21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
brENDEN
“Thank you for visiting,” I say, after the Pikes, a nice middle-aged couple, sign their bill.
Danny’s on break, but I enjoy handling check-outs so I can make sure the guests are leaving satisfied.
“I hope you enjoyed your stay.”
Mrs.
Pike smiles at me.
“Oh, we absolutely did. This town is one of our favorite places for a quick little getaway. We try to come for one of the seasonal festivals each year.”
“It was fun to watch you and your boyfriend win,” her husband says, pointing to the first-place ribbon, which I hung up on the wall behind the desk.
“Oh! Yeah, we...” I glance around to see if anyone overheard that.
“It was mostly thanks to him, I think.”
It feels weirdly good hearing someone call Travis my boyfriend—someone I didn’t directly lie to about it.
And I’m not even sure why.
I know our relationship isn’t real, and we can’t let anyone else in town find out, but it’s kind of cool how the Pikes assumed we were together just from watching us interact.
Makes me wonder if maybe it would be possible for someone like Travis, who is smoking hot and completely has his shit together, to actually be into someone like me.
Someone who’s just faking his way through life.
“What are you daydreaming about?” Danny asks when he returns to take his position at the desk.
“Nothing,” I lie.
But the look he gives me tells me I’m so busted.
And fine.
Maybe I was daydreaming about Travis.
Maybe my mind was replaying our shower hookup a few days ago in vivid detail.
That was so hot, I’m pretty sure it will still be playing in my mind on my deathbed.
Danny nudges me out of his chair and says, “Wish I was having sex good enough to put that look on my face.”
I let out a very undignified squeak.
“I didn’t—I wasn’t—”
“Come on, you totally have dick eyes.”
That makes me snort.
“What the fuck.”
He shrugs.
“I call it like I see it. And even if you haven’t been getting some good dick, you were at least fantasizing about it.”
Well, I guess looking hungry for dick is better than looking moony-eyed like Addison called me out on.
Lusting is probably safer than.
.
.
feeling when it comes to Travis.
Shuffling around the desk and avoiding eye contact, I mutter, “I shouldn’t be discussing my sex life with my employees.”
“Like that’s ever stopped you before!” Danny calls out.
But I’m already making a hasty retreat.
He’s not wrong, but I can’t tell anyone about what I’ve been doing with Travis.
Honestly, since I moved Elise and Grant into a room here yesterday, I’ve been avoiding them in the common areas, because I’m afraid they’ll say something about Travis in front of my employees.
Maintaining this crazy fake dating scheme is like walking a tightrope.
But at least they’re out of my house.
That alone is a relief.
Although getting them out of there did come with a disappointment I never expected.
Travis didn’t need to spend the night last night.
He won’t have to spend the night with me at all anymore.
Which means our hookup arrangement is over, right?
Which means I should probably stop daydreaming about his dick and his ass and his mouth, because we’ve taken that off the menu.
Sure, I might still get to kiss him if we need to be together in front of Elise and Grant again before they go home.
But after what I’ve experienced with him, a kiss is not going to be enough to sustain me.
And I don’t even want to think about what happens when they leave and the entire ruse is over.
What am I saying?
I mean, yes, of course I want them to leave.
That will mean my life can finally go back to normal.
It’s just that after knowing how content I feel when Travis puts his arm around me, pretending to be my boyfriend, my normal life doesn’t have the same appeal as it did before.
Oh fuck, I’ve really done a number on myself here, haven’t I?
But how was I supposed to know that being with Travis Reed for a couple weeks—even if it was all for show—would shake up my foundation so much that I’m not sure things will settle properly in his absence?
The chatter of more guests filtering into the lobby behind me reminds me that I’m at work and this is no place for a breakdown.
So I veer quickly toward the kitchen for some coffee and make sure to put on a smile, because Addison can sense weakness.
She’s at one of the prep tables, and as soon as she sees me, she says, “The new help I hired start tomorrow.”
It takes me a beat to process her words, due to just giving myself emotional whiplash a few seconds ago.
“Okay.”
