He’d stayed in Chicago too long, watching while the woman he’d dreamed about for years got married and started a family with someone else. He’d tried to find someone to take her place. But there had been no one who came close.

Until one April night, two and a half years ago, when Olivia tumbled into his arms at her sister’s rehearsal dinner. And you had to go and blow it. Well, tonight he had the opportunity to fix whatever it was that had made her run. He wouldn’t fuck it up again.

He unlocked the front door to his apartment house. The walls in the entryway would be next on the paint list, he thought, looking around as he did every time he entered. But each time he entered, the place looked a little better. All it had needed was some “sprucing,” as his mother would say.

He’d bought the old building on something of a whim seven months before. His old friend Evie had lived here before finding her own happy ending, which she so richly deserved. Seven months ago, she’d asked him for help with her leaky roof. He’d fixed the leaks, then decided to stay, for a lot of reasons. The biggest of which was the way his chest had gone tight when Olivia had walked into his hospital room after the car he’d been driving had been forced from the road by a psycho killer. That day in the hospital, it had been two years since he’d seen her. He’d almost convinced himself he’d dreamed her and the night they’d had together.

But the moment he’d smelled honeysuckle, he’d known it was real.

So he’d decided to stay, to start over. To build something that was his own. In the last seven months he’d more than “spruced” this old building, gradually turning his ten apartments into showpieces urban professionals would jump to own-which had been his plan. Fix it, flip it, go on to the next. He looked at the names neatly stenciled on the row of antique oak mailboxes and had to smile.

It hadn’t worked out exactly as he’d planned, but he found he liked the way it had ended up a lot better. He jogged up the three flights of stairs to his loft apartment, thinking about the kitchen tiling project he’d left half done. He could put a big dent in it while he waited for Olivia to call. He needed to keep busy, or he’d lose his mind.

“David?” It was a small voice, sounding more like a child than the mother of one. Unfortunately, Lacey was both.

He looked over the rail to the second-floor landing to where the young woman stood, a baby in her arms. “Hey, Lace. What’s up?”

“It’s the refrigerator. It’s not cold. I know you’re just getting off shift, and I wouldn’t have said anything, but Mrs. Edwards said you needed to know. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” He walked down one flight of stairs and into the apartment he hadn’t quite finished rehabbing, although it was livable. Toys littered the floor, and cases of baby formula were stacked against one wall. But the place was clean, even though at the moment it smelled faintly of baby puke. Mrs. Edwards ran a tight ship on which each of her young mothers was responsible for the chores, but even Mrs. Edwards couldn’t keep babies from spitting up.

David opened the refrigerator and sighed. It was broken. “Your groceries will spoil.”

Lacey ducked her head. “Can you fix it?”

“No. This fridge has been ready for the junkyard. I’ve got a new one ready to put in, but I wanted to do the tile on the floor first. I can get the new fridge here by tomorrow, but we’re going to need to move your stuff upstairs until then. Where is Mrs. Edwards?”

“Elly had a doctor’s appointment and Tiffany doesn’t have her license yet, so Mrs. E had to drive them.” Lacey sighed dramatically. “Tiffany failed the drivers’ test again.”

David winced. “Again? What’s wrong with Elly?”

“Nothing, just a well-baby exam. And shots.”

“Good.” He put out his hands and without hesitation, she placed her baby in them. Lacey’s little boy was precious. “Did you get the job at Martino’s?”

Lacey smiled. “Yeah. I have to work nights, but the tips are good and I can still do my GED classes during the day. Thanks for the good word you put in for me. It helped.”

As if picking up on his mother’s sudden mood change, the baby giggled, making David grin. The kid had an infectious laugh, making him miss his own nieces and nephews. He kissed the baby’s chubby cheek and handed him back to Lacey.

“Anytime.” Martino’s was an Italian place run by the family of one of the firefighters on B shift at the firehouse. “They’ll treat you right there. I’ll get your perishables up to my fridge. Mrs. Edwards has a key if I have to leave.” If Olivia calls, I am out of here.

A few minutes later he was standing at his front door, juggling grocery bags while trying to get his key in his lock. He leaned against his door, stumbling when it opened, revealing a woman sitting at his dining room table, a coffee cup in one hand. For a moment he stared, then he felt the smile crack his face.

“Ma?”

She set the cup down with a clatter and was across the room, opening her arms. “I missed you,” she whispered, hugging him fiercely.

“I missed you, too,” he said and she backed away, dabbing at her eyes.

“Let me look at you,” she said, so he dropped the grocery bags on the table and obligingly held out his arms. She looked him up and down and nodded, satisfied.

“What are you doing here, Ma?” he asked. “I’m glad to see you, but I wasn’t expecting you for two weeks. I’m not ready for decorating yet. I was going to call you when I got all the floors done.”

His mother had an eye for color and she’d been itching to help with his building rehab. He’d promised she could pick out carpet and drapes and furniture and all the knickknacks that made the house he’d grown up in a real home.

“Grace started preschool,” she said. “My last grandbaby is in school and I didn’t have anything to do with my mornings. So I came to see you.”

“You should have called. I’d have left you a key or met you at the airport.”

She frowned mildly. “I drove myself from Chicago. I’m not as old as you think.”

“That she is not,” a voice boomed from the kitchen and David turned, surprised. He’d heard the voice of his first-floor tenant but saw no body to go with it.

“Glenn? What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“David,” his mother admonished. “Mr. Redman had a key. He let me in.”

“I’m not mad he’s here. I’m mad he’s down there.” David went around the counter and looked down to where Glenn Redman sat on the floor, meticulously lining up tiles, the light from the bare bulb reflecting off his shiny bald head. “Are you all right?”

Redman gave him a sour glare. “I’m fine. I know what I can do.”

“Famous last words,” David said, just as sourly. Then he looked at the tile the old man had arranged in a precise geometric design. “Not bad.”

“It’s damn good, boy,” Redman huffed. “Better than you were doing. Admit it.”

“Okay. I admit it. Thank you.”

“Was that so hard?” Redman held out a hand and David pulled him to his feet, holding on until the older man was steady. He was on the tail end of what had been a long series of chemo, and his prognosis was good, but he still didn’t have the energy he’d had when David first met him at the firehouse, seven months ago. That was just weeks before the doctors discovered Glenn’s tumor and just a month before he became David’s first paying tenant. Of course, payment was a relative thing.

David’s apartment house was ideally located near the hospital, while Redman’s retirement cabin was too far for him to easily get to his chemo treatments. So they’d made a trade. While Redman lived here, David got use of the cabin and its lake full of walleye. Both were happy with the arrangement.

“Nope, wasn’t hard to admit at all. I hate tile work,” David said then looked at his mom. “Don’t believe anything he says, Ma. He’s a consummate liar.”