11. Aiden
11
AIDEN
I already hated today, and it had barely even begun.
“What do you mean they’re talking about a temporary shutdown?” I said to George, my production manager, as I stepped off the elevator, phone pressed to my ear. Our manufacturing facility was undergoing one of its regular inspections to ensure we complied with health, safety, and quality standards, but I was not expecting to be threatened with a shutdown this morning. “I thought we were in good shape?”
“I don’t know, boss. They’re saying we’re non-compliant.”
“How are we non-compliant?”
“They want the records for production and inventory, but we can’t access them on the computer.”
“Why not?”
“Some system glitch. Apparently, there was a software update, and now we can’t get access to the digital records until IT has that sorted.”
“Okay, let’s get them the paper copies in the meantime.”
“That’s exactly what I went to do. Then I realized those are in Sheila’s office, which is locked, and she’s on annual leave.”
“Did you explain that?”
“Yeah, I did. But they don’t care. This guy’s being a real son of a bitch. He says until I produce the records, we don’t technically comply with federal regulations, so he can shut us down until we do.”
I rubbed the space between my eyes. God, the last thing I needed was some power-tripping federal inspector on my ass. I knew it was part of the job, but I hated this bureaucratic bullshit. It was time-consuming and costly and?—
The elevator door opened behind me. I stepped aside as Cora emerged.
“Did Sheila not do a hand over with anyone before she went off?” I asked George.
“Yeah, that would be Graham, but he’s down with the flu, and we can’t get a hold of him. Probably passed out on cold medication.”
“So what you’re saying is I’m the only one with the keys to Sheila’s office.” But more importantly, the locked filing cabinet in her office.
“That’s what I’m saying, boss.”
Looked like I was taking a trip up to Newburgh. “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Offer to take the inspectors to brunch until I get there.”
“Will do.”
I hung up the call.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Cora said, handing me a piece of paper. “I was just dropping off the finalized recipes for the two samples you tried the other day.” She tilted her head, eyeing me. “Everything okay?”
“There’s a little hiccup at our manufacturing facility.”
“With the new line?”
“No, we’re not ready for production on those yet. Just some digital record-keeping issues. But I now need to go resolve said issues to avoid a production shutdown.”
“Hopefully it’s an easy fix?”
“Should be.” And if this was what it took to keep production on track, what choice did I have? “Actually,” I said. “Did you want to come along? See how and where your drinks will be manufactured once all the recipes and packaging are finalized? Could be an interesting bit of content for your channel.”
“Oh, wow, that would actually be really cool!” Cora said.
“Sounds good. Our facility’s in the Hudson Valley area, so we’ll just hop over to the heliport?—”
She froze. “Wait, we’re taking a helicopter?”
“Yes,” I said, hitting the elevator button. “A quick little flight there and back.”
“You know what,” she said, a nervous trill to her voice, backing away from me a bit. “I don’t really need to see the facility after all.”
Huh? I turned to her, suddenly remembering. Cora had always been afraid of heights.
“Thank you, though,” she continued. “It was a really nice offer.”
“We could drive instead,” I said.
“No, you should go. Fly, I mean. It’ll be faster.”
“Honestly, Cora, driving won’t take that much longer.” It was a lie. Newburgh was a short half-hour trip each way via helicopter, but closer to an hour and a half each way to drive.
She hemmed. “You’re sure it’s not an inconvenience?”
“I’m sure. Really.” The thought of spending some time alone with her, where we wouldn’t be interrupted by coworkers, was enticing. “We’ll take my Ferrari. It’s parked downstairs.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, glancing over at Cora quickly as I navigated through the Manhattan traffic and out of the city. She hadn’t said a word since climbing into the car.
She laughed a bit, hands in her lap. “Nothing. I’ve just never been in a car this nice. I’m just…taking it all in. And sort of afraid to touch anything.”
I snorted. “It’s not gonna break.”
“Sorta feels like it might.”
“The interior is carbon fiber. Trust me. You’re good.” Luxury sports cars were just par for the course for me now. The first one had been exciting—new, different. My parents had done fine, financially, but we’d been solidly middle class. Making my first million had been a big deal to me. But these days, I didn’t think much of it. All the same, I hadn’t intended to make her uncomfortable. “You know what we need?” I said, veering off the main road and into the parking lot of a gas station. “Road trip snacks.”