“Is that a problem?” she snaps, making me freeze on my way to the coffee machine.
“You said I have authority in hiring kitchen staff, didn’t you?”
“Uh.” I gape at her, desperately wishing I had coffee in my hand.
“Yeah, you do. That’s totally fine. Good. It’s good, I mean. That you hired people. You need the help.”
She levels me with a glare that almost sends me cowering into the corner.
“Are you saying I can’t handle running this kitchen myself? That I’m not talented enough to keep the guests happy?”
“What? No! It’s just that you needed—Well, you shouldn’t have to—”
Jesus, what kind of minefield did I step in here?
“People happen to like my cooking,” she says, waving a pair of tongs at me.
“People liked my menu for years, but then they go and let some traitor change it up. And now people are suddenly so much happier with something else, and they act like they forget how they used to love my food?”
I’m entirely lost now, so I hold my hands up in a gesture of surrender.
After a couple moments of awkward silence, Addison sighs heavily, which sounds like her own surrender.
Then I catch her eyes flick toward her phone on the table.
I risk approaching her.
“Is something wrong?”
It’s a dumb question.
Something is obviously wrong.
But unless it actually has to do with the inn, I don’t expect her to share with me.
“You caught me at a really bad time. I just read this,” she says, surprising me by sliding her phone my way.
“And I’m sorry. That was super unprofessional of me.”
“You know we’re only professional here around the guests,” I half-joke, offering her a tentative smile.
Then I glance down at the phone.
There’s an article displayed on the screen, with a picture of a gorgeous, dark-haired woman wearing a white chef’s coat.
I look back up at Addison questioningly.
“Go ahead,” she says.
So I pick up her phone and read the headline: “What Happens When a Rising Star in American Cuisine Takes Over an Already Well-Established Chicago Hot Spot?”
Trying not to grimace—because I’m already getting the picture—I keep reading.
CRAVE, a Chicago staple, has seen a rapid rise in popularity, brought about by the acquisition of its new head chef, famous social media influencer Raya Reynolds.
Reynolds has taken the restaurant’s menu in an entirely new direction, and the Chicago foodies are absolutely here for it.
That’s as far as I get.
I don’t need to read the rest to understand what’s going on here, so I slide back the phone.
“I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry you have to deal with this,” I tell Addison sincerely.
“I’m sure it feels shitty.”
“Raya Reynolds is the woman my ex was having an affair with.”
“Holy crap.”
She stares forlornly at her phone like maybe somehow the device is to blame for what she’s gone through.
“Well, one of the women. Apparently, there were a bunch of others too, but she was with Raya for way longer than it should’ve taken me to catch on. Guess that’s what happens when you’re a workaholic.”
With a sense of outrage, I say, “Wait a second. Don’t you dare blame yourself for your wife cheating on you. That’s all on her.”
“No, I know that.” She turns and heads for the coffee machine, and I follow her over there, because while I want to listen and be here for her, I could still really use another jolt of caffeine.
She pours a mug and hands it to me before pouring another for herself.
I smile at the gesture.
“Thanks.”
“All I meant,” she continues, “is that I was always so busy with the restaurant. We both were. But if we’d spent any more time together outside of work, I probably would’ve realized sooner that something wasn’t right. And to be honest, I think I threw myself into my work as much as I did because when we were home together, I wasn’t happy. I hadn’t been for quite a while, and maybe I was trying to avoid admitting it.”
Damn, that sucks.
I can’t imagine being married to someone for so many years and then just not being happy with them anymore.
That must be a tough situation, especially when you own a business with your spouse.
“She’s still a cheating cunt,” I say, hoping to lighten the mood.
It seems to work, because Addison laughs and holds up her mug to clink it against mine.
“Yes, she is.”
“Just so you know... I’m sorry she did that to you, but I’m so happy and grateful to have you here. Seriously, you’re amazing. If I could make you cook all my meals for me, I would.”
Okay, maybe not all of them.
Because that would be like cheating on Travis.
And I could never give up the excuse to see him at the diner.
She takes her coffee back over to her workstation, knocking her phone to the side as she sets the mug down.
