French Roast (33 page)
Authors: Ava Miles
Tags: #romance, #contemporary, #small town, #New Adult, #foodie romance
Chapter 41
H
ey, Jill. Thought you’d be taking the morning off after your big win last night. Congrats!” Margie said, pulling the red lever for hot water.
An early morning talk with her sister had been the highlight of her morning. Meredith had been shocked by the news of her pregnancy, but supportive. She’d held Jill as she’d cried and told her she’d be with her when she told her parents and grandpa.
Her hands clutched her purse, trying to keep herself grounded. “Thanks. I haven’t been around as much lately. I appreciate the way you and the crew have picked up the slack.”
And she’d need even more help now that she’d accepted Mac’s job. He had assured her that he still wanted her to work for him. He’d even congratulated her on the baby and outlined his generous maternity benefits. She’d struggled not to blubber on the phone. Her insides twirled like a roller coaster when she thought about all the changes ahead of her. Finding a new manager for Don’t Soy With Me was her next priority.
Her work with him would grow over the next few months while the construction occurred. Mac had an ambitious timetable for the build. The clearing crew had already started, impressing everyone in town. Mac planned to have a grand opening on Independence Day. Having seen the construction company’s references, she believed it would happen.
Margie sidled closer to her. “Pete dropped something off for Brian. Asked you to give it to him.” She patted her on the back.
The pain of not seeing Brian again tore through her. “That’s weird.”
“Pete said he was leaving town, and after the other night…” Margie finished the latte she was making. “It’s on your desk.”
He was leaving? Jill headed for her office with a cup of coffee. She caught sight of Pete’s parting gift as soon as she opened the door. She approached it with a sense of wonder and pain.
The worn football showed over a decade of love. The white seams had turned ivory, the pigskin a dull and worn brown like an old suit. Someone might have thought it was worthless if not for the signature. She picked it up and traced the name—John Elway—the Denver Bronco’s most hallowed quarterback.
It was Pete’s prized possession. And he’d given it to Brian.
He wasn’t coming back for a long time.
She sat there in the silence. The damn Broncos reference made her think back to Brian’s suggestion they move in together. Memories of that time flooded her mind. Just when they’d become closer than she’d ever imagined, she’d run like a rabbit and fallen behind the old walls of hurt. She’d shut him out like he was meaningless to her.
Reaching into her desk drawer, she bypassed their Valentine’s Day photo and pulled out one taken a few weeks ago, after their first dinner. He’d set up his phone to take the shot and tugged her onto his lap. They were gazing into each other’s eyes, her hands fingering the brown hair curling at his nape. No one could mistake the love in their eyes.
He did love her.
She was an idiot.
Her hand caressed her belly. It was time to tell him about the baby. And to ask him for a second chance. She couldn’t bear for him to leave again. Whether he would forgive her or not remained to be seen.
And if he wanted to pursue his dream job now that she had hers, she’d find a way to understand. They could share the baby if nothing else.
Grabbing her phone before she lost her nerve, she texted him.
I’m sorry about the other night. Can we talk?
She waited. A few minutes turned into ten. An hour later, she still had no answer.
He wasn’t going to respond. She eyed the clock. He’d be heading to the restaurant soon. Not the place to tell him about the baby, since it was clear he didn’t want to talk to her. She couldn’t blame him. She’d go by his apartment tomorrow.
Her head lowered onto the desk as the tears started.
She’d made a mess of everything, and she’d have to live with that.
Chapter 42
B
rian received Jill’s text as he was getting ready to head to work. Just seeing her face pop up on his home screen made him double over in pain. Her message only made him feel worse.
Since he didn’t want to talk to her without something concrete to say, he went to work like a robot. Burned himself on a sauté pan. Overcooked three orders of steak—a first. His boss finally sent him home since it was a slow night. News of his break-up with Jill had spread. Everyone knew why he was fucking everything up.
His apartment was a tomb. He didn’t want to be there. He missed Jill as badly as he’d missed Jemma in the first days after her death, the grief so fresh he hadn’t functioned for days.
And then he realized something so simple he felt stupid.
Jill was still alive. Jemma wasn’t.
What the fuck was he doing?
He didn’t want to be without Jill. He’d rather fight with her than live a passionless existence with anyone else, particularly when making up was so fun. And hadn’t they been happy living together until the shit hit the fan?
He and Jill’s relationship was nothing like his parent’s. What a fucking epiphany!
The situation with Simca would have been tough for even a time-tested couple to handle.
Jill needed more time to trust him and understand just how much he loved her.
As he stroked Mutt’s folds on the couch, he came to the decision to stay in Dare. It was the only decision.
But keeping the job at The Chop House wasn’t an option. He’d suffocate there. So, he needed another plan. Something long-term because that’s what he wanted with Jill.
He fell into cooking, opening himself up to inspiration. The perfect idea came at 4:11 A.M. as he was baking Jill her favorite raspberry scones.
He would open his own place here and find another partner. And there was only one man he respected enough to approach.
After a couple hours of sleep, he headed up to Arthur Hale’s house. Knocking on the door, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to control his nerves. The door opened.
