Chapter 7 #3
“Damn straight I—” he begins, and then he suddenly realizes I’m sitting there. He frowns. “Oh.”
A tall brunette stunner strolls in, her heels clicking softly against the tile. Her camel coat swishes around her, and her flawless hair seems to wave in its own breeze. “Hey, Ames,” she says softly. “Good to see you again.”
“Lissa,” Ames replies, bright enough to be polite and flat enough to be… something else I’m not really catching. “Hey.”
Her eyes turn to me and light up. “Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry. We’re interrupting you and your…”
“Griffin,” I supply, giving both of the newcomers a casual wave. “And you weren’t actually—”
“We weren’t interrupting,” Robbie tells her, frowning like he can’t imagine where she came up with that idea. “I told you, I always come hang with Ames on Saturday afternoons and help him with dinner prep, especially during the Brine. That’s why I can’t come to your parents’ garden party thing.”
This earns him a flicker of something from Lissa—just a quick glance at where his arm is still slung over Ames. Robbie doesn’t seem to catch it, but Ames does.
Ames makes a grab for the muffin bag, which gives him the perfect cover for shifting out from under Robbie’s arm. It’s subtle and well-executed, and I might not have noticed if I hadn’t perfected the move myself, since my best friend is a touchy-feely-hugger and I’m not.
This, Robbie definitely notices. His brows pinch, and he frowns at me again before his face smooths out like he’s decided not to ask.
“You know I always love having you here, Rob,” Ames says, clutching the muffin bag to his chest like a life preserver. “Always. But if you want to go with Lissa, of course you should. I can handle dinner prep.”
“See?” Lissa says, aiming a fond, exasperated look at Robbie. “It’s like I told you. Ames doesn’t need you chatting at him while he’s chopping veggies. You’re friends, honey, but you don’t have to live in each other’s pockets. Right, Ames?”
Ames opens his mouth, but only air comes out. He shrugs helplessly.
“Besides,” she adds. “How’s Ames ever going to find a boyfriend so we can double-date if you never let him chat up a nice guy?” She tosses me a wink.
I keep my expression neutral, expecting Ames to correct her, but he doesn’t, though his face flushes and his fingers clutch the bag so hard I’m pretty sure the cranberry muffins are now cranberry crumbs.
“Oh. Shit. I didn’t…” Robbie shoots Ames a look that’s both guilty and… hurt. “I mean. I guess we should go to your parents’ thing, then,” he says, the same way I might say, “I guess we should order the deep-fried pickles.”
Lissa laughs like he’s adorable. “You guess?” she teases, looping her arm through his.
She lifts up on her tippy-toes because even in her heels, she’s got nothing on Robbie’s height, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“It’s a good thing you’re so cute,” she whispers loud enough for all of us to hear.
Robbie turns red as a beet and makes a strangled noise.
Lissa laughs again and tosses Ames and me a smile as she leads Robbie away. “See you later, guys.”
They’re gone a moment later, the door swinging shut on her laughter. Silence settles over the kitchen.
“Wow,” I say. “So. That was…”
“That was my bestie. Yep.” Ames clears his throat. He turns away and makes a big production about finding exactly the right spot on the counter to put the muffin bag.
“How long have you had feelings for him?”
He freezes. “I, ah… I think you’ve got the wrong idea there, Griffin. We’re friends. Best friends. But Robbie’s straight. Totally and completely.”
I tilt my head. Ames’s voice is tight but absolutely firm. He does not want to discuss this.
“Got it,” I say, turning back to my sandwich. “Well. He seems nice.”
“He is.” Ames’s smile is much more natural now.
“Rob’s literally the best guy on Earth. He’s supportive and kind.
We met in high school, and I don’t think we’ve gone a single day since without talking.
When he wanted to be a volunteer firefighter, I joined too.
And after I finished culinary school and everyone said, ‘Ames, you need more experience before you open a restaurant,’ Robbie was the first one to say, ‘You can do it, I know you can.’ He helped me make my dream a reality.
