18. Justin
eighteen
She nearly chokes on her water when Dad calls her out. Jeez, can they leave her alone? Don’t they see she’s trying to figure out what’s going on with the restaurant that she didn’t know? Mom always puts her foot in her mouth—usually in a funny way—but this time she went too far. I need to put some distance between them and my business.
Clover is getting caught in that mess.
God, I’m the reason she’s stammering through dinner, feeling awkward as fuck, avoiding my gaze when she thinks I might be looking at her.
I could feel her staring at my back, at the barbecue, her presence like a warming fire, an overall tingling. Then I saw her leave, and I know why she did it.
She doesn’t know who I am anymore. And fuck, neither do I.
Now Dad wants her opinion on my community dinners, something my parents think I should stop doing or at least, scale back to just once a year.
Not a chance. But why are they putting Chloe on the spot for that? Are they trying to pit us against each other?
“Sorry—what—what is this about?” Clover says as she carefully sets her glass on the table.
“My son here,” Dad says, pointing his fork at me, “maintains that his community dinners, where he actually gives out food and closes his establishment to paying patrons, are good for his pub. Now, you’re a restaurant person, what are your thoughts?”
Her eyes lock with mine for a beat, and her breath catches. She turns her gaze back to Dad and answers, “Um… I think… I believe the restaurant business is about generosity and community building. It’s hard and unforgiving and stressful. The margins are ridiculously low. You definitely don’t go into that business to get rich, right? It seems to me that it shares a lot of similarities with farming? Which I know nothing about, so I could be wrong. But basically, we’re all doing this to provide for the community at large, not only food, but the communion that food makes possible among humans. Bringing us together. Like we’re doing right now, around this table. Without that, what do we have? Nothing.” She stops and finally takes a small breath.
The room is quiet, everyone looking at her. She could be intimidated, especially after what Mom said, and given that she’s contradicting my parents, but she soldiers on. “So yeah, having witnessed only one of Justin’s community dinners, I would say they are in line with his mission statement. If he has one, that is. I mean being the village pub, the mission statement would have to include something about community building? No?”
Dad grunts. “Makes me see it in another perspective, I suppose.” He lifts his beer to her, a toast of sorts, then slices his gaze to me, a twinkle in his eye.
“You have three months of reserves, Justin,” Emma states.
It’s three days after the barbecue at the farm. I’m in my office with my accountant.
A month ago, we’d decided to kill the lease and rent the restaurant out to another person.
Someone who’d know what they’re doing.
That was before Chloe.
Before Clover.
The woman who gave me love and connection. Who gave herself entirely to me. Who trusted me to carry her through her night, through her fear. Through the night her life had become. In doing that, she gave me purpose. Validation.
She made me feel like a man again. Someone who could care for a woman, and that care made me better.
Made me feel alive again.
At the same time, she’s the woman whose family took a life and threw money at it to make it better.
“Justin?” Emma repeats.
Was she saying something? “Yeah?”
“We can discuss the restaurant situation. She’s not my client yet. This will be between you and me. I gathered from what your mom said…”
Her voice fades out again as I think back to Clover’s reaction when Mom asked her her timeline for closing the restaurant. She clearly had no idea that was my plan.
Murphy should have pulled the plug earlier, because he was clearly not managing his restaurant anymore. He missed the mark of selling the business at a top price, when it was performing really well. That would have been several years ago, but he’s always been stubborn and entitled.
Unable to see the tide was changing.
I’ve been wanting that space from the beginning, to add a different offering to the town. Something more in line with its vibe. Given our circumstances, my offers went through a realtor, but Murphy refused each one.
Then he started defaulting on his payments.
Then he died, and yeah, I thought that’d mean I’d finally have the space revert to me once the family realized their restaurant wasn’t viable.
But then Chloe came in, and everything changed. Not just for me, but also for the restaurant.
Take yesterday, July 4th. Chloe saw an opportunity for exposure and quick cash, and she opened the restaurant. With no guarantee that her staff could make it. She was ready to shoulder the work all by herself.
When I saw her out there in the early morning wiping the tables outside, I asked what was going on. Ryan and Trevor said she’d asked if they were available to help, but they had to decline because I’d asked them to come in that day. I heard Corine had been looking for a babysitter.
I sent Ryan and Trevor over to help her, asked Chris and Alex if they could babysit Theo for Corine (I figured Alex could use the training and Chris was a veteran in baby stuff) and fielded Haley’s devilish smile. “What?” I said. “Just being a good neighbor. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Soon enough, we were slammed to the point where we communicated with single words and only to get orders out, so Haley’s attempts to tease or downright torture me were put to an end.
But I kept an eye on Chloe’s portion of the sidewalk, and I can’t say that I wasn’t stoked to see it full, that my heartbeat didn’t pick up when I saw Chloe delivering apps and cocktails, that I wasn’t proud to hear people complimenting her.
And yet I can’t stop wondering, how did Chloe get roped into managing the restaurant without knowing the whole history between me, Murphy, and Sullivan—her own father?
