12. Chloe
twelve
Ideadbolt the restaurant door, lean my back against it, and slide down to the floor, closing my eyes. My heart thumps loudly.
Justin. His name is Justin.
Ohmygod. What a mess.
What did he say in Boston? ‘Tomorrow, we’re two strangers again.’
So we’re strangers. Okay. Oh god. I just need to keep it together when I see him. It won’t be hard, given what just happened.
And he also said, ‘I don’t have a girlfriend. Never did, never will.’
Okay. That’s good, right? I won’t have to see him in town with another woman. If it’s true. After what happened with Tucker, can I even trust him? Maybe he lied to me. But also, I need to forget about having anything with him now. What am I thinking? With what just happened, there’s nothing to be had. He couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.
What do I care anyway? He was a rebound, a one-night stand.
Right?
A big fat tear rolls down my cheek.
I wished I’d never seen him again. I could have kept fantasizing.
Now even that is lost.
I wonder what would have happened if I’d broken my promise to him, that night? If I’d told him who I was? Would we have figured out our differences? Would he have given me a chance?
Breathe in. Breathe out.I can’t do the what-ifs. It’s too painful.
I need to forget about my night with him. Fiona was right. He was a rebound, and nothing more. I need to move on.
And I need to focus on the reason I’m here. Initially, to keep the restaurant running until a sale. And now that I know the real situation, to bring it back comfortably in the black so a sale can actually happen.
Focus on work, Chloe. That’s always the answer.
A knock sounds, and the door reverberates through my body, startling me. Shoot. Is that him? What does he want? I scramble away from the door.
The knocks become louder. “Chloe!” It’s a woman’s voice. I tiptoe to the side window and peek at two women—Haley and another woman our age.
I open the door and force a smile. “Hey,” I say, unable to keep the defensiveness from my voice.
“Are you alright?” Haley says, gently pushing the door wider so she can storm inside. “That was nuts! Grace, swear to god, never seen him that way. This is Grace, by the way. Chloe.”
Grace has a lock of shiny black curls and soulful eyes. She immediately envelops me in a hug. “Welcome to Emerald Creek. Haley told me everything. I sent Ms. Angela home, told her I’d finish her pedicure later. I’m sure she stopped at Cassandra’s on the way.” She says all this like I’m supposed to know who these people are, then finally releases her hug but holds onto my shoulders. “I can’t believe Justin wouldn’t even want to talk to you. I’m embarrassed. Please don’t judge us for how he’s behaving. How can we make this right?”
“I’m telling Mom,” Haley drops.
“Oh wow. You are? Oh well, then.” Grace pulls a chair and plops onto it like she’s exhausted. She looks around the dining room. “I’ve never been here. It’s… not what I expected.”
“Not what I expected either,” I confirm, happy to change topics.
She scrunches her nose, pulls out her phone, and starts clicking on it.
“How is your chef treating you?” Grace asks.
“I haven’t met him yet.”
Haley crosses her arms. “To be a fly on the wall when that happens.” She sits next to Grace and pushes a chair out for me. “Girl talk. So. What went down today with my brother. That’s not him. You need to know that. He’s a sweetheart.”
Really.
“No, for real. I know where you’re coming from. But that’s not him. You just need to clear the air about the bad blood between him and Murphy. He’ll get over it.”
“Totally,” Grace says.
Bad blood? Is there more than unpaid rent? Aunt Dawn did warn me against him. Seems she was spot on.
“I’ve never seen him this mean,” Haley tells Grace.
“I’ve never seen him mean, period,” Grace answers.
“It’s a girl,” they both say, still looking at each other. Then they laugh out loud. Then Haley takes my hand, because I’m not laughing at all. I’m on the verge of throwing up, of loading my U-Haul, and of telling Aunt Dawn, ‘Sorry—not sorry.’ Because how am I supposed to work with him being like that and being right next to me?
“He really rattled you,” Haley says.
“Yeah, those King brothers, they can be something else,” Grace whispers. “But it’s not like you two have history or anything.”
My blood freezes.
“He’s still the same?” Grace asks Haley.
Haley nods. “Since he and Colton brought Chris back from Boston. Which, you should know—my brother normally comes back very pumped up from his ‘Boston trips,’” she adds with air quotes.
Grace waves her hand in front of her nose. “Eww. I don’t want to know.”
Heat creeps up my chest. Yeah, no wonder he was upset at seeing me. He doesn’t want whatever he does in Boston to seep into his real life.