So that’s what I want for him too.” He spreads his hands.
“Like you said with Milo, right? I want him to be happy.”
This is the first time I’ve ever seen a person overshare as a way to share nothing at all. I wonder if that’s a secret you learn, living in a small town.
“And you think Lissa makes him happy,” I surmise.
“Hmm? Oh. Probably. If not her, it’ll be someone. And she’s pretty, right? Not my type.” He shoots me a flirty wink that’s two shades too desperate to be believable. “But she’s smart too. And her dad’s Bart Cagney. You know, from Cagney Bank and Trust?”
“I’ve seen the building in town.”
Ames nods. “They’ve got a bunch of branches all over Vermont. If Lissa and Robbie get married and have kids, I bet Bart would set them up in a nice house. And Robbie deserves that, you know? The whole picket fence thing, not having to worry about money.”
I frown. “How long have they been dating?”
“Since April or so?” Ames shrugs like he’s not sure, but I bet if I pushed, he could tell me the exact date and time.
“And they’re already discussing picket fences?” I demand. “Jesus Christ. The straights have got to chill.”
Ames laughs weakly. “You know, I’m supposed to be prepping for the dinner rush, but I’m, ah… suddenly not feeling all that great. I think I might call Jenna and ask her to come in early to prep.”
I don’t know Ames at all, but the look in his eye—the one that says his actual dream, which in his case has nothing to do with his restaurant, is slipping through his fingers and he’s helpless to stop it—is achingly familiar.
God knows, I have no advice to offer Ames about this. So far, I’ve dealt with my own dying dream by exiling myself to a new state, starting a small-town land war, and then getting hot and heavy with my nemesis for reasons I can’t begin to explain, even to myself.
But when I was at my lowest point a few months ago, when my career imploded and the rest of the world stopped answering my calls, at least I had Milo to stand beside me. To talk about nothing. To keep me distracted.
And though I’m sure Ames has a million friends in this town, none of them are here right now, and his best friend’s currently locking lips with a woman who looks like she’s never met a brine she didn’t like. So…
Fuck it.
I don’t know what I’m doing in this town—or in my life—but at least I can do this. Be useful. Be here.
“How about I do you one better?” I say, coming around the counter. “I’ll help prep.”
“You will?” Ames’s brow lowers even as his lips lift. “Really?”
“Sure.” I shrug as I head for the handwashing sink. “I don’t know what Robbie usually does, but I can wash and chop. If you want anything else done, you’re gonna have to explain it like you’re my mothers and I’m five years old,” I warn.
His mouth twists up in a lopsided smile. “That’s really kind, Griffin.”
“Well, Jesus, don’t cry on me or whatever,” I say with a wink. “I’m only doing this so you’ll decide to share your soup recipe with me, and then I can dole it out to Milo in chunks over his next three birthdays.”
“Oh my god.” Ames sputters out a laugh. “Oh my god.”
I dry my hands on a paper towel. “You think I’m kidding.”
“No, I think Beckett’s met his match.” Ames’s smile is genuine and stretches from ear to ear. “Whether he knows it or not.”
My face goes nuclear. “That’s not… we’re not… I don’t know what you think you saw, but your brother and I can’t stand each other. We just… happen to both enjoy hotly debating scavenger hunt clues, that’s all.”
“And that’s exactly what I saw,” he says solemnly. “Two men debating. Hotly.”
I huff, but as Ames gets out zucchini for me to chop, my mind floats back to Beckett’s blush when I joked about him being my steed, Beckett’s hands on my cock and his mouth against mine. The way he jumped in front of me and shielded me without hesitation. The way he scowled and walked away.
The way I’m infuriated with the man, the way I should absolutely hate him for the threat he poses to Jim’s land if nothing else… but also the way I know that if he were here in this kitchen again, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands or my mouth off him.
And I think if I’m Beckett’s match…
One or both of us is going to burn.