Chapter 16
Kate was on her break, and it was a quiet afternoon, so Will grabbed his laptop from his office and was working his way through some of the resumes he’d gotten in response to his job posting a few days back.
Tonight, he and Enzo were going to cart over the last of his stuff to Enzo’s place.
Giana was over the moon, fluttering around like she’d just won the lottery.
It didn’t matter that Enzo had reminded her a dozen times over the last few days that their relationship was still new, that they didn’t want any interference or “helpful advice,” she kept walking around with stars in her eyes.
Stars that reminded Will a little of himself every time he looked in the mirror.
She had refrained from saying, “I told you so,” but probably only because she still thought she’d set them up in the first place. That it was her matchmaking that had brought them together.
Will supposed that was technically accurate. If Giana hadn’t been so pushy, he never would’ve suggested he and Enzo go on a fake date.
And that fake date had led to all those other, real, ones.
Last night, Enzo had said, leaning against the sink as Will had brushed his teeth, that maybe someday they’d need to come clean.
Will understood why he wanted to be honest, but ugh, that was going to be one can of worms once it was opened.
“She can’t be pissed because what she wanted still happened,” was Enzo’s argument, and yeah, Will could see that logic.
He also thought Enzo was intentionally underestimating how peeved his mother might be by their deliberate lies.
Will pulled up another resume and, after scanning it, decided she would at least be worth an interview, and moved onto the next.
The bell jingled over the door, and he glanced up.
His “Welcome to Cherry’s” was half out of his mouth before it died. Before he trailed off in utter surprise.
“Mom!” he exclaimed, shocked. “Dad!”
“Oh, honey, the pictures didn’t do this place justice,” Carla said as she wandered around, her bright blue eyes, the same color as his, taking in the bright white walls, the candy pink striped booth cushions, the comfortable but old-fashioned white enamel chairs he’d spend ages sourcing.
“Yeah, they really didn’t.” His father walked over to the counter and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son.”
Will gazed at him, still shocked at their appearance. “It’s . . .uh . . .good to see you too. Didn’t expect you. At all.”
Why are you here?
’Cause you’re proud of me and wanted to finally see what I did?
Or because you want to convince me in person to do what you want?
“You’ve built something really nice,” his mom said, giving him an approving smile.
“Yeah,” Will said uneasily. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that because the former was true, the latter wouldn’t be either.
“Your mom said it was busier?” Patrick Johnson was all business.
“It’s quiet in the early afternoons, but in a few hours, we’ll be slammed,” Will said. Disliking the fact that his parents had been here for less than five minutes and he was already trying to prove to them that he was doing good.
He’d been a good father, from the angle that he’d instilled responsibility and determination in his sons.
But everything else . . .yeah. Will couldn’t say his childhood had been shit.
He knew he’d had a better one than a lot of kids out there, but sometimes he’d just wished for his dad to show some softness.
Some love or approval that didn’t come directly from whatever accomplishment they’d just achieved.
Will knew he’d been trying to gain his unconditional love forever, and that was one of the reasons he’d finally come to Indigo Bay and opened Cherry’s.
The first thing he’d done entirely for him.
Because he’d wanted to. Because he’d wanted to carve himself a place that wasn’t dependent on his family.
“I’m not surprised, you know how to run a good business . . .” Carla said, trailing off.
“It’s a nice town, too. Busy downtown. Clean streets. Lots of tourists. Reminds me of a lot of places we’ve opened shops,” Patrick said. “This was a good move, son. Diversification is everything. You know that.”
Will did not roll his eyes. But he still considered it.
“Yeah, I do,” he said instead. “Not that I’m not happy that you’re here, but why are you here?”
“Can’t we want to see you, see what you’ve created here?” His mother shot him a smile.
Will did not bring up that he’d been open for months now, which he thought was heroic levels of restraint on his part.
He did not bring up Tybee Island either, even though part of him just wanted to cut through all this crap and get to the bottom of why they were here, sooner rather than later.
“You want some ice cream?”
“Oh, just a taste,” Carla said, when Patrick shook his head. “Come on, Pat. You gotta try it. It’s homemade, right?”
“Yep.”
Will’s plastic sample spoons were the same bright cherry pink as the stripes on the walls. He did roll his eyes a little as he grabbed a handful and bent down into the ice cream case, picking a handful of different flavors before passing them to his parents.
