8. Mason
The renovations occur at a lightning pace now. My days are consumed with poring through resumes, a full staff required for front and back of the restaurant.
But Mia has disappeared from my life as quickly as she appeared. She barely responds to my texts, answering with one word, if at all, and I’m too busy to follow up with her, the restaurant keeping me until all hours as I master the dishes and finalize the menu.
It hurts that she’s separating herself from me, but I can’t very well show up at her school when I have free minutes during the day and my evenings are booked solid with training the new employees until past midnight. I want nothing more than to show her how well everything is coming along, but she doesn’t come by anymore.
On Sunday morning, one week before opening, I call her, and to my relief, she answers.
“Hi,” I say. “Where have you been?”
“Oh… busy,” she laughs weakly, and I hear the lie in her voice.
My brow furrows. “Too busy to pop by for a minute?” I ask, not hiding the upset in my tone. “Things are really moving along. I’d love to show you.”
“I’m sure they are, Mason. You’re amazing.”
Her unexpected compliment takes me aback. She doesn’t sound mad at me, but her absence suggests that she’s unhappy all the same.
“What’s going on, Mia? Why haven’t I seen you? Is something wrong?”
There’s a slight hesitation before she answers. “It’s the time of year, Mason,” she says, but I catch the hint of sadness in her tone.
“What are you doing today? Do you want to come by and see the progress on the restaurant?”
“I can’t, Mason. I have dinner with my parents today.”
Disappointment shoots through me. “Maybe before? Or after?” I press. “I really want to show you?—”
“Mason, I’m really happy that you have the restaurant where you want it,” she interjects. “But you don’t need me anymore.”
Stunned, my jaw drops at her bold statement. “What?”
“You’re recovered from your amnesia, and you have other things to focus on. I’m glad that it’s all working out for you. I have to go.”
The call disconnects in my ear, and I gape at the cell phone, but before I can call Mia back, a supplier enters through the back door of Wild Sage and distracts me.
But she remains at the back of my mind all day, my head whirling with the odd conversation.
What is she talking about? Of course, I still need her. If not for Mia, I never would have seen this through!
I lock up the restaurant and head back to the carriage house, stopping at Christian’s place on the way back to his mom’s.
“Well, as I live and breathe!” my best friend snickers sarcastically. “It’s Mason Adler!”
My eyes narrow as he ushers me into his modest but upscale house off the main dredge, a few blocks from his veterinary clinic. I stop to wipe my feet on the massive paw-print doormat, pushing open the holly-lined door, and let myself into the foyer.
“Where else would I be?” I reply, shedding my coat to sit in my friend’s front room as he heads into the kitchen to grab us beers.
His charming seven-foot Christmas tree sits next to a baby grand piano in the corner, across from the gas fireplace, both unlit for the moment as the winter sun fades outside the window in front of me.
“Did you miss me?” I reply dryly.
“I’m surprised to see you,” Christian responds from the other room. “How are you handling small-town life so far?”
Stunned, I sit back on the couch and sit up straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean? I had an entire plan when I moved out here,” I remind him.
Christian returns and hands me a bottle, but I set it down on the coffee table. He flops across from me unceremoniously and drapes an ankle over his knee.
“I know,” he agrees. “But a plan on paper doesn’t always pan out the way you think. I mean, I love Spruce Crossing, Mase. It’s my hometown, but it’s not Spokane.”
“You only went to college in Spokane. You didn’t stay,” I tell him flatly, the memory of my law firm popping into my mind like a stain of red paint. “I wouldn’t trade what you have here for that, even if it came with a billion dollars.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Christian jokes, but I catch the serious undertone of his words. “Your inheritance allows you to do what you want, but what happens if Wild Sage isn’t successful? Do you think you will get bored eventually?”
I know these doubts, but I ran the numbers. Wild Sage is a passion project that I know will make money.
“We’ve talked about this. I want to be here. I’ve planned for this,” I say curtly, but even I can hear the uncertainty in my words.
“I have to ask you,” Christian says slowly. “How will Wild Sage be successful? I mean, Spruce Crossing only has what? Fifteen hundred people? Your overhead is daunting—not that I know the first thing about running a restaurant.”
Suddenly, an image of Mia slides into my mind.
“Have you been saying these things to Mia?” I ask him suspiciously.
“Mia?” Christian looks confused. “No. Why?”
I lean forward, tensing. “Are you sure?”
“Why would I?” he demands defensively. “What’s the story with you two, anyway?”
My lips press together. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Things were going well. She was helping me at the restaurant. Things were… developing between us. And then she just stopped coming around.”
Christian takes a long sip of his beer and looks away. Instantly, I sense he’s hiding something from me.
“What?” I growl. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing!”
“It’s something, Christian. I can tell when you’re hiding something from me,” I insist. “What did you say to her?”
“I swear, I didn’t say anything to her…” He hesitates. “But Mia hasn’t had the best luck with partners, Mase. Her ex left her for his secretary, and the guy before that left Spruce Crossing for a job in New York. She doesn’t have a good track record, and I’m sure she’s worried about you, too.”
“I haven’t done anything!” I complain, standing. “What does she have to worry about with me?”
“Not yet,” he agrees. “But if this restaurant doesn’t pan out, where are you going to go? What are you going to do? Are you going to fold the restaurant and hang out in Spruce Crossing as a rancher? Raise chickens?”
I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. Why didn’t she tell me any of this? Why am I hearing this from Christian?
“I have to go,” I rasp, spinning to leave the house as Christian calls out after me.
“Mason!”
I don’t turn around, my pulse racing in my ears. Never have I given Mia any reason not to trust me, but she’s casting me aside without giving me a chance.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe this restaurant is bound to be a failure, anyway.
I don’t go home.Instead, I return to the restaurant and remain there until late, finishing the menu. My eyes burn as I write and rewrite the main courses and appetizers by hand, testing the fonts on the computer in the office for print.
It’s after midnight by the time I finish up and sit at the polished bar to look around at the front of the house, inhaling the fresh scent of newly stained wood. The lights are on the lowest, dimmest setting, creating an almost eerie glow over the booths and barstools, catching gleaming hints off the wood, but I find myself unable to appreciate the experience. It’s exactly how I envisioned it when I’d first put it together in my mind’s eye, quitting my job in Spokane.
The restaurant still needs some extra touches, such as the plants to hang from the exposed wooden beams and potted ferns I ordered from the local nursery for all the corners. Naked wall space awaits the artwork from the artists, and the floors have to be waxed. But it’s exactly how I want it. And it doesn’t feel right.
It won’t feel right without Mia.
I slide off the stool and amble back to the office to collect the final menu from the printer, scanning the version for typos.
Again, I glance at the time and rub my tired eyes, determined not to make any rash decisions tonight. I grab my keys and wallet and head out the back door. Snow falls in light flakes against my heated cheeks, and I stare up at the starry night, my eyes trailing toward the spectacular mountain view in the distance. It steals my breath just as it did the first time I saw it.
My nerves had been shot back then, the only life I’d ever known left behind as I forged a fresh path, and this sight, right here, had calmed me in a way I couldn’t put into words. I had bought this building without ever seeing it, trusting Christian that it was the best location in town.
I remind myself that everything I said to Christian earlier is true. There had been a plan for this, for all of it. I know what it’s going to take to open my restaurant, how grueling it’s apt to be over the next two years, particularly in a town as small as Spruce Crossing. But this is my dream.
Spruce Crossing is my dream.
And now Mia is part of my dream, too.