“I appreciate you saying that. Coming from somebody who probably can’t even cook a hotdog, I’m not sure if it’s saying much, but...”
“Hey!”
“I’m kidding. Well, not about the cooking.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Yeah, yeah. We all know I’m useless at a stove. I might as well let May store her books in there.”
“That seems like a very dangerous recipe for a house fire.”
“So our bonding moment is over, I take it?”
A hint of a smile forms on her lips.
“No, really. Thanks for being here to talk me off that ledge. I’d really prefer to never give that woman another bit of my mental energy.”
“I hear that.”
As she gets back to prepping the lunch menu, she says, “Sorry I didn’t clear the new hires with you first. I meant to, but I really needed to get them in here quickly so they can help me for the big Mother’s Day brunch.”
The words Mother’s Day are like a slap in the face, ruining my good mood.
Taking a sip of my coffee, I manage to keep myself together and not trauma dump all over her.
I’m so glad she opened up to me, but that would be way too much emotion in this kitchen for one day.
“It’s really not a problem at all,” I assure her.
“I promised when I hired you that you’d have full control over kitchen staff. I trust you.”
“Thanks.” Picking up her tongs, she gestures to the door that connects to the dining room.
“By the way, your family’s having breakfast out there.”
Ouch.
Another word that shouldn’t be painful, but is, in this context.
“They’re not...” I start, then shake my head when she looks at me curiously.
“Never mind. Guess I better go say good morning.”
Fucking Mother’s Day.
This time of year is never great for me.
It’s awful that May doesn’t have a mother to celebrate with.
And to make things so much worse, April died shortly after the holiday, so that anniversary always brings up even more grief for me.
Usually, I’m good at preparing for the onslaught of emotions that I know are coming.
I can let myself enjoy the spring festival with May, and then I spend the rest of the month compartmentalizing hard, only listening to depressing music and quietly falling apart when I’m alone in my bedroom.
This year, with Elise and Grant being here, they’ve kept me too busy and panicked to think ahead.
So the fact that Sunday is Mother’s Day has kind of snuck up on me.
We hold a brunch at the inn every year for mothers and daughters, and I’m thankful Addison is on top of the menu stuff.
I’ll do my part to organize, but as much as possible, I like to avoid being around during the actual event.
I’ll find myself other busywork to keep me occupied so I don’t have to witness all the celebrating.
Hopefully Elise and Grant will be leaving by this weekend.
Having them around for the holiday would make it so much harder for me to ignore my grief.
Because it should be April here.
It should be April living a happy life with her daughter in Mayweather, and I should be fun Uncle Brenden who visits the two of them all the time.
But the world isn’t fair at all, is it?
And even though that’s how things should’ve gone, I can’t imagine a life for myself now where I’m not May’s father.
Maybe I’m horribly selfish, but I’d never want to give this up.
Walking into the dining room, I force a smile on my face.
I’ll need to find a polite way of asking Elise and Grant when they’ll be checking out of here and getting back on a flight to Philadelphia so I can breathe again.
The longer they’ve stayed, the more comfortable I’ve started to feel around them, but I can’t expect Travis to keep up our charade much longer.
Shit, his dad could be coming home soon, and that would be a disaster.
Elise waves when she sees me.
She and Grant both have glasses of orange juice and plates of eggs Florentine in front of them.
I slide into one of the empty seats at their table, setting down my coffee as I say hi.
“This breakfast is delicious,” Elise tells me.
She slices her fork through a poached egg, letting the yolk flow out and over the spinach-topped English muffin.
“And your chef is so sweet.”
Sweet?
Addison?
She’s an amazing cook, but I wouldn’t dare describe her as sweet.
Especially not to her face.
She must be charming them for my benefit.
“I’m lucky to have her here,” I say.
Which is at least true.
We chat for a couple minutes, and then I tell them I should be getting back to work.
I still haven’t found a way to ask how long they’re staying.
Since they’re using one of the rooms here, it’s a valid question.
I need to know when I can start booking the room again.
