Chapter 36
CLEMENTINE
“Come on, Clem! You’re not even trying!” Henry called out, dribbling the basketball between his legs.
I wiped sweat from my forehead and grinned at my little brother—though at seventeen and six-foot-two, there was nothing little about him anymore. “I’m trying! You’re just showing off because you had a good game yesterday.”
“Had a good game?” He shot the ball, and it swished through the net without even touching the rim. “I had the game of my life. Coach said the scout from Syracuse was taking notes the entire fourth quarter.”
My heart swelled with pride as I watched him retrieve the ball. “Henry, that’s incredible!”
The kid was an athlete through and through. Football was his game, but if it didn’t work out, he was pretty damn good at basketball as well. And baseball.
Henry had gotten all the athleticism in the family.
He launched into a play-by-play of yesterday’s game, complete with dramatic reenactments of his best moves. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about football reminded me of how I felt in the kitchen. It was that pure, unfiltered passion for something you loved.
It was why I never ignored him when he wanted to talk about plays and first downs. He listened to me talk about cooking and was the guinea pig for many of my failed recipes.
And lived to tell the tale.
“I really think this is it, Clem,” he said, bouncing the ball absently. “I think I’m going to get that scholarship.”
“Of course you are,” I said, meaning every word. “You’re amazing, Henry. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks.” He grinned and threw me a gentle pass. “And when I’m at Syracuse, you’ll have to come visit all the time. Make your famous chocolate chip cookies for my teammates.”
“Deal.” I laughed. “I’ll make sure you’re the most popular guy in your dorm. Nothing wins friends like homemade food.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
We kept shooting around for another few minutes, just enjoying the crisp November afternoon. Being home felt surreal after weeks on the road. I missed hanging out with Henry in our backyard like we had a thousand times before. It felt like exactly what I needed.
The tour had been stressful. Emotionally exhausting. It ended on a high note, but boy had it taken a while to get there.
And there was the little issue of what happened next.
I had no idea where Rhett’s head was at.
I didn’t feel like it was necessary to push the issue right away.
We had to worry about the service tonight.
I knew it was a lot of pressure on him. I didn’t want to add to his stress. We could figure it out later.
The last thing I wanted to do was be one of those women that needed him to plan out the next year with me.
And label it. He was older. I knew that was a point of contention for him.
If I started acting all needy and demanding things of him, it was going to confirm every one of his hesitations about getting together.
“I’ll show you what I’m really made of,” I declared, squaring up against Henry with the ball in my hands.
“You’re like five-foot-two, Clem. This isn’t going to end well for you.” He laughed, crouching down into his defensive stance.
“Height isn’t everything,” I said, dribbling the ball awkwardly. I wasn’t exactly blessed with coordination, but I’d been playing basketball with Henry since he was twelve. I had to have picked up something over the years.
I faked left, then drove right. Henry, probably assuming I’d fumble the ball or trip over my own feet, didn’t react fast enough. I managed to get around him and took a shot from about six feet away.
Swish.
“Holy shit!” Henry yelled, then immediately looked toward the house. “Sorry, Mom!”
“Language, Henry!” came Mom’s voice from the kitchen window.
I did a little victory dance, pumping my fists in the air. “Did you see that? Pure skill!”
“That was luck,” Henry said, but he was grinning. “There’s no way you can do that again.”
“Oh, you want to bet?” I retrieved the ball and dribbled it with slightly more confidence. “What do I get when I make another one?”
“When? You mean if.” Henry crossed his arms. “Fine. If you make another basket, I’ll do your chores for a week.”
I rolled my eyes. I lived at home, but we didn’t really have chores, so to speak.
“Clementine?” Dad’s voice called from the back door. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
I glanced at the time on my phone. It was already three o’clock, and I needed to leave for the venue soon. We were doing a walkthrough and testing a couple of dishes. We were hoping to get some prep work done early as well.
“I’ll kick your butt later, kid,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Henry said.
I headed toward the door where Dad was still waiting for me. “What’s up?”
“In my study, please.”
Something in his tone made my stomach clench. Dad was usually easygoing, the type of parent who trusted me to make good decisions and rarely questioned my judgment. But there was an edge to his voice that I’d never heard before.
I had never really been in trouble before. But there had been a few times that a lecture was warranted. This felt like I was in trouble.
I followed him through the house to his study. It was a cozy room lined with books and family photos. It was his domain. I had probably only been in the space a handful of times. He closed the door behind us and gestured for me to sit in one of the leather chairs across from his desk.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” I asked, suddenly feeling like a kid who’d been called to the principal’s office.
He opened his laptop and turned it toward me.
On the screen was an article with a photo that made my blood run cold.
It was me and Rhett, clearly taken during one of our events.
We were kissing. Well, it was a lot more than a kiss.
The headline read something about “Chef Rhett Voss and his young protégé.” My cheeks burned with embarrassment.
I stared at the picture. I felt violated. Someone saw that and decided to take a picture? It was rude. They could have said something.
I opened my mouth, but I wasn’t sure what I was trying to say.
