Chapter Eighteen
Ava
The hot water felt incredible. I leaned against the side of the narrow shower stall, sinking into the steam that filled the tiny bathroom.
What a long day. I would never stop being grateful that I’d been able to open my bakery, to take my passion and turn it into my career. I knew how lucky I was, and I wouldn’t forget it any time soon. But that didn’t mean every day was a cakewalk.
Take today, for example. Mess up after mess up after mess up. A string of disasters, culminating in unbearable anxiety over Mrs. Beatty’s mysterious absence.
I shivered, even in the boiling water, as I recalled every panic-inducing thought that had plagued me this afternoon.
Had she fallen?
Had something happened on her long walk to town?
Had she had a stroke? Heart attack?
Not once had it occurred to me she might have an unexpected visitor. I always thought of Mrs. Beatty and I like a pair of lone wolves—not quite forming our own pack, but frequently straying into one another’s territory. Thank God she was alright. I couldn’t stand losing anyone else.
I gave my hair and body a quick but thorough scrub, not wanting to make Ben wait too long. My mixed feelings about him were even more complex now, bordering on undecipherable. I wanted so badly to shun him in support of Jules, but not once in all the years I’d known him had Ben stepped out of line around me. Initially, it had been easy to give him the cold shoulder and keep our conversations brief and brisk.
But the further we got from the high school drama, the harder a time I had justifying that chilly attitude towards him. Especially after he pulled a stunt like today—being thoughtful, kind, and patient with me after a rough day at the bakery. I wouldn’t say he came to my rescue or anything so dramatic, but a remarkable weight that lifted off me knowing he was going to help.
As I pulled on some jean shorts and a black Eagles tank, I realized that not once had any of us—to my knowledge—asked Ben for his side of the breakup. I don’t even think Riley did, though I hadn’t thought to check until now. Maybe in exchange for the courtesy he’d shown me tonight, I could extend a similar one. Not an olive branch, exactly, but an attempt at understanding both sides a little better.
I pulled into a street spot near A Taste of Tokyo exactly thirty minutes after we left Mrs. Beatty’s. In a town as small as Cedar Springs, this restaurant was an absolute gem. It opened about six years ago, and business was booming. It took up one of the many long, narrow brick buildings that lined the square in the heart of the downtown area. A storage room, bathrooms, and the kitchen took up the back half of the building.
A dozen or so tables with bright red booths lined every inch of available wall space in the front half, ornate paper lanterns in shades of red, white, and gold hanging with tassels above them. Down the center of the ceiling hung modern lights that looked like golden fireworks. Beautiful, delicate Japanese art in the traditional style decorated the left wall. Kawaii sushi characters took control of the right.
A true fusion of old and new, if ever I saw one, and hands-down my favorite restaurant in town.
Aside from The Rolling Scone, of course.
I found Ben waiting at a booth on the right-hand side, beneath a stack of grinning nigiri and sashimi. Two bowls of steaming miso soup and a stack of egg rolls sat waiting.
“I didn’t know what you wanted, but I figured this was a safe way to start.”
A tiny squeeze pulsed in my chest as I slid into the booth across from him and grabbed an egg roll. “Thank you.”
“I’m curious,” he began, grabbing one of his own, “why did you choose this restaurant?”
I finished chewing the savory, crunchy bite before answering. “As a trained chef, I can cook a pretty impressive array of dishes from various cuisines,” I told him. “Japanese isn’t among them, and it never gets old.”
“Are you telling me that Chef Ava can’t roll her own sushi?” he teased, his cobalt eyes flashing.
“Never tastes as good,” I admitted. “But that stays between us.”
He took his pointer finger and made an actual cross over his chest.
“Speaking of things that stay between us,” I began, doing my best to segway into my own line of questioning, “I wanted to ask you something sort of personal.”
He raised a brow, nodding his approval while chomping his egg roll.
“I realized that none of us ever asked you what happened. You know, with the breakup and all. I know you didn’t want to tell Jules much, at least that’s what she said, but none of us asked you for your side of the story.”
He swallowed harder than necessary, even for eating an egg roll. “You want to know why I broke up with Jules?”
“If you’re willing to share,” I amended.
“And this stays between us? You won’t tell Jules?”
I held up my hand. “Scout’s honor.” I didn’t love the idea of keeping it from Jules, but after all the kindness Ben had shown me today, I felt I owed him one. “I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t wait until after prom to break up with her. Prom night seemed…”
“Needlessly cruel?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “And outside of the breakup, that doesn’t match up with what I’ve seen of you.”
“It was prom night that prompted the break up,” Ben explained, looking intently at his bowl of soup and stirring. “And it was a time-sensitive situation.”
“You’re not going to just tell me the story?” I prodded.
“I had already been thinking about breaking it off with her,” he began. “In the weeks leading up to prom, I realized that it just wasn’t clicking for me, the chemistry wasn’t there, and she deserved better than some guy that was just hanging around because he was too chicken to leave.”
I put down my spoon mid-scoop. That was already more than I’d gotten from Jules. And it was all entirely reasonable.
“I didn’t want to break up right before prom and leave her wounded and without a date, so I decided to wait until after. Have a fun night, dance like crazy, and then sober up the next week at school.”
He took a sip of water, clearly stalling. “A day or two before prom, Jules made it pretty clear that she had certain—” He pressed his lips together searchingly. “Expectations. Of what would happen after prom.”
I almost choked on my soup. “Oh my God. Oh, ” I extended the sound for the space of several seconds as it all clicked.
“And, in spite of what you all seem to think of me, I was not going to fulfill any such expectations and then break up with her the next day. I had, somewhat foolishly, hoped to let her down gently, but that wasn’t the way things shook out.”
“So, basically, you were trying to be a gentleman about not being invested in your relationship, and everything went wrong every step of the way.” Damn. A stab of guilt invaded my gut as I thought about how cold I’d treated Ben over the years. “I believe I owe you an apology.”
He shook his head, grabbing another egg roll. “You don’t. I never thought less of you for standing by Jules. In fact, I always admired the ride-or-die friendship you all have.”
Now it was my turn to move my spoon aimlessly about my soup. “Had,” I corrected, wondering what was even wrong with me that I would put words to such a thought. “I’m hoping this project will bring us back together.”
“You guys seemed tight as ever during the tour,” Ben commented.
I set down my spoon entirely, letting my hands fall onto the table. “That was the first time I saw them in years. Only Riley has come back to visit with any semblance of regularity, and only every few years.”
“And they’re all moving back for this?”
“No,” I admitted. “Riley and Jules are, but Gianna and Viv will probably only be participants on paper. I’m hoping they’ll at least stay in contact and visit more, though.”
Ben reached over, placing a giant, warm hand atop mine. “I’m sure they will. And you’ll have a blast with Riley and Jules. They’re both great and together, you guys are unstoppable.”
My eyes found his, holding his sapphire gaze for several breaths, until Emi came around to take our order.
Ben took his hand back, leaving mine exposed to a pointed chill. Picking up his menu, he turned a smile toward Emi.
Meanwhile, I sat in shock. Ben was actually a nice guy. He didn’t deserve the horrid treatment he’d received from us for the last twelve years. Honestly, in the same situation, I’d have probably made an ever bigger mess of things, especially at seventeen.
But I’d sworn not to say a word to Jules, and I didn’t want to push Ben any more. We did have to discuss the purchase agreement at some point, after all.
As Ben fished the papers from his bag, I couldn’t help but wonder how things would ever be the same.