“This isn’t a road trip,” she pointed out.
“I beg to differ. Anything longer than an hour constitutes a road trip.”
“It could take you that long to drive across Manhattan during rush hour.”
“Is that you saying you don’t want snacks?”
“To eat in your fancy, ridiculously expensive car?” She pursed her lips, and I had a hell of a time focusing my gaze anywhere else.
“Yes.”
“That feels like a bad idea.”
“Ah, so you do want snacks—you just don’t think you should have them. Don’t worry,” I said, getting out of the car. I leaned back down, arching my brow. “If you mess up the upholstery, I’ll just buy a new one.”
“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” she muttered.
“Are you coming inside? Or are you giving me total authority over snack selection?”
“Absolutely not,” she said, climbing out of the car and following me into the gas station. The aisles were small and crammed, but I managed to find the ultimate road trip essentials: mini- powdered donuts and an assortment of sour gummy candy. Cora picked out pretzels and chocolate-covered almonds.
“What are you smirking about?” she asked as we climbed back into my Ferrari.
“Nothing.” I passed her the plastic bag, amused to see our go-to snacks hadn’t changed much since high school. “Just that you still choose subpar gas station snacks.”
“Excuse me!” she cried. “What does that mean? Pretzels and chocolate are a classic combo!”
“Classic but not elite,” I clarified, checking my blind spots before I peeled out of the parking lot.
“And your mini donuts are elite, are they?” she said, digging the snacks out of the bag. She placed the box of donuts on the center console, popping it open for me. “I don’t even think these are made of real ingredients.”
“I try not to look too closely at the packaging.”
“Exactly!” Cora said, wiggling her finger at me. “You admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That my snack selections are the superior choice.”
I laughed. “I admit to nothing.”
“Remember when we used to sneak them into the movie theater when we were dating so we didn’t have to pay for overpriced popcorn?”
“Oh my god. Yes!” I said. “You used to stuff the pockets of my letterman jacket.”
“It was perfect for getting all those snacks in there.”
“I had to walk so slowly or else all the packages rattled.”
“And there was that manager who always suspected and would glare at you.”
“Stanley!” we both cried at the same time, grinning at each other.
“You used to poke my sides,” I accused playfully. “It was like you wanted me to get caught.”
Cora threw her head back and laughed. “I totally would have ditched you at the scene of the crime.”
“I can see you leaving me to unload my pockets with Stanley while you went in to watch Robert Pattinson sparkle.”
Cora gasped. “I forgot about my Twilight obsession.”
“I wish I could forget.”
Cora needled my side with her finger. “You loved it. I know you did.”
“Pretty sure I didn’t.”
“No, I definitely remember you being Team Jacob.” She lifted her hand to her mouth, hiding her amusement. “You even had a t-shirt!”
“Because werewolves are infinitely cooler than vampires.” God, I’d forgotten how much fun we used to have. “I’m pretty sure I used to have the physique to be one of those little werewolves, too.”
Cora’s cheeks pinked, and I couldn’t help thinking it was the prettiest shade of pink I’d ever seen. It clashed with her hair in the best way, and I wanted to chase the flush with the tip of my finger, across her cheekbones and over the bridge of her nose.
“I have no memory of this physique,” she said, settling back into her seat with the bag of pretzels.
“Sure you don’t.” I focused on the road again. Probably best I didn’t start thinking about what she used to say about my physique anyway. “You know who would like your subpar snacks? Dominic. When we used to go drinking in college, he’d fill his pockets with pretzels. And licorice sticks.”
“I see nothing wrong with this,” Cora said.
“Of course you don’t.”
“So, you met Dominic in college, and now you two work together?”
“We’ve been working together since college. There was a whole group of us that started a cosmetics company together as a class project.”
“Wait, you started a whole company? As college students?” Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead.
“Yeah, I was partnered up with Dominic and our other buddies Vincent and Trent with the assignment to come up with a concept for a new brand. We developed this multifunction cosmetics tool.” I saw her confused expression. “Think a Swiss army knife but for make-up.”
