13. Grady
CHAPTER 13
GRADY
Steam hisses as I throw a handful of prawns into the sizzling frying pan. I give it a shake and set it back down on the stove, before I turn around and jot down the last few ingredients I added.The aroma of garlic permeates the air making my mouth water.
It’s just me in the industrial kitchen at the back of the Whisky Jack this morning. The gas range heats the space, and a bead of sweat forms on my temple despite the fresh, dewy air wafting in through the back door.
Spencer was right the other night. Perhaps it’s time to uplevel, to give people a reason to come to the Whisky Jack that isn’t because we’re the only sit-down restaurant in town. So, I’m here before opening, testing out some ideas I had after I took Spencer home.
Developing recipes has always been a hobby of mine, one that I haven’t indulged in for a long while. Between running the bar and coaching Little League, I haven’t found the time. I forgot how satisfying it is when a recipe comes together. Not only that, when you can serve it to someone else and see how they savour that very first bite. That look of pure ecstasy as they experience a new combination of flavours is what I live for. That was the look on Spencer’s face when I cooked for her, and it reignited something in me.
My head is elsewhere though, because I have a different image seared into my brain. The look on Spencer’s face when I was buried to the hilt inside her sparked something in me, too. It felt almost forbidden, to indulge in a feeling so sweet, so delicious.
Then, she told me she wanted to go home, and the spark snuffed out. Extinguished, but not forgotten. Whatever this is between us, it’s real. I feel it in my bones, in every fibre of my being. The connection we have is like a living, breathing thing. It’s only a matter of time before she sees it, too.
The corner of my eye catches a familiar flash of red hair before I hear the knock on the door. I glance up from the fresh herbs I’m chopping to find Spencer, peeking around the corner from the alley out back.
“Knock knock,” she says, as if actually knocking wasn’t enough. “I swung by the house this morning but obviously you weren’t home, so I figured I’d try here. Can I come in, or is this entrance for staff only?”
“No, come in. It’s for you, too.” I gesture for her to enter, and wipe my hands on my apron. My gaze flicks down to Spencer’s arms as she waltzes in through the door. She’s carrying a heavy-looking binder under one arm and a large tote slung over her shoulder.A welcome cool breeze wafts in behind her. She smells like springtime, sweet sunshine and wildflowers. She looks like springtime too, eyes deep green like the first signs of life after winter or fresh cut grass.
I realize I’ve been gawking at her longer than any sane person would when I smell something burning.
“Shit,” I say, hurrying back to the pan and shaking the almost-charred prawns around before setting them on a different element and turning off the stove.
“You’re here early today,” Spencer points out, surveying my workspace, and I try to ignore the fact that she has familiarized herself with my work schedule. “Something smells incredible. Other than whatever is burning.”
“Yeah? Hopefully it tastes just as good,” I say, stirring the pot of sauce I’ve been toying with. I think I finally nailed down the right combination of spices. “Do you want to try it?”
I scoop up a small amount of red sauce into a spoon and blow on it gently before holding it out for her. She doesn’t take it from me, she just approaches and allows me to feed it to her.
“Fuck me,” she mumbles past a full mouth. “That’s incredible. What is this for?”
“You got me thinking about what I could do to improve the bar, and this is what I’ve come up with. I thought about rolling some of these out as specials, see how they land,” I explain.
“How would you feel about saving them for our special event?” Spencer flashes me a pretty please look, and I’m still trying to figure out what special event she’s talking about. I always feel about ten steps behind with Spencer.
“Is this phase three?”
“Still part of phase two,” she says, as if it’s common knowledge. “The party, remember?”
Ah yes. The party she’s told me nothing about.
“Will there be a phase three?” There could be fifty phases for all I know.
“Why yes there is, thanks for asking.” She plops the binder down on the prep table and opens it to the tab labelled Phase Two . Of course she has a tabbed binder.
“Okay, tell me about this event.”
“Here’s what I’m thinking. We redecorate a bit, revamp the menu, and host an exclusive re-opening event for the other business owners and the city councillors.”
“It’s kind of genius,” I admit.