But I’m afraid they’ll see me asking as rude.
“So,” I say as I push my seat back, getting ready to stand.
“I imagine you’ll need to get back to work soon, won’t you?”
Grant sets down his fork.
“Actually, I’ve arranged it so that I can stay as long as necessary.”
“ Necessary? ” I almost squeak.
What the heck is that supposed to mean?
I’d mostly stopped worrying that they came here to spy on my parenting and business skills, but those fears come rushing back quickly.
Was it foolish to let my guard down?
Elise offers me what is probably meant to be a reassuring smile.
“He only means that we’re enjoying our time here with you and May, so we haven’t exactly set an end date for our trip yet.”
“Oh.”
“Also, I heard about the brunch you hold here on Mother’s Day, and I’d like the chance to share that with May. If you don’t mind, of course.”
“Oh,” I repeat, the word sticking a bit in my throat this time.
Yes, I think I do mind, but I can’t say that.
Because how messed up would it be for me to deny May the opportunity to celebrate Mother’s Day for the first time?
I’m not that selfish.
But the idea of it fills my stomach with rocks.
“We’re sorry we’ve imposed on you for so long though,” Elise continues, when it becomes clear after a stretch of a silence that I’m not going to say anything else.
“And we’d be more than happy to pay for our room here. We don’t want you to lose business.”
I shake my complicated thoughts aside to process at another time.
“That’s not necessary. You’re welcome to stay here. I just thought you’d be eager to get home.”
As Grant picks his fork back up and resumes eating, Elise says, “This town is a nice change of pace from the city. But if you won’t let us reimburse you for the room, May gave us a great idea for how we could show our appreciation.”
Wait, what?
May shouldn’t be giving them any ideas on anything involving me.
“We made a reservation for you and Travis this Friday night at a great restaurant we found in Stoneridge. The two of you can relax and enjoy a nice private dinner without us being in your way or Travis having to cook. It’s all on us.”
“Well, uh, that’s very nice of you, but it’s totally not necessary,” I tell her.
Because there’s no reason for me and Travis to go on a private date.
Since we’re not really dating, obviously, though they don’t know that.
But also, I don’t like the idea of them thinking they need to give me money for stuff.
I asked them for a loan to buy the inn so I wouldn’t end up paying a bank out the ass in interest.
That doesn’t mean I need them to buy me dinner.
I do like the idea of Travis not having to cook though.
He deserves that.
“I’ve already left my credit card information with them,” Grant says.
“We want to do something nice for you,” Elise adds.
“And May mentioned how she thought you and Travis would enjoy a night out together since you’ve been so busy lately.”
“Oh, did she?” I try my best not to let my annoyance show as I glance around the dining room for an excuse to walk away.
But there’s only a few other guests in here at the moment, and they all look perfectly taken care of.
Damn my staff for doing their jobs well.
“If you need to get back to work, that’s fine, dear,” Elise says.
“We’ll text you the name of the restaurant and reservation time later. And we’d be happy to go over to the house that evening and stay with May so she’s not alone.”
My thirteen-year-old is perfectly capable of staying at home alone for an evening.
She’s apparently also capable of meddling in my life for reasons I can’t figure out.
But I understand that Elise wants to spend as much time with her as possible.
Fuck , she wants to spend Mother’s Day with her.
“Sounds good, thank you,” I say dutifully.
“But yes, I should get back to work.”
I’ll have to find somewhere else to go waste a couple hours Friday evening.
I can’t ask Travis to go on a date with me.
He’ll think I’ve lost my mind.
I get back to work, but there’s not much going on today, so I’m not really needed.
And my mind is spinning in all different directions—about me and Travis, about Elise and Grant, about Mother’s Day, about everything.
Whenever I try to concentrate on a task, I can’t, so I might as well get out of here.
I don’t intend to end up at the diner, yet somehow after parking my car in an open spot on the side of the road, I realize I’m staring up at the Reed’s sign.
My stomach growls, like a Pavlovian response.
Guess grabbing some food wouldn’t hurt.
The place is pretty full when I walk inside.
