Chapter 58
FLETCHER
Grief was a funny thing. One day, it might feel like you’re okay again and everything is fine and you’re back to your normal self, and the next, you’re a mess, sobbing over everything that’s been torn away from you.
I started going to the therapist that Adam had found. Her name was Gretchen and she was absolutely wonderful. She was a kindly older woman with mousy gray hair and oversized librarian glasses that always slid down her nose a bit.
Right away, we had a rapport and I cried my heart out in her office every Tuesday at two PM. She was there to comfort me, and to offer solutions and support. Having lost a child herself, she understood my pain to some degree.
Weeks passed by, then months, and then it was summer again.
On a sweltering July evening, Adam surprised me by offering me a single red rose and one of his charming smiles. I bit my lip and took it, drawing the petals to my nose and breathing in its fragrance.
“Come to dinner with me tonight,” he said, like we were young and in love all over again. “It’s too hot to cook. I’d rather someone else do it for us.”
I laughed out loud. “Amen to that. Dinner sounds lovely. What are you thinking?”
“Well, we’ve been talking about going to that place on Vale St—the old brick place with all the graffiti? Let’s go there tonight,” Adam suggested.
“Sounds nice,” I agreed, smiling up at him. He grinned back down at me, so I leaned up on my tiptoes and kissed him—short, sweet and to the point. “There’s more where that came from…after dinner.”
Adam only laughed and swatted my ass. “Go get ready.”
“Yes, sir,” I teased back.
Unsure of what kind of clothes people usually wore to this restaurant, I dressed for comfort, but still managed to pull off a nice casual-chic look in a pair of black denim shorts and a plain white t-shirt with a nice vest buttoned over the top of it.
Adam must’ve approved, because the way he looked at me? My stomach flip-flopped.
I beamed at him, batting my lashes. “Ready?”
“Of course, although, admittedly, I’m already eyeing dessert,” he said, bringing a blush to my cheeks. Even after all these years, Adam had a way of making me feel all squirmy inside.
“Maybe if you eat all your dinner,” I replied with a sly smile.
We headed to the restaurant to find…it definitely was not what we expected. The atmosphere in the place was far from inviting. People were dressed in the sloppiest of outfits, and parents let their unruly kids run around, bothering other patrons.
Exchanging a glance, we seated ourselves and waited twenty minutes only to have to flag down a waitress who didn’t seem to care one bit about her job. She took our orders, brought us drinks, and disappeared.
Nearly an entire hour later, our food came—no longer hot, and both of our orders messed up, and when we brought it up with our waitress, she was bitchy about it.
In the end, we left without eating—or paying—and got takeout instead. We sat in the parking lot of the fast food joint and ate our greasy burgers together in silence, both of us feeling let down by the dinner date that had ended up so bad.
“We could’ve done a better job,” I mumbled around a mouthful of fries, then paused. Wait. That was an idea.
I turned in my seat to face Adam. “Hey. Maybe we should open a restaurant here in Greymercy. I already know our food would be better than that.”
Adam cocked his head, an intrigued expression on his face. “Hmm. Interesting thought. A business venture bringing food and happiness to peoples’ tables.”
I grinned. “Yeah! We could put all of our favorite recipes on the menu, like your chicken Alfredo and my enchiladas. Kind of like a family diner sort of experience. Dinnertime could be more hearty meals, and lunches would be like, burgers and fries, fish and chicken baskets, that sort of thing. We could even sell shakes and ice cream. Seasonal flavors, even! It could be really fun. We’d be the talk of the town, really get our name out there. ”
Adam chuckled at my exuberance, because I was practically vibrating in my seat. “What would we even call it?”
I offered a small smile. “What about Bixby’s?”
“Bixby’s?”
I shrugged. “It was the name I picked out for our future daughter. Bixby Rose…but Bixby’s Diner sounds cute, right? It would still be our baby, kind of.” For some reason, my heart gave a pang. Not exactly the baby I wanted to have, but maybe things happened for a reason.
“Aww, kitten.” Adam leaned over and wrapped his arm around me. “I love it. Do you really think opening a restaurant is what you want to do, though? We’re both still grieving.”
“Yeah, but Adam, I’m tired of being cooped up at home. It’s driving me crazy. I need a purpose, and if being a father isn’t my purpose, then maybe being a business owner is. I can cook. I learned from the best, after all.”
Adam beamed. “That you did.”
“I think we could do it,” I said.
“We do have the overhead,” he agreed. “Let me do a little digging and see what I can come up with.”
That night sparked the beginning of something new and wonderful. Adam and I got to work, Adam on the financial side of things while I came up with mock-ups of menus and color schemes and layout designs.
By the end of September, we found the perfect location, a little building right on the town square, and we began the renovations over fall and winter.
It was a hard project, but friends from our new pack joined in and helped us. Together we laid tile and flooring, treated and painted the walls, put new cabinets and storage in—the whole nine yards.
It wasn’t long before the place was outfitted in brand new appliances and countertops, booths and tables, barstools and everything else our new baby needed to spread its wings and fly.
We finished a few days shy of Christmas Eve.
Adam and I stood back to admire our handiwork, the gleam of lighting over the shiny black and white tile, how perfectly diner-y Bixby’s felt, with the sea green and chrome decor we’d chosen and the pictures hanging on the walls, which were papered with old newspaper clippings, hodge-podged together like an abstract art project.
My art project—and it looked amazing.
“Damn. We did good,” I said, a note of awe in my voice.
“Yes, we did. Let’s just hope it pays off,” Adam said.
“It will,” I said around a smile. “I have a good feeling about it.”
“Hey.” Adam tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned to him, he pointed. “Look up.”
I did, only to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging above the door. I grinned, my heart skipping beats as Adam leaned in and kissed me, soft and sweet and proper.
I melted into it, fisting my hands in his sweater and dragging him closer. He tasted of cider and spices, and in that moment, I was on top of the world.
“Merry Christmas, kitten,” Adam murmured.
“Merry Christmas, my love,” I replied, a little breathless. “Let’s make next year a year to remember.”