Chapter 6
“Can’t repeat the past? … Why of course you can!”
—Jay Gatsby in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
Though the Brewery was a casual place, I decided to dress to impress.
After all, my dinner with Jason was business.
In keeping with my understated style, I chose a pair of black linen pants, sling-back flats, and a simple white silk blouse.
Plus I spruced up my makeup with a dab of lip gloss and a dash of mascara. Nothing too dramatic.
When I was ready to leave the house, I checked myself in the mirror, centered my gold Celtic knot necklace at the hollow of my neck—I’d opted not to don stud earrings—and then I added kibble to Darcy’s bowl, kissed him on the nose, and said I’d be back soon.
Walking out the door, I reminded him to be a good boy, and he mewed.
I didn’t speak cat, but I figured he was agreeing.
After a long day, the walk to the Brewery was heavenly. There wasn’t a hint of a summer breeze. The air was delicious. The vista of the Blue Ridge Mountains to my left brought a smile to my face as I remembered my last hike there with Zach. How we’d enjoyed the spicy aroma of the pines.
I approached the restaurant, gripped the door handle, and braced myself for noise before venturing inside.
Like many restaurants in Bramblewood, the place was rustic and not very big, meaning it could get crowded and noisy.
High ceilings plus stone floors amplified the sound.
The TVs hanging on the walls as well as from suspension rods were playing a Charlotte Knights game, which was making the clamor even louder.
The Knights were a minor league baseball team beloved throughout North Carolina.
The six-seat bar, where Tegan and I usually sat, was filled to capacity.
The two bartenders were feverishly manning the dozen beer taps affixed to the wall.
In addition to the three rectangular bar-style tables fitted with stools and a couple of tall tables sans stools, for diners who preferred to stand, the owner had added six tables for two, each abutting the far wall.
Next year, he promised, he was adding a rooftop bar.
The small tables were usually difficult to score for a reservation, but Jason had.
So had Reika Moore, who was seated at the nearest one.
I nodded to her as I passed by. She raised a bottle of sparkling water in response.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said to Jason, taking my seat.
“You’re right on time. I was early. What would you like to drink?” He handed me the beverage menu.
“I’ll take Oly’s pale ale.”
“Is it good?”
“All the beer here is excellent.”
I noticed Jason was tapping his foot. He was also fisting and unfurling his left hand, as he had yesterday.
Nervous habits, I decided. I used to chew my lower lip, until my ex-fiancé mentioned it.
A therapist I saw on occasion had recommended securing a rubber band around my wrist and snapping it whenever I caught myself doing the lip thing.
The resulting pain of snapped rubber striking flesh had driven the habit from my life.
“Oly, who happens to be the owner, makes it himself.” I hoped idle chatter would put Jason at ease. “Tegan likes to drink Ugly Pig. I hear Spruce Goose is good.”
Our server, a petite blond woman with a winsome smile, greeted us and set two glasses of water on the table. “Hi. I’m Wallis,” she said, “but Allie knows that. You are?”
“Jason Gardner.”
“You’re the developer.”
“Word travels fast.”
“Sure does. ‘Gossip is as gossip does,’ my mother always says.” She winked. “Know what you want to drink?”
Jason gave her our order.
“Gotcha.” She handed us dinner menus. “Allie, before I forget, I scored a second job at Blessed Bean on my days off.” By day, Blessed Bean was a coffeehouse.
At night, the place could now serve wine and beer.
The owner had secured a liquor license, hoping to grow her business.
“It’s sure going to help pay the rent.” Wallis’s father had walked out on the family a year ago, and ever since, she’d been helping her mother and younger sister cover expenses.
“Good for you.”
“I’ll be back in a flash with your drinks.”
Jason watched Wallis go, and his expression grew wistful.
Wallis looked a lot like Delilah Brenneman, based on the photograph Tegan had shown me.
Was he thinking about her now? I reflected again on the dustup between him and Patrick, and Jason warning Patrick not to utter Delilah’s name.
Did he truly hope she would walk back into his life?
“You’re staring at our server. Does she look familiar?” I hoped Jason would speak frankly.
“No.” He wiped the nostalgia from his face and fidgeted with his place setting. “Tell me about you. Where did you grow up? What do you like to do?”
