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Marco up the steps. “I always wanted one growing up. With the weather the way it is in San Francisco, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to have what I wanted.”
    Marco shook his head. He still couldn’t put the man beside him and the house looming over him together. It seemed completely out of character. He began to wonder how well he really knew Kent.
    Kent unlocked one of the big double doors and punched a code into the keypad just inside. “Hang on. I’ve got something that might help.”
    Kent disappeared and Marco was left standing in the formal entry. Everywhere he looked, he saw opulence. From the wide, sweeping staircase, to the overhead chandelier, Kent’s house screamed money. This was the man who whined if he lost fifty bucks in a poker game?
    Moments later, Kent reappeared with a set of crutches. “Try these.”
    Marco took the first crutch from Kent and chuckled. The darn thing was almost taller than he was. “Uhh, I’m not sure they’ll work.”
    Rolling his eyes, Kent adjusted the one he still had in his hands and handed it over before doing the same with the crutch he’d given Marco.
    “Why do you have these? I don’t remember you getting hurt?”
    “I broke my foot about ten years ago. I ran across them a couple of weeks ago while cleaning out the storage room.” Kent started to walk to the back of the house. “Come on, kitchen’s this way.”
    Marco had never used crutches and it took him a few seconds to get the hang of it. Kent had been right, it did help. Although he knew he couldn’t work while using them, they would go a long way in getting around. He’d really slacked off on taking care of the house since his fall over Rufus.
    “Have a seat.”
    Marco slid onto a stool at the large island and leaned the crutches against the wooden counter top. He ran his hand over the beautifully grained and glossy wood.
    “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah. I guess I never thought of using wood like this.” The warm colour of the countertops complimented the white cabinetry and brick alcove that housed a huge industrial-style stove. “You like brick, I see.”
    Kent chuckled. “Does it show?”
    “Just a little.”
    Kent opened the large stainless steel refrigerator and removed a carton of eggs, small jug of milk and block of cheese. “I don’t have much, but I made a run to the store Sunday. The beer bottles were starting to get lonely.”
    As Marco watched Kent whip up the eggs and milk, he tried to figure out what rabbit hole he’d fallen into. “So’d you build this place?”
    Kent lit the stove and set a skillet over the gas flame. “Yep. It was the first official project for Baker Construction. We built most of the homes in the neighbourhood but mine was first.”
    “Who did the brickwork?” He knew he sounded jealous, but as much of it as was in the house, Kent had to have worked closely with the guy.
    Kent poured the bowl of frothy eggs into the skillet. “Who didn’t? I tried at least six different guys before I gave up and finished it myself. That’s why, if you look close, the work doesn’t match.”
    Once again, Marco was shocked. “I didn’t know you knew how to do that?”
    With his back to Marco, Kent shrugged. “I’m nowhere near as good as you are, but I learned the trade from my old man.”
    Was that a compliment?
    Kent flipped the omelette and turned back to the island to grab the block of sharp cheddar and a cheese grater he’d dug out of one of the cabinets. He met Marco’s gaze before returning his attention to the stove. “You truly are the most gifted bricklayer I’ve ever come across. I’m damn lucky to have you.”
    Marco smiled. At the age of sixteen he’d worked hauling bricks for the craftsmen. Over time, he’d convinced the men to teach him. How many hours had he worked to get his technique to the point where he was satisfied? How many times had Kent ordered him to tear something apart and redo it? At the time, Marco thought Kent was