“Yeah. But this time, he admitted it.”
My pulse quickens.
Grace’s eyes widen. “He did?”
“I trapped him, he fell right in it. I might have pushed Colton in it too.”
The two throw their heads back as they laugh uncontrollably. I’m not sure I’m following anymore.
“We’re boring you with our gossip about Justin. Sorry.” Haley dabs her eyes as Grace checks her phone. “He’s got to be the last thing you want to hear about right now.”
“It’s fine,” I lie. “I just should probably get ready for the staff to get here any minute now.”
“Oh, honey. No. They don’t work today. Only Wednesday through Saturday nights.”
I try hard not to show my shock. “I’m sure someone’ll be in. The employee entrance in the back was unlocked. They might be running an errand.” And there’s the matter of the freaking mess in the kitchen. Surely that hasn’t been in there since… Yeah, it’s totally been there since Saturday night. The way everything was caked. And there were a couple of flies.
And the garbage.
“Crap.”
Grace takes my hand. “You need help, honey, you let us know.”
“Sure.”
She squeezes my hand.
“Um…?”
“You need help.”
“I do?”
“Garbage’s been rotting in here for days. Floors are sticky. You need help.”
“You can’t help me with that.”
“We know people who can.”
Oh. “I was thinking of having a little come-to-Jesus talk with my staff. Don’t want to be seen as doing their job. Make it a statement.”
“I like that.” She squeezes my hand again and smiles. “What if the health inspector comes in?”
Crap.
The front door flies open, two young guys darkening the entrance. “Holy shit, Grace! You didn’t say we needed hazmat suits.”
Grace lets go of my hand. “Boys. Language.”
“That was Trevor. I… brought hazmat gear.” Not-Trevor turns to me with two fingers to his head and a disarmingly cute smile. “Ma’am.” He pulls out a box of gloves.
Upon second look, the two very young men are identical twins with very different vibes.
Trevor pulls out his phone and does a sweep of the restaurant, walking toward the kitchen.
“What are you doing? You can’t post this on social,” Haley says.
“Just doing a before and after for…?” He turns to me.
“Chloe. And you are…?”
“Trevor and Ryan. Grace’s cousins. Currently unemployed because our half-brother, Chris, who hired us for the summer, closed down his bakery until his girlfriend comes back.”
“Long story,” Haley cuts in. “You don’t want to know.”
“Bottom line—” one of the twins start.
“We’re happy to help,” the other finishes.
“You’re in good hands,” Grace tells me as she stands. “I should get back to the spa. Got a massage client in twenty.”
“I need to leave too,” Haley says.
They give me side hugs and leave me with Ryan and Trevor, promising that Justin will come around.
I sure hope that doesn’t happen, seeing as I’m done with him on sooo many levels, but I manage a tight-lipped smile that almost convinces them I’m beyond The Incident. Also, my head is spinning with all their instructions. Thursday Game Night. Back of Cassandra’s boutique. Bring the girls. At least that could be fun.
The boys start by gutting the cooler and then make their way back through the kitchen. They convincingly and politely suggest I’d best be out of their way, so I retreat back to the office, make phone calls to providers, grab a menu from the hostess stand, and start brainstorming ways to spend less and make more.
That right there always brings me joy.
Trevor and Ryan are loud in a happy way—music booming, garbage cans clanking, dishes clattering. At some point we regroup in the kitchen and drink sodas. The surfaces are shiny, the floor is no longer slippery. Whatever is left in the walk-in is not past its due date.
There’s hope.
After our break, they move onto the dining room, which should be a piece of cake after the kitchen situation they dealt with. I insist on doing the windows. They cave, and at five we’re done.
I take cash from my wallet, which they firmly refuse to take. A semi-argument ensues in which I learn that the restaurant having been an eyesore for everyone, they’re thrilled to be part in the Great Revitalization of the King Block, and that is compensation enough for them. I threaten to never hire them again if they refuse my money.
Once they accept, I further threaten to never hire them again if they keep calling it the King Block.
They give me quizzical looks, so I give them the short version of my encounter with King.
We conclude the block shall be known as The Queen Block, and we part best friends.
I haul myself to the cottage, roast some zucchini, whip up an omelet, plop my butt in the plastic chair and my feet on the porch railing, and make a list of things to get done tomorrow.
Then I go to bed early because tomorrow will be a long day.
Tomorrow’s Wednesday.