Chapter 23
Theo
It’s late at Harbor & Ash, and the restaurant is peaceful as we start closing up.
There are only a few tables left, two servers finishing their sidework, a skeleton crew in the back.
Alex is somewhere in the kitchen working on a braise for tomorrow’s special, something that requires twelve hours of slow cooking and his particular brand of obsessive attention.
Chloe decided to stay over at her Uncle Calvin and Aunt Maren’s tonight, so I’m in my office doing the kind of paperwork that accumulates no matter how often I chip away at it.
Vendor invoices, scheduling adjustments, the endless small tasks that keep a restaurant running smoothly, but never feel like real accomplishments.
The feature article came out yesterday, and the response has been overwhelming.
Reservations are already up thirty percent, and my phone has been buzzing all day with congratulations from people I haven’t heard from in years.
Old classmates. Former colleagues. Even a few relatives who suddenly remember I exist now that there’s good press attached to my name.
But right now I’m not thinking about the article or the reservations or the invoices in front of me.
I’m thinking about Emma. I’m supposed to head to her place after I finish here, and I’m already counting the minutes.
Already imagining the way she’ll smile when she opens the door, the way she’ll fit against my chest when I pull her into my arms.
There’s a knock on my open office door, and I look up expecting one of the servers with a question about closing procedures.
Victoria is leaning against the doorframe.
I feel my whole body go still, that involuntary alertness that always comes when she appears unexpectedly. She’s dressed casually—jeans and a nice sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders—but there’s something different about her posture. Something uncertain. Hesitant, even.
“Hey,” she says, and her voice is tentative in a way I don’t recognize. “Sorry for just dropping in. I was driving past and I realized I haven’t actually been inside the restaurant in years. I wanted to see it.”
I stand up from my desk, still processing her presence. “No need to apologize,” I say, because it seems like the thing to say. “Come in.”
She steps into the office, looking around at the cramped space with its filing cabinets and cluttered desk and the window that looks out onto the back kitchen. “This is where the magic happens, huh?” she asks, a small smile playing at her lips.
“This is where the paperwork happens,” I correct her. “The magic happens out there.”
“Can I see?” she asks. “The whole place?”
“Sure.”
I lead her out of the office and through the kitchen, past Alex who looks up from his braise with raised eyebrows. He gives her a polite nod. “Hey, Victoria.”
“Hey, Alex.” She offers him a small wave. “Smells amazing in here.”
“Thanks.” He catches my eye over her shoulder, his expression clearly asking what the hell is happening? I give him a subtle shrug—your guess is as good as mine—and keep walking.
We emerge into the dining room, mostly empty now, chairs already up on some of the tables, the warm lighting casting everything in that golden glow that makes the space feel intimate even when it’s deserted.
Through the windows, the water is dark and still, reflecting the lights from the back patio.
Victoria turns in a slow circle, taking it all in.
The oak bar we installed two years ago when I gave up on completing my black walnut masterpiece.
The artwork on the walls, local artists Maren helped us find.
The windows overlooking the harbor, the string lights on the back patio visible through the glass, swaying gently.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, and she sounds like she means it. “Really, Theo. You’ve done something special here.”
“Thanks. It’s been a lot of work.”
“I know.” She turns to face me, and there’s something in her expression I can’t quite read. “I saw the feature article online. The food writer was glowing. I always knew this place would be successful, but this is really something else. You should be proud.”
“Alex and I have put a lot into it over the years,” I say.
I could leave it there. Keep things surface-level.
Wait for her to say whatever she came to say and then get back to my paperwork and my plans with Emma.
But something makes me add, “Those early years, though. When we were just getting started. You were with Chloe during all those long nights I was here. That’s part of it too.
This place exists partly because of you. ”
Victoria looks surprised, then something softer crosses her face. “That’s generous of you,” she says quietly.
“It’s the truth. I wasn’t there enough back then. You held things together at home when I couldn’t.”