“Wait!” she said, her eyebrows lifting. “You invented the BeautiTool?”
“Invented, patented, trademarked.”
“Wow.” She sneakily plucked a donut from the container between us and started nibbling, humming to herself. I could tell she was taken aback by the information. I supposed the jump from make-up to liquor wasn’t exactly an expected career move. “I can’t believe that was your company.”
“Anyway,” I said, grinning, “after the class was over—which we aced, by the way—me, Dominic, and Trent sort of ran with the idea, figuring out how to grow it into a working business. By the time we graduated, it was a full-time job for the three of us. Vincent was already committed to his family’s business, but he came on as an investor.”
“Okay, that’s ridiculously impressive,” she admitted. “Most college students can barely figure out how to do their own laundry. Meanwhile, you and your friends are taking over the make-up industry.”
Warmth surged through me at her words. I didn’t know why one little compliment had me feeling like that. It’s not as if I didn’t already know how amazing it was. Maybe I’d just forgotten what it was like to talk to her. To really share things with her. She’d always been super supportive—even of my dumb high school dreams of wanting to win the state championship my senior year. And maybe a small part of me sort of wanted her to be impressed. I wanted to be deserving of her praise. She’d always encouraged me to chase my dreams. And she was so damn beautiful—even when she was getting powdered sugar from the donut all over her nose and shirt.
“So what happened to the cosmetics company?” Cora wondered.
“We sold it when I was about twenty-three.” The group of us had split the one hundred-million-dollar profit. “I took my share of the proceeds and used it as seed money for Elixir. Ten years later, here we are.”
“It’s nice that you and Dominic stayed close.”
“Oh, the whole group is still close. I was actually just at Trent’s birthday the other weekend. And Vincent and his fiancée just had a baby, so we were all at the hospital for that. I’ve been really lucky to have the guys in my life. And Trent’s grandmother. She kinda adopted the group of us in college. Calls us her Lost Boys.”
“She sounds sweet,” Cora said.
I laughed. “She can be sassy as anything. And she likes to meddle in our love lives. But she opened her home to me while my parents were going through their divorce, and I’ll always be grateful to her for that.”
“Sounds like she’s really important to you,” Cora said softly.
“She is,” I said, my voice tight, almost harsh. Cora looked startled and leaned back, as if she was worried she’d offended me. “Sorry, I just…I’m kind of worried about her right now. She’s been having some dizzy spells.”
“What have the doctors said?” Cora asked gently.
“That’s the problem—she’s been fighting against going to get checked out.” I shrugged helplessly. “All of us have been trying to talk her around, but it’s a work in progress.” I cleared my throat, struggling to force down my anxiety. “So, how’d you get into the Masked Mixer thing anyway?”
Cora took a beat before answering my question.
“I guess I stumbled into bartending sort of by accident,” she said. “Or maybe that’s not the right word. More like out of necessity. You heard about what happened to my dad, yeah?”
Yeah, I’d heard. I’d been a sophomore at Cornell, so I hadn’t been around, but in a small town, everyone knows everyone’s business. I’d gotten the story from a couple of high school friends I still kept in touch with back then. Mr. Newport’s car wreck had been a mess, but what had made it worse was that it hadn’t been immediately fatal. He had a couple of surgeries right afterward to try to save him…but all they really did was load Cora and her mom with a mountain of medical debt on top of the funeral costs.
My hands tightened around the wheel. It was all so unfair. I hadn’t known Mr. Newport well—he’d tried so hard not to be some “overbearing dad intimidates his daughter’s boyfriend” cliché that he never knew what to say to me. I couldn’t remember much beyond a handful of awkward conversations between us in the stretch of time when Cora and I dated. But even just knowing him in passing, I could still tell that he loved his wife and his daughter deeply, and the last thing he would have wanted was to make life harder on them. But—through no fault of his own—that was exactly what he’d done, leaving them in a financial hole that couldn’t have been easy to climb out from.
“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out directly,” I said, feeling the need to apologize.
“It’s okay,” she said, trying to brush off the apology. “It was a long time ago, Aiden.”
