Chapter 7
William
Iwake a little after four, just like every other morning.
Except nothing about this morning feels routine.
I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, replaying the sounds I heard last night.
Carina's soft laughter from the library.
The creak of footsteps on the stairs well past midnight.
Travis's door closing with that careful quietness that means he's trying not to wake anyone.
They were together. I know it with the same certainty I know quarterly projections and market trends. Travis made his move, and from the sounds of it, Carina didn't reject him.
The knowledge sits in my chest like a stone.
By 5:15, I give up on sleep. The house is silent as I make my way to the kitchen, my bare feet cold against the wooden floors.
The storm has finally passed, leaving behind mountains of snow that gleam in the pre-dawn darkness.
In a few hours, the plows will start clearing the roads.
We'll have contact with the outside world again.
The thought brings no relief.
I go through my coffee ritual—measuring exactly 18 grams of beans, grinding them to the precise consistency I prefer, heating the water to 195 degrees. Control. Order. Predictability. These things I understand.
What I don't understand is why my hands shake slightly as I pour the water. Why the thought of Travis touching Carina makes me want to put my fist through a wall. Why I can't seem to maintain the professional distance that's served me so well for thirty-seven years.
I'm on my second cup when I hear them. Voices from the hallway, low and intimate. Carina laughs—that bright, genuine sound that she's only recently started making around us. Travis says something I can't catch, and she laughs again.
They enter the kitchen together, and I know immediately that I was right.
There's a new ease between them, a blatant intimacy in how Travis's hand briefly touches her lower back as she moves past him to the coffee maker.
Carina's wearing another of those wrap dresses, this one in deep blue, and her hair is still damp from a shower. She looks fresh, happy, relaxed.
"Morning, Will," Travis says, too cheerfully. He knows I know. The bastard's not even trying to hide it.
"William." Carina's smile falters slightly when she sees me. "You're up early."
"I'm always up early." It comes out sharper than intended. I moderate my tone. "The Singapore contracts need review before their markets open."
A lie. The contracts are fine. But I need something to focus on besides the way she unconsciously leans toward Travis as she makes her coffee.
"I was thinking of pancakes for breakfast," she says, already moving toward the refrigerator. "Maybe with those lingonberries we found at the market?"
"Sounds perfect." Travis is already pulling out mixing bowls, knowing where everything is because of course he does. He's always been the one who fits seamlessly into any situation. "Want help?"
"Always." She smiles at him, and something passes between them—a private moment that excludes me entirely.
I watch them work together, efficient and synchronized. Travis measures flour while Carina whisks eggs. Their hands brush as they reach for things. She laughs when he makes a joke about Knox's pancake preferences. They move around each other like dancers who know all the steps.
My chest tightens with something I refuse to name.
"What time is the Zurich supplier calling?" I interrupt, needing to break their bubble of domestic bliss.
Travis glances at me. "Thursday, Will. The Zurich call is Thursday."
"Right. And the Tokyo call?"
"Also Thursday." His tone is patient, but I catch the look he exchanges with Carina. "Everything's on the calendar you made us sync to our phones. Three times."
"Calendars can have errors." I pull out my phone, scrolling through emails I've already read. "We should review the quarterly projections before—"
"William." Carina's voice is gentle. "It's still storm recovery time. No one expects business as usual today."
"Eden Provisions doesn't stop for weather."
"No," Travis agrees, flipping a pancake with unnecessary flair. "But it could pause for breakfast."
Knox stumbles in, hair in complete disarray, wearing paint-stained pajama pants and a t-shirt that's seen better days. He takes one look at the three of us and grins.
"Morning, lovebirds," he says to Travis and Carina, then turns to me. "Morning, storm cloud. Who pissed in your coffee?"
"Charming as always," I mutter.
"Just calling it like I see it." He steals a pancake directly from the stack, burning his fingers. "Ow. Worth it though. Carina, you're a goddess."
"It's just pancakes," she protests, but she's smiling.
We sit down to eat, and I find myself on the outside of their easy conversation.
Travis tells a story about a disastrous cooking attempt in college.