“You didn’t do oppo research on everyone in town?” My tone was light, playful.
“Ha! Not on a bet. Purely competitors.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Back to you …”
“I grew up in Bramblewood, went to Davidson College, earned an English degree, thought I’d teach, but life took a different turn, and I came here to start my catering business. When not working, I love to read or exercise or play with my cat.”
“Sounds like an online dating profile. Do you do that?”
“No way.” I blurted the answer so fast I shocked myself.
He chuckled. “Taboo subject?”
“Tegan’s mother … she … Never mind. It’s not important.”
“I don’t do it, either.” He sat back in his chair. “Teaching and catering seem like opposite ends of the spectrum.”
“I’ve always loved to cook. I learned when I was five.”
“What did you make? Mud pies?” His mouth quirked up on one side, triggering the double dimple.
“Three-cheese mac ’n’ cheese was my specialty.”
“Wow.”
“And cookies.”
“I love cookies.”
His eyes twinkled with interest, and I decided they were his best feature.
The rest of him wasn’t bad—the aquiline nose and devilish smile—but his eyes were studious yet heartfelt and imploring.
To my dismay, I found myself attracted to him and wanted to know if he had this mesmerizing effect on all women.
I gave my mind a mental kick to stay on track and said, “I heard you’re originally from here. Where was your childhood home?”
“North of the golf course, not far from where I’m staying now.”
“Was it one of the estates?” Forty populated that part of town, including Magda Bellingham’s. They weren’t properties set miles apart, like you’d find in England. They were half-acre and one-acre lots.
“One of the smaller ones. We had a tennis court.”
“You moved away when you were young, I heard.”
“Yes. My father was interested in growing his wealth by investing in real estate. He figured California was booming. Why not go where the action was? It was a worthwhile move.”
“When did you become a developer?”
“After high school my father wanted me to go to college and earn my MBA so I could join his investment group. However, doing something so boring wasn’t in my plan. Instead, to irk him, I joined the army.”
I was surprised he’d taken a similar path to the one Zach had followed. Had his choice been due to heartache, as well? I was reluctant to ask.
“In three years I became a sergeant,” he continued.
My eyes widened. “You must have been exceptional.”
“I’m a hard worker. I also took leadership courses. A few years after that, I bowed out and opted to go to college. I earned an MBA and became the man my father wanted me to be. With a twist.”
“A twist?”
“I became an independent developer, not a group investor. I’ve always been a maverick.”
“When did you meet—” I jammed my lips together, angry at myself for speaking before thinking.
“Who?” He eyed me warily. When I didn’t answer, he said, “My ex-fiancée? I’m sure you’ve heard about her. As Wallis said, rumors abound in a small town. Her name is—”
“Delilah Brenneman.”
“Aha. You have heard of her. Yes, we’re no longer a couple. She’s married now, but …” He went quiet and ran a finger along the rim of his water glass, his gaze following the motion.
But what? Did he hope she’d leave her husband? Did he pray the marriage wouldn’t last?
“How did you meet?” I asked.
He raised his gaze. After a long pause, he said, “We hooked up in college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“UCLA. She was quite a bit younger and an art history major who aspired to be a curator of MoMA in New York.”
“A big aspiration. Did she achieve it?”
“She got a gig at a small museum in Los Angeles, where she met her husband.” His chest rose and fell, as if he was burdened with regret. “He’s a vintner and a renowned art collector.”
“Do you keep in touch with her?” It was a bold question, but I was dying to know.
“No. I should … Maybe you could …”
He should what? I could what? His unfinished sentences were driving me nuts.
“Do your mother and father still live in California?” I asked, switching gears.
“They passed away ten years ago.” His expression grew grim.
“I’m sorry.” My cheeks grew warm as I recalled the rumors Lillian had mentioned in regard to Jason, one being he’d murdered his parents. Could the rumor possibly be true?
“Can’t fix fate.” He shrugged. “They were helicopter skiing in Canada. The snow was too wet, which triggered an avalanche. The crew looked for them for days. When they located them, they were long gone.”
So they hadn’t been murdered. Phew.
Wallis returned with our beverages, and Jason raised his beer glass in a toast. “To happier memories.”
I mirrored the gesture.
We took a moment to order dinner, and when Wallis left, we resumed our conversation.