She’s quiet for a moment, looking out the window at the dark water beyond. The silence stretches between us, filled with years of history—good and bad, regret and resentment, all the complicated feelings that come with sharing a child with someone you used to love.
Then she turns back to me. “Can we sit for a minute? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
I gesture toward the bar. “Sure.”
We settle onto barstools facing each other, the polished wood of the bar top between us like a negotiating table.
The restaurant is quiet around us, just the distant sounds of the kitchen crew cleaning up and the soft music still playing through the speakers—some jazz playlist Alex put together years ago that’s become part of the restaurant’s identity.
I wait for Victoria to say whatever she came to say.
She takes a breath, and I watch her compose herself, gather her thoughts. This is Victoria preparing to be vulnerable, which is rare enough that I find myself paying closer attention. In all the years I’ve known her, she’s always led with confidence, with certainty. This uncertainty is new.
“About when I met Emma at pickup,” she says finally.
I keep my expression neutral. “What about it?”
Victoria nods, looks down at her hands where they rest on the bar.
“I think I was kind of mean to her,” she admits, and her voice is quieter now.
“I wasn’t expecting to feel... jealous, I guess.
Seeing you with someone else. Someone young and pretty who obviously adores you.
” She shakes her head slightly. “It caught me completely off guard, and I made some catty comments, and I’ve been feeling terrible about it ever since. ”
Emma didn’t give me specific details about the interaction, though part of me isn’t surprised Victoria had been rude. She’d seemed off after that day, quieter than usual, and I’d wondered if she was holding something back.
If anything, the most surprising thing here is that Victoria is owning up to it. That she’s remorseful at all.
“She seems really lovely,” Victoria continues before I can respond. “From everything Chloe says, she’s wonderful with her.” She meets my eyes. “And I had no right to be bitchy to her just because I wasn’t prepared for how much it would sting. That wasn’t fair to her.”
“I appreciate you telling me that,” I say carefully, because I don’t know what else to say. This is new territory for us. Victoria admitting fault. Victoria apologizing. “But you should tell her that, not just me.”
She nods. “I will.” Her fingers are fidgeting with a cocktail napkin, tearing small strips from the edge. “But that’s actually not the only thing I wanted to talk about,” she says.
I wait.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this week.
” She speaks slowly, like she’s choosing each word with care.
“Being back in Dark River. Spending actual time with Chloe instead of just the rushed handoffs we usually do. Seeing her in her element, at school, with her friends.” She pauses, and I can see her struggling with something, some internal battle playing out behind her eyes.
“About what kind of mother I’ve been. Or more accurately, what kind of mother I haven’t been. ”
Her voice gets thick, and I watch her eyes go bright with unshed tears. Victoria doesn’t cry. In all the years I’ve known her—through our entire marriage and divorce, through fights and betrayals and everything in between—I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her actually cry.
“I abandoned her,” Victoria says, and the words come out rough, scraped raw.
“I chose my own comfort, my own wants, over being a parent. I convinced myself that Chloe was better off without me around, that I’d just mess her up if I tried to be more involved.
But that was bullshit. That was me being a coward. Being selfish.”
“Victoria...” I start, though I’m not entirely sure what to say. Part of me wants to say the kind thing, to comfort her. She’s the mother of my child, my co-parent. There’s that bond between us that will never fully break, no matter how much damage has been done.
But the other part of me—the part that’s held Chloe while she cried after Victoria canceled another visit, the part that’s watched my daughter’s face fall when her mother forgets to call—that part feels like it’s about damn time she feels bad for how she’s treated her.
“I can see how much damage I’ve done,” Victoria continues, her voice cracking.
“How much Chloe craves my attention. How desperately she wants her mom to actually want her back.” A tear escapes, sliding down her cheek, and she wipes it away impatiently, almost angrily.
“And I do want her. I love her so much, Theo. I’ve always loved her.
I was just too afraid of failing as a mother to actually try being one.
And I was too selfish when I was younger to put her needs before my own. ”