Knox interrupts with increasingly ridiculous embellishments.
Carina laughs until she has to wipe tears from her eyes.
And I sit there, cutting my pancakes into precise squares, trying to figure out when I became the stranger at my own table.
After breakfast, Travis and Carina gravitate toward the living room.
I follow, ostensibly to check the weather report on the large screen, but really because I can't seem to let them out of my sight.
They settle on the couch—the same one where I heard them last night—talking quietly about something that makes her smile.
My phone rings. It's probably nothing important—maybe Hans about the snow removal schedule—but I answer it loudly.
"William Montclair." I pace the room, speaking louder than necessary. "Yes, I understand the situation. No, that timeline isn't acceptable."
Travis shoots me a look. He knows what I'm doing. I continue anyway, drawing out the call, making it sound urgent and business-critical when it's really just Hans confirming the driveway will be clear by noon.
When I finally hang up, they've stopped talking. Mission accomplished, even if I feel like an ass.
"Everything okay?" Carina asks.
"Supply chain issues," I lie. "Which reminds me, we need to discuss the Christmas product lineup. The seasonal offerings need finalization."
"It's December," Travis points out.
"It's never too early to plan, and we have an entire year to get it right." I sit in the chair across from them, pulling up spreadsheets on my tablet. "Carina, what are your thoughts on holiday menu items?"
She lights up, leaning forward. "I've been thinking about that. What if we did a series of traditional holiday foods from different cultures? Not just Christmas but Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Diwali—"
"That's too complicated," I interrupt. "Our customers expect traditional offerings."
Her face falls slightly. "Oh. I thought—"
"We need to think strategically," I continue, hating myself. "What sells, not what's necessarily innovative."
"Innovation is what sets Eden Provisions apart," Travis says quietly. There's steel in his voice. "Carina's idea has merit."
"I'm not saying it doesn't. I'm saying we need to consider market realities."
"Since when do you play it safe?" Knox has appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "Last year you had us import candied scorpions for Halloween because you thought it would 'push boundaries.'"
"That was different."
"How?"
I don't have a good answer. The truth—that I'm being a contrary asshole because I can't stand seeing Travis and Carina together—isn't something I can say.
"You know what?" Carina stands abruptly. "I just remembered I need to inventory the pantry. For... planning purposes."
She escapes, and Travis follows shortly after, muttering something about financial reports. Knox stays, studying me with those too-perceptive artist's eyes.
"Want to tell me what's really going on?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Bullshit. You're acting like someone stole your favorite toy." He sits where Carina was, uninvited. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Travis and Carina, would it?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"So you didn't notice them sneaking off together last night? Or the way they can't stop looking at each other? Or how Travis actually giggled at breakfast?"
I close my laptop harder than necessary. "Travis's personal life is none of my business."
"Right. That's why you're trying to cock-block him with fake urgent calls."
"I don't—" I stop, run a hand through my hair. "It's inappropriate. She's our employee."
"She's a person, Will. A person who's been through hell and is finally starting to relax around us. If Travis makes her happy—"
"What makes you think it's just about Travis?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
Knox goes very still. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
I stand, needing to move. "I'm saying the situation is complicated."
"No shit." But there's sympathy in his voice now. "You want her too."
"What I want is irrelevant. I'm her employer. There are boundaries to uphold."
"Travis is also her employer, technically."
"Travis doesn't have the same responsibilities I do." I stare out at the snow-covered mountains. "I can't afford... complications."
"You mean you can't afford to feel something."
"I have a company to run. Contracts to manage. I can't—"
"Will." Knox's voice is gentler than I deserve. "When's the last time you did something just because you wanted to? Not because it was good for business or efficient or strategic, but because it would make you happy?"
I don't answer because I can't remember.
"She likes you," he continues. "Even when you're being a complete ass. She defends you, says you're just 'particular.' And the way you look at her..." He shakes his head. "You're not as subtle as you think."
"It doesn't matter."
"It's the only thing that matters." Knox stands, moving to stand beside me. "Look, I get it. Letting people in is terrifying. But Travis took the leap and look how happy they both are."