CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
R OBERT
Showing up at Hyde was a bad idea. Something I did because I couldn’t think of anything else.
And because it had been an asshole move to ghost Anya like that. So, I tried a grand gesture. Which was a disaster.
In the last few weeks, I’d read all her text messages. Thought of her many times during the trip to Miami and afterward, as I mulled over the offer Hudson had made. I even extended my stay in Florida so I could think about every angle, trusting Javier to finish the final work on the store without me.
He’d been the real genius behind the renovation anyway. I was only getting in his way.
Taking Hudson’s offer meant I’d need a game plan. I’d need to figure it all out. For a few days from a hotel room overlooking Miami Beach, I tried to work through the steps I needed to take.
But I couldn’t make it square.
No business plan or list of goals could make my next moves make sense. This wasn’t another business deal or split-second decision I could make to spend the whole sum I made while working at the hedge fund. No, this moment wasn’t about numbers.
It was about real life.
And when I looked at the numbers, I kept coming back to one thing—the way I felt the morning after the parade, when I woke up next to Anya. How it seemed that I was on the verge of something that truly mattered. Something that wasn’t about money or getting one over on someone else. And something tangible.
But as soon as I had it, I’d fucked up. Screwed it up worse than any day-trade or short position.
That much was obvious by the look Anya gave me when I showed up at the nightclub on my idiotic mission to explain myself. How much of a dumbass did I have to be to think showing up would do any good? That was a party for Morgan, not a regular night. She made that clear when she ordered me away. Anya didn’t want anything to do with me.
That was probably the least I deserved.
After Anya’s justified rejection, I realized it would be too painful to remain in New Burlington. To see her on a regular basis. To watch her move on with another man.
Yes, I knew what I had to do.
“Here we go,” I said to Jason as I straightened the barstools one more time. True to Javier’s word, the renovation finished ahead of schedule, and it was finally opening night.
“It looks great, man.”
“Thanks.” I crossed behind the bar and took a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle I’d bought for this occasion. I placed it on the counter, glad I had the moment alone with him as the catering staff put the final touches on the food in the mobile truck kitchen in the back parking lot. “A small token of my appreciation.”
“Whoa.” Jason raised both his hands. “I don’t deserve something like this.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Why?”
“We won the float contest off your idea. I never had the chance to thank you properly.”
Beaming, my friend lifted the bottle. “I think this is the nicest bottle of bourbon I’ve ever had.”
I braced my elbows on the shiny, clean bar. “How’d you like to help me with managing this place?”
Jason’s jaw slackened. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve been offered a significant business opportunity in Miami, and I’ve decided to take it.”
“But what about Tomes and Tumblers?” he asked, glancing around the space we’d worked so hard on over the last few months.
“I know. But this offer won’t last.”
“Still—”
“I’m going to do it.” I paused. “Taking this job means I won’t be able to do the day-to-day management of the store. I’ll have to be more hands off than I expected, so I want you to take it over for me.”
He placed the bourbon back on the marble. “Except I don’t have any experience in store management.”
“You know how to lead people.”
“A few guys on a real estate team.” He shrugged.
“That’s enough for me to know you’d be great at this.” I slapped the counter. “So, what do you think?”
“I’ll consider it,” he replied, and I saw a bit of a twinkle in his eye, a hint that he wasn’t going to say no.
Satisfied with his answer, I moved on to one more review of the bookshelves on the far side of the room. Less than ten minutes, and the store would be open. That made me proud. Working in finance had once felt like the only thing I was good at—managing numbers and seeing market trends was the only real thing I could do professionally.
This project changed that perception. It showed me I could do more than one thing well.
And that mattered.
We officially threw on the lights and opened the front doors at six that evening. It wasn’t long before a smattering of city officials, residents, and even the teenagers from the Fourth of July parade packed the space. They ate appetizers and milled through the store sipping coffee drinks and samplers of the craft cocktail selections, and mocktails I thought would be a great addition for the minors. Kayleigh arrived with a small fern she insisted was good luck; Javier showed up with some craft tequila, and Julie Cross presented me with a first edition of her bestselling Chicago Veterans series. By seven, I estimated at least one hundred fifty people filled the main room, including one unexpected guest.
My mom.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” I said when I saw her walk through the front door. She was tanner than I’d ever seen her and a brightness shone behind her eyes. Florida agreed with her in a big way.
“Sometimes it’s fun to pull off a surprise,” she replied, and pulled me into a tight hug that crushed me against her large turquoise necklace. “Especially on opening night.”
“I’m thrilled you came. Let me give you the official tour.”
I steered my mom to the bar and had the bartender make her an old-fashioned, then took my time weaving her through the crowd and around the store. I pointed out all the small details Javier and I had worked on over the summer—the original brick we blasted and sanded to perfection, the chevron pattern on the inlaid wood flooring, the way we made sure to align the bookshelves with the stained-glass window, and more. And when we ended the tour at the small stage, I was proud of what I’d shown her. Really proud.
“This place is so warm,” she said, her drink halfway finished. “And I see your personality in so much of it.”
“I’m going to guess that’s a good thing.”
“It sure is.” She patted me on the arm, but then her face changed. “But I have to say, I’m also... worried.”
“How so?”
“Well,” —Mom took a deep breath and glanced around the room— “I know there’s a lot of excitement for a new store in town, but... how much of it is going to last?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Meaning?”
“Just that I know it’s so hard to run a small business. Probably the hardest thing to do these days.”
“I’ve got a plan.”
“Good.” She rubbed my arm. “If anyone can figure out how to make a business work in this spot of New Burlington, it’s you.”
Nodding, I guided my mom to a small group of city leaders gathered around the charcuterie board at the end of the long bar. She knew a few of them, and quickly lost herself in conversation, catching up on town gossip and the latest about mutual friends.
And for the first time that night, my thoughts were free to turn to Anya. She hadn’t shown up, even though I’d taken the time to drop off an invite earlier in the week at The Green Frog. Not that you expected her to take you up on it. I pulled my phone from my pocket, a little hopeful that I was wrong. Nope, I wasn’t. There was no text, no word from her. Nothing at all. Yes, I didn’t deserve her showing up for me given the way I treated her. But I was surprised how much that hurt. Although she clearly wanted nothing to do with me, it stung and made me realize how much I missed her.
Maybe it all was for the best.
After all, Mom had a point. It was hard to run a small business. Rent, labor, inflation... most of that was on the side of the business owner. And this bourbon bar-slash-bookstore was a labor of love. Why not use the opportunity in Miami to fund it?
Besides, Anya was probably right too. Whatever happened between us was a stolen moment in time, and the sooner I realized that the better off I’d be.
The better off we’d be.
Even if I have missed her more than any other woman before.