It wasn’t like I had done anything wrong.
I was an adult. Rhett was an adult. We didn’t need permission.
I didn’t think he had a girlfriend. He didn’t mention it and I didn’t think Rhett was the cheating type. He just seemed to be too honest.
“Clementine, did you even think about what kind of bad press this fundraiser would get if the media caught wind of you hooking up with your mentor?”
I stared at the photo, horrified. “Dad, I—”
“Not only that, but now your name is being dragged through this. The whole Hartley name, as a matter of fact.” His voice was calm, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes.
My stomach dropped as I looked at the photo again, trying to process what Dad was saying. The disappointment in his voice cut deeper than any anger would have.
“I expected more discretion from you, Clementine,” he continued, his tone measured but firm. “You’re a Hartley. I thought you knew better than to have silly hookups.”
“Silly hookups?” The words stung, and I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment and indignation. “Dad, it’s not—”
“What is it then?” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with those eyes that had always been able to see right through me. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like my daughter threw away her professional reputation for a fling with her mentor.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.
“Do you have any idea what this does to the fundraiser? To the soup kitchen project? We’ve worked for months to build credibility for this cause, and now the headlines are all about scandal instead of helping people.
” His voice remained calm, which somehow made it worse.
If he’d yelled, I could have gotten defensive.
But this quiet disappointment was devastating.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, staring down at my hands. “I didn’t think—”
“That’s exactly the problem. You didn’t think.” He closed the laptop with a soft click. “You’re twenty-four years old, Clementine. You’re not some starry-eyed kid. I get he’s an attractive man, but he’s older. He doesn’t have a great reputation to begin with.”
“I don’t care about reputations,” I scoffed. “Clearly, rumors are just that.”
“What if this impacts Henry’s scholarship opportunities?”
The color drained from my face. “It won’t! It can’t! This has nothing to do with Henry!”
“That’s not how the real world works, sweetheart,” Dad said.
“People make high-stakes decisions based on bias all the time. I’ve already gotten calls from two major sponsors who just pulled out of the soup kitchen project.
Three days before their final checks were due.
Rhett’s mafia connections were tough to overcome but this is a new problem.
People get upset about this kind of thing.
You’re young. He’s supposed to be a role model. ”
“You’re making it sound like I’m sixteen!”
“I know you’re old enough, but it looks bad, Clem. It doesn’t do anything for your reputation. I don’t have to outline all the many ways this looks bad.”
I felt like I was going to be sick. “Oh my God.”
“Clementine, I sent you on this tour because I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to grow up and get a taste of the real world. But if you keep treating everything like a fairy tale, the world is going to chew you up and spit you out.”
Tears started streaming down my face. “Dad, you don’t understand. Rhett and I, what we have is real. It’s not just some fling. I think I might actually—”
“Love him?” Dad finished. “Honey, I can see it written all over your face. But love doesn’t pay the bills or keep sponsors from walking away.
Love doesn’t protect your brother’s future or save a soup kitchen that hundreds of people are counting on.
I understand why you would be enamored with Rhett, but it’s just not smart. ”
I sighed. “I’m sorry, Dad. I know it looks bad, but I swear it’s not just a hookup.”
I got up, needing to get away from him and his scrutinization.
“I need you to think very carefully about what’s more important to you—your feelings or the consequences of acting on them.”
I left the study and went upstairs to my room.
I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.
Not just for myself, but for Rhett, who didn’t deserve to have his reputation destroyed because of me.
For my dad’s reputation. And most importantly, his pet project.
The soup kitchen and for all the people we were supposed to help on Thanksgiving.
After everything Rhett and I had been through on this tour—all the fights and make-ups, the moments of pure magic in the kitchen, the night in Chicago when he trusted me with his deepest secrets—I was going to have to be the one to end it.
A soft knock on the door interrupted my breakdown. “Clem?” Henry’s voice was muffled through the wood. “Can I come in?”
I wiped my eyes. “Yeah.”
He slipped into my room and immediately crossed to where I was sitting, pulling me into one of his bear hugs. He might be my little brother, but he’d always been my protector when it came to emotional stuff.
“Dad told me what happened,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, sis.”
“Henry, I’m so scared this is going to mess up your scholarship,” I said into his shoulder.
“Hey.” He pulled back to look at me. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for my stuff. I’m good enough to earn that scholarship on my own merit, and any school that would judge me based on gossip about my sister isn’t worth going to anyway.”
“But what if—”
“No what-ifs,” he said firmly. “You’ve spent your whole life supporting my dreams. Don’t let fear stop you from chasing yours.”
I looked at my little brother with a smile. When had he gotten so wise? I felt a new wave of tears coming. “I don’t know how to make this right, Henry. I’ve ruined everything.”
“You haven’t ruined anything,” he said. “But you do need to figure out what you’re going to do next. Because sitting here crying isn’t going to fix the soup kitchen or make Dad’s sponsors come back.”
He was right. I needed to stop wallowing and start thinking like the adult Dad wanted me to be.