“I just didn’t know the right thing to say.” Truthfully, I hadn’t felt comfortable calling after the way things had ended between us. I’d figured I was probably the last person she wanted to have to deal with when she had so much else on her plate. “I sent flowers though. I never did put my name on the card, so it’s not like you would have known they were from me anyway.”
“Oh,” she said, tilting her head to look at me. “That was…Thank you.” She smoothed the crinkled edges of the pretzel bag. “Losing my dad was hard, but the debt…that was what really made it scary. For a while, we thought we’d lose the house. We were able to use my college fund to save it. I thought at first about trying to go to school anyway—getting loans, all of that. But my mom…she’d been a housewife, remember? Even when she was able to find a job, she just didn’t have the qualifications to earn much. She needed another salary in the house, and I came to find out that tending bar paid pretty well.”
“So you gave up your dreams,” I said softly, remembering the girl who had planned to be an English teacher, who’d loved Jazz Age writers and always carried a copy of The Great Gatsby with her. My Zelda…
“I found a new dream,” she said. “I discovered my passion for mixing drinks. Even when things settled down—when my mom got a better job, and we finally paid off the last of the debt—I never seriously considered going back to school. I found the thing I’m meant to be doing. Now my plan is to save up to open a literary-themed speakeasy. That way I can combine my love of literature with my passion for crafting drinks.”
“That’s… Wow! ” I hadn’t realized she had designs on starting her own business.
“That’s partly why I was so eager to say hi to your dad again when you said he was refurbishing the Red Lion. I thought I might be able to pick his brain a little.”
“I’m sure he’d love to talk to you about it,” I said sincerely. “Maggie, his handywoman, might also be a good resource for you. She could give you the rundown on what it takes to get a place fitted up right.”
“That’d be great,” she said. “I know your dad’s obviously in Manhattan now. But where’d your mom end up after the divorce?”
“She’s in Ohio, closer to my grandparents. What about your mom? How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing well…I think.” Cora sighed heavily, snapping a pretzel in half.
“What is it?”
“It’s just…She’s been oddly distant and secretive lately. It takes her hours to reply to my texts sometimes, which is so unlike her. I’m starting to worry something is wrong.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” I said. “She would have told you if it was. Right?” Then again, wasn’t Nana Dee trying to hide whatever was going on with her? I shoved that thought aside, trying to comfort Cora as best as I could. “Look, maybe you’re just overthinking it. Maybe she took up a new hobby.”
“I don’t know,” Cora said, indecisive. “Something is definitely going on with her. My mind keeps flipping between serious and ridiculous things. What if she’s sick? What if she’s run into money troubles again? What if she’s decided to sell the house and move down south to sell pineapples off a fruit stand on the beach?”
I burst out laughing as I envisioned a dilapidated fruit stand. No way in hell was Bonnie Newport heading down south to sell pineapples. “I don’t think you have to worry about your mother giving up her home for a fruit stand.”
“Stop laughing.”
“I’m trying.”
“I’m not even going to tell you about my alien abduction theory then.”
“Oh, I definitely want to hear this.”
Cora shook her head, her smile twisting as her lips puckered. For the next thirty minutes, she told me about one crazy theory after another. From there, she segued into even crazier bartending stories.
“What’s happening?” Cora asked in the middle of a hilarious story, bracing her hand against the door as I changed lanes.
“I’m pulling over.” I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
“Why?”
“Because there are so many tears in my eyes I can’t see the road.” I drove onto the shoulder and stopped the car, taking a deep breath, trying to get myself under control. But every time I managed to stop the laughter it started up again.
“Okay, it wasn’t that funny,” Cora said. She plucked another donut from the box between us, smiling at my laughter.
“I can’t believe you actually switched out the fruit puree for habanero chili!”
She shrugged. “He told me my drinks needed a kick.”
“I assume he was another satisfied customer?” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes before pulling back onto the freeway. We flashed past a sign for Newburgh, and I glanced down at the clock on the dashboard. How had an hour and a half passed so quickly?
“Never saw him again. Do you want to hear about the guy who brought a goat to the line dancing night?” she asked.
“Hell yes!” I never wanted this drive to end.