“I’m glad you agree.” Spencer lifts her chin and flashes me a smile. “But there’s a twist. They’ll all bring a cocktail and submit it for a contest.” I regard her for a moment, and it dawns on me that I still don’t know what Spencer’s motivation is for working so hard to help me. Part of me hopes that it’s just for me, just because she wants to, but the realistic side of me knows there has to be more to it.
“Why are you doing all of this?” I ask, searching her face to try and understand the enigma that she is. She lets out a sigh.
“I wasn’t going to say anything because I thought I might jinx it if I said anything too soon,” she starts. “I have a job opportunity. A travel company looking for someone to do PR for them. I don’t have official PR experience, but they like my marketing style and asked if I could submit a portfolio.”
“Ah.” My mouth tightens into a line. So, not because of me then.
“I need this job, Grady. I have no contracts lined up, and I’ll be in a real bind if I don’t figure it out quickly.”
“Where is it?” All I can focus on is the fact that it might take Spencer away from me, and when she answers, my worst fear comes true.
“All over the world. The office is based in Vancouver, but they want me to travel on their tours to make sure they’re projecting the right image. The salary will be consistent, and it’s a permanent gig. No more hustling for short-term contracts, wondering where my next paycheck is coming from.”
I suck a breath in through my teeth, stuffing down my feelings about what she’s just told me. I have no claim over her, no right to keep her here. There’s no denying that this job sounds like an incredible opportunity, and I like Spencer enough to want what’s best for her. Yet, I feel like if I can help her with this, if I can just connect with her, be the person she needs me to be, she might just choose me.
“Well, now I need to see what you have on the laptop,” I say, nodding towards it.
“Oh, yeah, this,” she says as if she’s just remembered why she came here in the first place. She doesn’t seem like herself this morning; her shoulders appear tense, and her normally raspy, buttery soft voice is tighter. She’s guarded, and now I understand with a bit more clarity as to why. She’s preparing to leave. “It’s the plans I’ve been working on for the bar. How we’ll redecorate.”
Spencer pulls out the laptop and sets it down on the small patch of the expansive metal table that doesn’t have ingredients and cooking utensils strewn about.
When she opens it, the screen is already on a mood board with inspiration for what looks like a sophisticated, yet laid-back and cozy, whiskey bar. The colours she’s chosen are dark and moody, the decor unpretentious yet elevated.
“This is …” I was nervous about what Spencer was going to come up with when she said she wanted to revamp the bar. I’ve always been protective over the Whisky Jack, and the experience of my guests. I never want anyone in the town to think that they can’t come if they aren’t dressed a certain way, or that it’s a place for special occasions only. The Whisky Jack is for everyone, and Spencer managed to preserve that feeling perfectly in her version. “You crushed it. Absolutely nailed it. I can’t believe you came up with this design.”
“I can’t take all the credit. Ally and I have a friend from high school who went into interior design, and I may have called in a teensy favour.”Any previous apprehension I had about Spencer’s plan for the bar dissipates, the knot in my stomach loosening a smidge when I see her vision. It somehow makes the bar feel elevated but still approachable, cool but still cozy. It’s exactly how I would have redesigned it if I had the clever thought to do so.
“It doesn’t matter. You are incredible.” Neither of us says anything for a moment, and Spencer gazes back at me, our eyes locked on one another. I know these are things she doesn’t want to hear from me, but I’m done holding back. She clears her throat, a blush spreading from her neck up to her cheeks, before she turns back to look at her computer screen.
“The best part is that we don’t have to change everything. The wooden bar stools are perfect the way they are, we’ll just get some cozy leather chairs to create more of a conversation space by the fireplace at the back. We’ll close for a couple days to get a fresh coat of paint and put up some bookshelves.” Spencer turns towards me, adding, “With your new menu, and the new look, the bar just needs a new name.”
“A new name?” I sputter in shock at her suggestion. “No. Sorry, Spence. That’s where I put my foot down. We’re not changing the name.”
“The Whisky Jack is a little … rustic, don’t you think?”
“No. I’m not changing it,” I protest. It’s the one thing I will stand firm on. I won’t budge. Not even with Spencer staring up at me with those sparkling green eyes that normally make me melt into a puddle on the ground.
