month.”
“Great. And have you heard from marketing about the mock-ups? I drafted an email to ask where they are but thought I would check with you first.”
She clutches her tablet to her chest. “Yes, they brought them to me early this afternoon, but they were missing color swatches and a few other things I knew you would ask for, so I asked them for a redo. I told them I’d stay late to grab them so we can bring them with us on the trip tomorrow.”
“I can stay late—you don’t have to. I’m sure you have to go home and pack.”
“I woke up this morning and packed in preparation for late mock-ups.” She smiles, and I can’t help but shake my head.
Larkin Novak is one of a kind. I hired her four years ago, and I’ve given her significant pay raises every year just to keep her. She’s efficient, incredibly intelligent, vastly organized, and can anticipate what I’m going to need before I even know it. She’s such an integral part of this company and my day-to-day that I don’t know what I would do without her.
“Do you ever sleep, Larkin?”
She pushes her ice-blonde hair behind her ear. “Who needs sleep when there’s so much to do?”
“You need sleep.” I stand from my desk and walk up to her. Carefully, I take her precious tablet from her hands. “Go home. I’ll wait for the mock-ups.”
She eyes the tablet in my hand and then looks back up at me with those intensely blue eyes. “I get plenty of sleep. A solid eight hours every night.”
“Then you need a life. Go home.” I chuckle and walk past her to her desk, where I slip her tablet in her work bag, pick the bag up by the strap, and drape it over her shoulder. “Go, Larkin. We have a strenuous month ahead of us with the rebrand and the anniversary party. Have a second to yourself before you’re forced to be at your boss’s side for precisely every second of every day for twenty-nine days.”
The rebrand is the first business-altering project I’ve taken on since my dad retired, and I’m spending every waking hour working toward perfection—if there’s something I never want to do, it’s let my dad down, especially after everything he and my mom have done for me, for my siblings.
“You do paint an awful picture of what’s to come. If that’s the case, I’m going to go grab some dinner, which will be ice cream, and drown my sorrows in my one and only night to myself before I’m inserted into apparent hell on Marina Island.”
“Yeah.” I grip the back of my neck. “Are you prepared to be around my family? They can be a bit much.”
“You act as if I haven’t met them before.”
“But you haven’t been in the same space with all of them together.”
“Nervous I’ll quit after a week?”
“Yeah.” I let out a dry chuckle. “I am.” Folding my arms across my chest, I lean against the doorframe of my office and take a second to relax. I’m constantly wearing the CEO hat, and it can be exhausting after a while. Larkin and I have a good enough relationship that she knows when I need to “kick my shoes off” and take a second to breathe.
“It’s going to take more than your family to drive me away. You know I can’t find a benefits package quite like yours anywhere else.”
“Ah, the true reason you stick around,” I joke.
“You had me at four weeks’ paid vacation and bonus structure.” She lets out a familiar chuckle.
“At least I know what will keep you around now.” I sigh deeply. “Okay, I should finish up some work before we head out tomorrow.” I push off the doorframe and head back into my office.
“Can I order you anything for dinner before I leave?” she asks, tailing after me.
I shake my head. “I have a protein bar in my desk drawer that’s been begging to be eaten all day.”
“Thrilling.” Her sarcasm seeps through, which it seems to do more often after hours. “I have a car coming to pick you up tomorrow, eight in the morning. I’ll have a breakfast burrito waiting for you.”
“You’re perfection. Thank you.” I wake up my computer by moving my mouse around. “See you in the morning.”
“Bye, Ford.” She takes off, and I turn to my computer, focusing on the emails in my inbox. The worst part of the job is sitting in front of me: answering questions from department heads. Oddly, I prefer the mundane tasks like numbers and projections, and I’m good at them.
So good at them that we’ll be opening fifty new stores in the coming year, which is the direct reason for the rebranding. We’ve stuck with the same storefront, color blend, and aesthetic ever since we franchised. Walking into one of our stores, you get a sense it’s slightly outdated, with its oak timber logs, forest-green linoleum floors, metal bracket shelving, mustard-yellow accents, and outdoor adventures from a photo shoot nearly fifteen years ago. The stores are successful, but they’re not capturing every consumer . . . like the young crowd. In order to keep up with the competition, which dominates the Gen Z market, we need to make sure we’re keeping the stores fresh. We have the funds to do so, but we need to make sure we have the right research and development in place to appeal to our customers and make them not just enjoy what they’re buying from Watchful Wanderers but to enjoy the experience as well.