Arthur tapped his cane on the hardwood floor. “You’ve got a hell of a nerve coming here after what you did to my granddaughter,” he growled.
His reaction wasn’t unexpected. “If I really
had
done anything, do you think I would have shown up on your doorstep? Will you let me explain? I could use your help—and advice.”
Those bushy brows drew together. “Jill blasted me for getting in the middle last time.”
He snorted. “You’re always in the middle when it comes to your family.”
The cane tapped in rapid beats. “Fine! Come in, but don’t expect me to make you coffee like it’s some social call.”
“Understood,” Brian answered and followed him inside.
The house still bore the vestiges of time. Generations of possessions—from black-and-white photos on antique furniture to a cherry wood record player—gave it a homey feel. He hoped to have a place like this with Jill someday.
“So, why are you risking being caned by an old man?” Arthur fired off.
“Let me explain.” Brian sat on a flowery upholstered chair and ran him through what had happened the other night, even showing him the article in which Simca had cleared his name.
Arthur squinted at the screen. “Damn small type. Hard to read, but I get the drift. Isn’t this something you need to tell Jill?”
“I tried, sir.”
“So what are you going to do about that?” Arthur rolled a red hot between his fingers.
Brian took a moment to clear his throat. “I’m going to stay here and try to work things out.”
Arthur stared Brian down over his glasses like a quizzical professor. “That’s a good start. Jill’s in overdrive with you—always has been. It’s the crappy thing about love. You’re humming Handel’s “Messiah” one day and crying in the gutter the next. Highs and lows. But with trust and time, you might find a middle ground where you can experience more highs and hold tight in the lows. That’s the key to marriage, son. I assume that’s where you’re headed if you’re staying here and not dashing off to some big-time career in New York.”
Brian nodded emphatically, even though ice still swirled in his stomach. Would she even be receptive to the idea?
Arthur reached for a photo of him and his wife, showed it to Brian, and then studied it himself. “You know, when I think back on my years with my wife, I don’t remember the bad stuff. I only think about her smile. How she felt in my arms. How she hummed when she baked cookies all day during a snowstorm. I have to really think to remember the lows.” He put the photo back. “We had them. Everyone does. But you don’t stop loving.”
Brian swallowed and gazed at the photo for a long moment. Arthur and his wife looked so young, no lines on their faces, no gray in their hair.
Brian rubbed his hands on his knees. “So, I have a proposition for you.”
“You’re not my type,” Arthur quipped, taking a seat on the adjacent couch.
If he’d been less nervous, he would have made a smart-ass comment. “As you know, Morty’s property—the one Jill and I were originally planning to buy—goes up for sale pretty soon.”
“Yes.”
He bounced his foot. “Well, Jill’s here. I love her. I want to be with her.” He put his ankle on his knee to stop jittering. “But I can’t work at the Chop House forever. I’ll go nuts. I’d like to buy Morty’s place, but I can’t do it alone.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to approach a Californian who doesn’t understand Dare.”
Arthur harrumphed. “They’ll have us all eating tofu and sprouts.”
He didn’t want to get into an argument about all the good things they were bringing into town, like organic produce. “I want this place to be a Dare staple.”
“And you can’t get a loan by yourself,” Arthur summed up.
He should have known Hale would understand. “Right.”
“You’re not worried about competing with Mac’s restaurant?” he asked, steepling his hands.
“No. My place is going to kick that place’s butt.”
“You and Jill are like two peas in a pod when it comes to your careers.” Arthur rested his cane on his lap and caressed the wood. “All this career talk is giving me heartburn. What about how you feel about each other? When are you two going to stop talking shop and realize what’s important?”
Uncomfortable, Brian lowered his foot to the floor. “We’ll work it out.” Since Hale was being candid, Brian decided to be equally so. “Shit got in the way.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “And what do you do when shit gets in your way? You shovel. As hard and long as it takes.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he declared.
“Good. It worries me. My heart.” He patted his chest for dramatic impact.
Brian had to bite his lip.
Arthur dug into his pocket, pulled out two red hots, and threw one at Brian. It bounced against his chest. They tore the wrappers off and popped them into their mouths, candy crackling against their teeth.
“I’ll co-sign the loan. You’ll run the show.” Arthur put out his hand. “Unless you start serving crap. No tofu. That’s not negotiable.”
Brian gripped his hand. “No problem. I hate that shit.”
“Me too,” Arthur agreed and made a motion to the door. “Now, go get a haircut and wash that crud off your face. Women like that kind of stuff.”
He wasn’t sure it would make a difference. “Yes, sir.”
“My final piece of advice. Forgiveness is as important as love. We all screw up.”
“Thank you.” He wished for more adequate words.
“You’re welcome.” He stood, cane tapping as they headed to the front door. “I’m only helping you because I’m a bachelor now. Can’t stand to eat mac and cheese every night.”
Brian gripped his shoulder, knowing he was all bluster. “Think up your favorite meal. We’ll put it on the menu as the Hale special.”
Arthur laughed. Brian left feeling like one enormous weight had evaporated. He had a plan.
Now he needed to share it with Jill and pray they could bridge the gap between them.