The counter is empty though, so I slide onto a stool, not wanting to take up the only free table.
Travis is behind the counter, his back to me, loading his arms up with plates from the passthrough window.
As he turns with them, he sees me and smiles.
Giving him an awkward little wave, I say, “Hey.”
“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you. I thought you were working.”
“I’m playing hooky for a bit.” I motion to the plates.
“Go deliver your food.”
“Right,” he says, swiftly moving around the counter and over to a table of four by the window.
His balancing act is impressive.
After he passes out all the plates, he heads back over here, grabs an empty pitcher, and starts filling it with iced tea from the large metal urn.
“Sorry,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder as the tea pours.
“I’ll get you a coffee in a minute.”
“I’m not in a rush,” I tell him.
“Don’t worry about me.”
He gives me a grateful smile before heading back to that table to refill people’s glasses.
Then, dangling the empty pitcher off one finger, he does a quick sweep of the room, clearing plates from other tables and grabbing a credit card as soon as someone slaps it down on top of their check.
It only takes a few minutes before things settle down and he returns to me.
Still, when he pours my coffee and asks what I want to eat, I just order a basket of fries, not wanting to be too much trouble.
He keeps working, stopping over to chat with me whenever he has a free minute.
And watching him turns out to be a pretty good distraction.
Then a bunch of tables leave at once, so suddenly the place is a lot quieter.
Travis ducks below the counter and stands back up with an empty bus tub.
Glancing around at the dirty tables, I ask, “Can I help?”
“You don’t work here,” he says.
“So? You don’t work at the inn either, but you’ve helped me a lot.”
He reaches across the table with his free hand and takes one of mine, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go.
My heart speeds up.
There are still customers in here, but he doesn’t seem concerned.
“You’re sweet, but I’m good. Eat your fries.”
My cheeks flush, and I duck my head to grab a fry.
Did he really just call me sweet?
When he’s done with the cleanup, he returns to me and steals a fry off my plate.
“You know, I’ve bitten people’s hands for that before,” I warn teasingly.
He smirks.
“I think I can handle you biting me.”
And just like that, I’m feeling flushed again.
“So you must be happy that Elise and Grant are at the inn now,” he says, moving on like it’s absolutely normal for him to make flirty comments to me.
I heave out a big sigh, not really wanting to talk about them and how they’re planning to stay even longer.
Or how Elise wants to take May to the Mother’s Day brunch, and while I know she has every right to do so, the idea is killing me for some reason.
“What’s going on?” he asks, frowning in concern.
“Did they do something to upset you?”
“They did some... things,” I say lamely.
Where do I even begin with trying to explain the mess I’ve got going on in my head?
He needs to know about how they expect us to go on a dinner date, though.
So I tell him, making sure to keep my voice down even though the place has mostly cleared out now.
“But we obviously don’t have to go,” I add, before he thinks I’m getting confused about what this thing with us really is.
“I’ll just leave the house that night and hide out somewhere for a while. Maybe plot how to murder my daughter.”
He levels me with a stern sort of look.
“I was kidding about the murder.”
“Brenden,” he says, voice soft now.
“We should go.”
“On the date ?” I whisper, shocked.
“Grant gave the restaurant his credit card to pay for it. He’ll notice if there’s never any charge.”
“Oh, right,” I say dumbly.
“I didn’t think of that.” Of course he doesn’t want to go on a date with me.
“Plus, it sounds nice,” he says, leaning in closer over the counter until I can smell his cologne.
“You know I don’t get out much.”
“Pretty sure that’s by choice.”
“True, but if it’s with you... I wouldn’t mind.”
He shifts his gaze slightly away from me after that admission.
My heart is now beating out a bouncy, happy song.
“You want to go on a date with me?”
His eyes fly back to mine.
He looks unsure, and for a second, I think he’s going to grunt something at me to play it off.
But then he says, “Yeah. I do.”
Oh my god.
I want to climb over the counter and kiss him.
But I hold myself back, because I know I can’t do that.
I can’t stop grinning though.
“Then it sounds like we’ve got a date Friday night.”