Because if anything, the young crowd is always about the experience, something Larkin has been drilling into me since the moment we started the rebranding process.
After I’ve made a decent dent in my emails, my phone buzzes with a text message. Mom.
When I was seven and Cooper was five, our biological mom overdosed and our grandma became our legal guardian. We lived with her for a few months until she couldn’t physically take care of us anymore. At that point, we were placed into foster care. We bounced from house to house for a few more months until we met Peggy and Martin. The minute I met them, I knew—I knew we were going to be a family. I felt it in my soul. And after a year of living with them on Marina Island, a small island off the coast of Seattle, they sat us down and asked if we wanted to be a part of their family permanently.
I’m not one to be sentimental—I’m more logical than anything—but that hug, the one I gave my parents when they asked us to take their last name . . . yeah, I can still feel their arms wrapped around me. I can still smell Mom’s lavender perfume and hear Dad’s sniffs as he showed his true feelings that day. He gripped me by the cheeks, looked into my eyes, and told me that he would be honored to call me son.
From that day forward, I knew my life would be dedicated to thanking them for giving me a chance in life. And not only me but Cooper as well. Shortly afterward, Mom and Dad were surprised when they found out they were pregnant with Palmer. They didn’t think getting pregnant was an option for them, but life has a tricky way of throwing you for a loop. From a family of four, we became a blended family of five and have been ever since.
I open up Mom’s text and read it to myself.
Mom: What’s this I hear you’re not going to be staying with us? You know the Island’s Bed and Breakfast claims to have the best continental breakfast, but nothing beats my homemade pancakes. Are you really going to give up my fluffy, melt-in-your-mouth pancakes for a free continental breakfast of dry muffins and orange juice tainted with pulp?
Smiling to myself, I shake my head at her. Want to talk about a mama bear? Peggy Chance is the definition. She clings to every facet of her children’s lives. We were her goals, her aspirations, her fulfillment. While Dad was running the store, she was taking care of the home front, keeping us in line, dishing out responsibilities, and inserting herself into our lives in every possible way.
I type back to her.
Ford: Larkin will be with me. It would be weird for her to stay at the family house.
Mom: We have plenty of room. We can stick her in your room, and you can sleep on the couch.
Ford: My assistant sleeping in my childhood bed isn’t exactly what I would call professional.
Mom: Oh stop, Larkin is practically part of the family. I bet she’d love to see where you used to hide away when you were a teenager.
Ford: I’m sure she’d love to obtain any sort of knowledge when it comes to my teenage years to tease me with, but I’d prefer if I keep things professional. Plus, we have a lot of work to do. If we stayed with you, you’d be interrupting our meetings every half hour, on the hour to make sure we’re drinking enough water to make our pee clear.
Mom: Hydration is important, especially if you want to stay young looking. Which reminds me, have you started using that eye cream I sent you? You’re 36, prime time for having to use an eye cream. I already have Palmer using hers and she’s 27. You’re behind.
Ford: Good on the eye cream, Mom. Thanks though.
Mom: Well, if you’re not going to use it, bring it with you so I can give it to Cooper. He’s starting to get some crow’s feet.
Ford: Can’t wait to tell him that.
Mom: Don’t pick on your brother. He’s sensitive.
The elevator door dings, and I glance up to the parting doors, expecting someone from marketing to drop off the mock-ups, but instead see a wisp of ice-blonde hair right before Larkin steps off and walks toward my office, a paper bag in hand.
I lean back in my chair and watch her approach me, a smirk crossing her lips.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as she sets the brown bag on my desk. “I told you to go home.”
“I couldn’t let you not eat dinner.” She pulls out two carry-out cups from Gelato Boy, our favorite ice cream place in Denver. She pushes a cup toward me, along with a spoon. “Got your favorite, Gooey Buttercake and Caramel.”
“You’re trying to make me wake up earlier than I want so I can get in some extra miles on the pavement, aren’t you?” I take the gelato and remove the lid. Creamy gelato mixed with caramel glistens up at me, making my mouth water. Didn’t realize how much I needed this until now.
“I plan on getting in three miles.” She scoops a spoonful. “Which means you have to at least meet me or beat me.”
Mouth full of ice cream, I answer, “You know I’m going to beat you.”
She smirks. “You always do.”
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