Chapter 8 #2
His gaze traveled over me, slow and deliberate, and his jaw tightened. “You look... that dress is...”
“Too much?” I asked, regretting I hadn’t stayed with Outfit #2.
“Perfect,” he said roughly. “You look perfect.”
The compliment sent warmth flooding through me.
I grabbed my purse and stepped out, locking the door with hands that weren’t quite steady.
His truck was parked at the curb, and he opened the passenger door for me.
The drive was quiet, the air between us charged.
I snuck glances at him, noting the way his hands gripped the steering wheel and how his index finger tapped rhythmically.
He was as affected as I was. As uncertain.
“So where are we going?” I asked finally, needing to break the silence.
“Rousseau’s. French-Caribbean fusion hole-in-the-wall place.” He glanced at me. “Neutral territory. No family connections, no memories. Just us.”
The thoughtfulness of his choice made my belly flutter. He’d considered his decision. This wasn’t just a casual dinner. It was a deliberate step into unknown territory.
Rousseau’s was on a quiet street on the eastern part of the Key and overlooked the mangroves.
Its exterior was a soft yellow with dark green shutters.
String lights hung across the porch that extended the length of the building.
Through the windows, candlelit tables and exposed brick walls created an intimate atmosphere without being overly romantic, sophisticated without being pretentious.
Inside, we were led to a quiet corner table. The menu was small and carefully curated. I ordered without really seeing the words, too aware of Braden sitting across from me, his presence filling my entire awareness.
“So, tell me about the early days,” I said once the waiter had taken our orders and left us with wine. “When you first started Tidal Hops.”
He shook his head with a rueful smile. “I had an idea and a passion for brewing, but no real business plan. No investors. Just a lot of stubbornness and a willingness to work myself into the ground.”
“How did you fund it?”
“Some savings. I’d been working odd jobs around the resort and town—boat maintenance, bar backing, then bartending. I saved every penny.” He paused, his fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass. “And I took out a loan that would have buried me if the brewpub failed.”
The risk he’d taken staggered me. “You bet everything on it.”
“I had to prove something,” he said simply. “To myself, to my family, to...” He trailed off, but I heard the unspoken words. To you.
Guilt twisted in my stomach. “Braden—”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, reading my expression. “I did that all on my own. But yeah, when you left, when your parents made it clear I wasn’t good enough... it lit a fire under me. I was going to build something that mattered.”
“And you did. You built something incredible.”
“I had to.” He stared at his wine, swirling the dark liquid in the glass. “You remember what it was like back then. After my dad left.” His voice dropped, losing its confident edge and becoming quieter, more raw.
The memory was instant and sharp. The shift in him when his world had been turned upside down.
The way his easy grin had tightened, the new, hard edge of anger that had entered his eyes.
I remembered fights between his siblings in the resort’s kitchen and the exhausted, overwhelmed look on Helen’s face.
Archie Coleridge hadn’t just left his family.
He’d ripped a hole in the center of their world.
“I remember,” I said quietly.
“Everything was a giant mess,” he continued, his gaze still fixed on the wine glass.
“The resort was failing, my mom was trying to hold everything together, my brothers were... spiraling. I just remember feeling like the ground beneath my feet had dissolved. Like nothing was stable.” He finally met my gaze, his eyes holding a shadow of that old pain.
“Building Tidal Hops, all this...” He gestured vaguely.
“It was about proving I could build something that wouldn’t just fall apart. ”
“You took that anger and desperation and turned it into ambition. Success. You did a hell of a thing.”
“So did you.” His gaze held mine. “Dr. Donovan. Scripps Institution. That’s not just impressive—it’s extraordinary.”
Now it was my turn to stare at my wine glass. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.”
“What do you mean?”
The question opened a door I usually kept locked. But sitting in this quiet corner where the past and present blurred, I walked through it.
“Academia is brutal,” I said. “It’s publish or perish, a constant fight for grant money, navigating departmental politics.
I spend most of my time writing papers and courting funders, not doing actual fieldwork.
And the people...” I shook my head. “They’re brilliant, but they’re also cutthroat.
Competitive. There’s no warmth. Just ambition. ”
“That sounds lonely.”
I nodded and took a sip of rich red wine to regain my composure. “It is. I didn’t realize how lonely until I came back here and remembered what it felt like to be part of something. To have people who know you, who care about you beyond what you can produce.”
Our food arrived, a brief respite from the intensity. But as we ate—my snapper with mango chutney, his jerk chicken with coconut rice—the honesty continued to flow.
“My parents call every week or two,” I said. “They want updates on my life, my next publication, and now the Great Barrier Reef opportunity. They mean well, but it can be wearing.”
“It sounds like you built the life they wanted for you, not the life you wanted for yourself.”
“I wouldn’t be where I am without them,” I said, meeting his gaze. “And it’s not just about the pressure. They show up when it matters. Three years ago, I got rejected for a project lead position. I was devastated—didn’t answer my phone for two days. I thought I’d failed them.”
Braden watched me closely. “What did they do?”