“This is the dark chocolate espresso bean,” he said as his father’s face creased into pleasure at all the flavors exploding across his tongue.
There was nothing wrong with the ice cream they served at the Johnson’s chain, but it wasn’t made in-house with the best milk and cream and eggs he could get his hands on.
“Delicious,” Carla said, as she sampled the brown butter cherry brickle he’d just finished perfecting. “You even make the vanilla here?”
Will swiped two more sample spoons into the bucket of Tahitian vanilla and watched as they both truly appreciated the complex flavor he’d accomplished.
Most vanilla was an absence of flavor, but he’d brought out the best in the beans he bought.
“It’s all a bit pricey,” Patrick said, “but the quality’s there. That’s some delicious ice cream, son.”
“Thanks,” Will said, genuinely pleased.
He’d been experimenting with homemade ice cream for years now, and there’d been a time when he’d tried to convince his father to swap out the ice cream they bought for his own, for the entire Johnson’s chain.
Patrick never went for it, though, and in retrospect, Will could agree that he’d been right. They’d have had to raise prices, and that wasn’t what Johnson’s was.
It was what Cherry’s was, though, and Will was proud of that.
He was just beginning to think, to actually hope, that they understood that, too, but then his mother said, “You seem like you’re all settled in.”
You know better than to expect things to be different.
“Yeah,” Will said cautiously.
Patrick set his elbows on the counter and leveled that same stare at Will that he’d given him in little league and in high school debate and the first time he’d tried to resist uprooting his life for Johnson’s. “Brewer’s in over his head in Tybee,” he said bluntly.
“Of course he is. That’s not Brewer’s skill set,” Will said. If his dad could be blunt, then so could he.
“Because that’s always been yours,” Carla added persuasively.
It was true. But that didn’t mean he wanted to spend his entire life using it for Johnson’s.
“You said when you left and came here to start this place that you’d still help us out if we needed you.”
He’d said that because he’d been trying to forestall any panicked freakouts.
Of course, he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. But here they were, wanting to cash in on that promise.
“I know I did, but I’m still getting up and running here.” Will shrugged, trying to keep himself calm. “Cherry’s has to be my priority now.”
His parents exchanged looks. Will didn’t need a translator to understand what they weren’t saying. We didn’t expect him to stick to his guns like this. We expected him to crumple, if we showed up.
But Enzo had been right the other night when they’d talked at the beach. If he didn’t stick to this line he’d drawn now, he’d never be able to get them to respect it.
“We’re in a real bind,” Carla said. “Surely you can help us for a week. Two, maybe.”
“Tops,” Patrick added.
But Will knew how that worked. One week would turn into two would turn into four. And he couldn’t leave Kate for that kind of time. Not yet.
Even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to.
“I can’t,” Will said. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t.”
He was waiting for one of them to bring up his manager, and of course that was the moment Kate walked out of the back, a perplexed expression on her face.
“Everything alright, boss?”
Will winced, internally. Naturally she’d had to use that nickname just then.
“Uh, everything’s fine,” Will said. Introduced his parents as quickly and painlessly as he could.
Then Kate turned to him and said, “I thought you were gonna meet Enzo for lunch?”
Ugh. Enzo. He would be in here in a few minutes and they’d grab a late lunch together. That was the plan anyway.
But the last thing he wanted to spring on his brand-new boyfriend was his parents being here, unexpectedly. And not just to check out Cherry’s, but to persuade him to come with them.
Enzo wasn’t going to want to be around for that conversation.
“Who’s Enzo?” Carla asked.
“Uh . . .” Will trailed off, shooting Kate a Please help, please please please help look. “He’s painting the mural on the side of the building. Did you notice him when you came in?”
“Oh, we approached from the other side,” Patrick said. “We’ll have to check that out, when we leave.”
Oh God, please don’t.
“Can you . . .” Will motioned Kate closer. “Can you uh . . .go intercept him? Tell him I’m sorry but something came up and he’d be better off grabbing lunch on his own? And I’ll take my parents to Oliver’s for a sandwich?”
Kate nodded, but there were a hundred questions, barely restrained, in her gray eyes, as she turned and walked out the front door.
“When she’s back, we’ll go grab a sandwich at the local bakery,” Will announced. “And we can . . .uh . . .discuss this further.”