Is it even possible she doesn’t know anything?
Does it matter?
“Justin?” Emma snaps me back into the present. “I’d be happy to act as an intermediary between Chloe and you, but you need to tell me what you want.”
Fuck if I know.
“Do you want to try and get the back rent now? Do you want to give them a chance to make some money over foliage?” she asks, using our term for the fall season, when leaf-peepers flock to Vermont. “How quickly do you want to act? You could probably get a court order and have a new tenant in place come September.”
Until Chloe rolled into town, I would have said yes to everything. The sooner the better. Now, I don’t know.
I want her here.
I want her gone.
I wish I’d never met her.
I wish we’d never left that hotel room for the rest of our lives.
In the elevator, the weight of her body on mine grounded me, gave me a purpose, a reason for being. Her. She was my reason. Clover was all I needed.
Forget whose daughter she is. I’m over that.
The truth is, in the real world, I know I’ll never be enough for her. I can’t have someone in my life. Everything meaningful that I touch, I break. The most I can handle is my dog to care for.
Who am I kidding? He’s the one taking care of me.
“Let’s table that for after the fair,” I tell Emma.
I can’t even make a freaking business decision anymore.
That afternoon we’re all gathered on The Green for a merchants’ meeting called by Cassandra. The order of the day is coordinating the summer fair taking place next week. With Christopher winning the TV competition, we’re expecting more visitors than we usually get, so there’s a little added pressure. The good news is, he’s back on his game, his girlfriend, Alex, is back, and we can put all their drama behind us.
Cassandra is standing on a bench and waves at us to get closer so she doesn’t need to shout. Millie from Easy Monday is there, and Kiara in her capacity as pastry chef who works for Chris and for the resort. Christopher’s half brothers, Ryan and Trevor, are standing in for him since he and Alex drove down to Maine to pick up Skye at his parents’. Ryan is ready to take notes on his phone while Trevor flirts with a recent high school graduate. The food group automatically stands together at these meetings, because some level of coordination will be required of us.
Kevin Murphy’s restaurant is not represented. Did someone even think of telling Chloe? At dinner the other night, Cassandra mentioned the restaurant participating in the fair, but I felt she said that as a save. She read Chloe’s confusion and my embarrassment at Mom putting her on the spot.
“For the most part, we want variety,” Cassandra is saying to the shop owners, artists, and makers. “So we’ve assigned you booths to make the guest experience varied and interesting.” She goes on and I tune out.
I glance toward the restaurant. No sign of movement. But her car was there earlier.
“Food providers, listen up!” Cassandra scans the crowd. “I don’t see anyone from the restaurant,” she says, looking toward Kevin’s place. The door and window are shipshape clean now, with a fresh coat of paint and window boxes filled with colorful flowers and even tables and chairs.
“Last I heard, Chef had her cornered in the cooler, bitching about something or other again,” Trevor says matter-of-factly. He’s been working part-time for Chloe.
My blood runs cold. Chloe locked in the cooler?
“She can’t stand that,” I say.
“Say what?” Trevor asks.
“Closed spaces. She’s gonna pass out.” My eyes dart to the restaurant. Please let her come out, now.
“I’m not going in there,” Trevor says. “They were going at it pretty bad. He has a way of twirling his knife… not for me, dude.”
I elbow my way out of the crowd and run across The Green, nearly tear the door to the restaurant open, and jog into the kitchen.
“The fuck are you talking about?” Samuel’s yelling comes out muffled.
Chloe’s voice is barely audible. I can’t make out what she’s saying, and I don’t care. I stomp through the kitchen, the sous-chef, Corine, and the prep cook ogling me like the crazy man I feel like right now.
“I will not compromise my name!”
I push the prep cook aside and rush to the cooler.
“Then do your effing job! All I’m asking is menu costing! I can’t do mine if you don’t do yours. I’m here to save th—”
I swing the walk-in door open, fuming. Samuel has his back to me, hiding Chloe from my sight. His chest is heaving, his knuckles white from holding onto the shelves, boxing Chloe in. Chloe stops talking, but he doesn’t move when I open the door.
“Privacy!” he booms.
Chloe’s sharp intake of breath is what does me in. I grab the collar of his chef shirt and drag him out. He’s about my height, but thicker, heavier. He stumbles back, almost knocking me down, but turns around, enraged, his red, meaty face distorted in anger.
I get a glimpse of Clover, pale, shaking, barely holding it together, and my fist flies automatically into the pig’s face, making contact with his nose in the most satisfactory crunch. Blood spurts as he buckles over.
I lean into the cooler and take Clover’s hand. She follows me out, barely looking at her chef.
I drag her to the dining room. “You okay?” My hands fly to her head, treading her hair, searching for I don’t know what, going down to her shoulders, her elbows, pulling her into me. Her sweet scent wafts in a wave, making me teeter.
She stiffens.
I pull away. “Sorry,” I mumble. “Are you okay?”
She gives me the standard answer of an upset woman. “I’m fine.”