“You said you’d trust me. You need to trust me.” She crosses her arms and something inside me is pleading to give in, to let her have this if it will make her happy, like I give in to everyone else. But I just … can’t. It means too much to me.
“I do. I’ve trusted you on everything we’ve done together so far,” I say. She squints at me again in skepticism. “Just give me this one thing. Please.”
“Why is this so important to you?” Her tone shifts into a softer, more inquisitive one. As stubborn as Spencer may be, she genuinely cares about what this means to me. She knows me by now, that although I may present a lighthearted exterior to the world, it doesn’t mean that I don’t give a shit. I sigh, my shoulders slumping from their defensive position.
“I named it after my father Jack. The bar represents everything he stood for, as strange as that may sound. He was so warm and inviting, non-judgemental, a safe space for anyone no matter their social status. It made him a great doctor. Mason got to keep his legacy alive by taking over his clinic, this is the one thing I can do to honour him, too,” I explain, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve told anyone about it. It’s always felt heavy to talk about my dad and his death, what it means to me. I’ve never wanted to burden anyone with it, but sharing it with Spencer feels like I can finally lighten the load.
“Oh, Grady.” She breathes, and her eyes are glassy when I finally look up at her. “I’m sorry I pushed, I didn’t know. Of course, we’ll keep the Whisky Jack,” she concedes.I clear my throat to get rid of the lump forming there and turn to put the prawns back on the burner, shaking the pan to swirl them in the garlic butter.
“So, when is this event happening? Who do we need to invite?”I ask once I’ve refocused on the task at hand.
“No need to worry about that, I already sent out the invitations.”
“God, I—this is amazing, Spence.” I shake my head in awe of what this woman is capable of. Even if she is doing this for her own reasons, her own end goal, I can’t get over the way she just goes out there and does it. I put the pan back down on the stove and turn to face her where she’s still standing with her arms crossed over her chest, pushing her breasts up to her neckline. Her hip is now leaning against the shiny metal prep counter. I marvel at her. I’m captivated by her. Her drive and her motivation are contagious. There’s something about Spencer that satisfies the part of me that wishes I was more of a go-getter, the way she is.
I take two strides and close the distance between us, bringing my hands up to cup her cheeks. My eyes roam her face, taking in her plump, bow-shaped lips, the freckles smattering her nose. And then I kiss her deeply, inhaling her scent, her very essence. I don’t care if Spencer has laid down the law, if she’s deemed that we’re just casual. If she can go out and get what she wants, so can I.
Finn walks into the kitchen as I’m kissing Spencer and whistles.
“Hey, lovebirds. I don’t know if making out in the kitchen is very food-safe.”
Spencer yanks herself away from me and straightens her top as if Finn hasn’t already caught us red-handed. A flush spreads up her neck and even though she’s really fucking adorable when she’s embarrassed, I could punch Finn for interrupting. He’s a great guy and all, but he has terrible timing.
“I should go.” Spencer starts to turn away from me, but I grab her hand, turning her back to face me and plant one last kiss on her perfect mouth.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says as she pulls away again. “Don’t forget about dinner.”
“Right,” I say, trying to appear casual about the whole thing, but the reality is I haven’t forgotten. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since she agreed to let me take her to dinner at Eleanor’s. “I’ll pick you up at four.”
“Dinner isn’t until six.” Spencer cocks her head at me, her eyebrows twitching together in question.
“I told you I was taking you on a date. I’m going to take you on a date,” I tell her. Phase one of my plan to win over Spencer involves an evening of showing her more of my favourite places. The way she visibly fell in love with the sight of Heartwood when I took her to the lookout, the way she talks about wanting somewhere to call home … It makes me wonder if there might be a chance that if I show Spencer all the reasons to love with this place, she might just fall in love with me. Heartwood is such an integral part of who I am, after all. “Be ready at four.”
“Got it,” she says over her shoulder as she disappears through the back door of the kitchen into the alley.
When I turn around, Finn is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a grin on his face.
“I don’t want to hear a word out of you,” I warn. “And keep this to yourself, okay? We’re just friends, and I don’t need this getting out all over town.”
He throws his hands up in the air and gives me a keep me out of it look as he turns and heads out into the front of the bar to start opening in time for lunch.