Chapter 39 – Beau
BEAU
O ne week after Maura was admitted to the hospital, Luke walks into Terrace.
Tomasso is the one who finds me in the kitchen, helping out at the grill. “Your friend is here,” he says. “The cute one with the blonde hair.”
I freeze, spatula in hand. “You’re sure it’s the blonde one?”
My sous-chef rolls his eyes. “Of course I’m sure.” Tomasso has had a crush on Luke since the first day he started working here.
My throat feels dry. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“Just that he wanted the usual.”
It’s an order I know by heart. A medium-rare ribeye, mashed potatoes, and roasted brussels sprouts. He orders it almost every time he comes to Terrace.
“Victor, I’ll make this one,” I tell him. “Will you be okay to run the kitchen without me after that?”
He nods. “Yes, Chef.”
I use the time it takes to prepare Luke’s order to try and settle my nerves. I take a few deep breaths, counting as I inhale and exhale. It feels momentous, him coming back here. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and blow it.
When his steak looks perfect, I bring the plate out myself. I spot Luke immediately, sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey and checking his phone. He’s conspicuously alone, surrounded by couples or groups of friends. It confirms that he came here to see me.
Silently, I walk over to him and slide the plate across the counter. He doesn’t meet my eyes when he says, “Thanks.”
I just nod. From Luke, I know that’s not the start of a conversation. He’s so obsessed with manners that even the silent treatment couldn’t stop him from acknowledging a server, even if it’s me.
Fortunately, a server brings over a tray of dirty glasses that give me a reason to stay at the bar. I wash them while he eats. I’m desperate to talk to him, but I know better than to push before he’s ready. He has to be the one to speak first.
Silence stretches between us, not comfortable, but not hostile, either.
All around us, the restaurant hums with activity.
Patrons laugh and chat and clink glasses.
I can hear the sound of plates being moved around the kitchen.
Normal life goes on while Luke decides whether or not he wants to save our brotherhood.
When Luke’s finished with his dinner, he sets his utensils on his plate, which I quickly clear for him.
Without being asked, I open a bottle and refill his whiskey.
He takes a long sip, but he still doesn’t talk to me.
My hands feel itchy and prickly, and I rub them against my pants. Waiting like this is torture.
“I talked to Brin,” he says eventually.
It’s not forgiveness—it’s just a small line of conversation. Still, it’s a crack in the wall between us, a chance for us to have a normal conversation.
“She mentioned,” I say in response. I won’t pretend that Brinley and I aren’t together. I’m done hiding that she’s my girlfriend. If Luke can’t handle that, it’ll be hard to move forward.
Luke takes his time, swirling his whiskey in the glass. “What did she say?”
“That you both apologized. That yours came a little late, but it meant a lot.”
He nods and goes back to eating his steak.
That might be the end of the conversation, I realize.
A few quick sentences, and that’s it. None of the warmth or excitement Luke usually exudes—just more silence.
Before I can decide if it’s smart, I blurt out, “She also said that you’ve been crashing her book club for months. ”
Humor flashes in Luke’s eyes. “She made me read Little Women. ”
“It’s a good book.”
“Did she make you read it?”
I shake my head. “No. I read it in junior high, after I saw my crush reading it.”
“Wow. Total Meg move.”
I scoff. “I’m not a Meg. I’m a Jo.”
“Please. Everyone thinks they’re a Jo. You’re a Meg—she’s the one who does all the cooking.”
“Then if I’m a Meg, you’re a Meg. Distilling whiskey is cooking-adjacent.”
“Come on. I’m obviously an Amy.”
We both smile tentatively. Then, Luke quickly looks away, like he just remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be talking to me. He pulls out his phone and types something.
“Put it on my tab,” he says, draining his glass of whiskey. Then he walks out of my restaurant without another word, leaving me to puzzle out where a Little Women conversation leaves our friendship.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out.
Ryan
Waffle has started taking food right off my plate.
Along with the text comes a picture of his and Pippa’s black cat, holding a piece of shrimp in her mouth and looking unapologetic.
James
Must be Pippa’s influence.
Nate responds with a laughing emoji. After Luke hearts it, I do, too.
They must have known Luke was coming here tonight. I suspect he texted the other guys to say that I’m forgiven—mostly, anyway.
The guys are talking to me again, and Luke has made some sort of peace with Brinley.
My mother hasn’t apologized or demanded an apology, but she did email me a new recipe for ribollita.
Things aren’t fixed yet, but they’re moving in the right direction, step by step.
For the first time since that disastrous poker night, I feel like I can breathe.
That leaves just one problem to solve.
I head back to the walk-in supply closet where it’s quiet and call my lawyer.
—
I stay at Terrace until it closes again. This time, when I creep into Brinley’s bed, she really is asleep. I strip off my clothes and climb in on the other side. Even when she’s asleep, it’s comforting just to be beside her.
“Beau,” she murmurs sleepily.
“Shhh. Go back to sleep, Brinley baby.”
“Come here.” She grabs my arm and pulls me over to spoon her. She fits so nicely against my body, her head under my chin, her legs tangling with mine. Her hair is soft against my skin. “How was work?”
“Luke came in.”
She gasps. “He did? What did he say?”
“That I’m a Meg.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain later. The gist is, he’s not ignoring me.”
“Why do you think he came now?” she wonders.
“I’m guessing that Maura’s health scare reminded him that life is short. Holding grudges doesn’t feel as important.”
“True. I think the girls felt that way, too. I was afraid they’d really shut us out forever.”
“So was I, right up until Luke walked in tonight.”
Brinley’s quiet for a moment. “So I didn’t completely ruin our lives, after all.”
“No, you didn’t. I’d still be here though, even if you had. There’s no one else I’d rather be ruined with than you.”
She hums contentedly. I meant to wait to tell her until tomorrow, but it’s so good to see her happy that it just slips out. “The building is yours now.”
She half sits up. “What?”
“My lawyer is transferring ownership of the Copper Cup’s building into your name. You were right. I fucked up buying it without asking you. It wasn’t right to make a big decision like that about a business that isn’t mine. I can’t undo it, but I can at least make it right.”
“You can’t be serious,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s too much.”
“No, it’s not. The Copper Cup is yours. The walls should be, too.”
“But I can’t afford it,” she sputters. “Our profits are good, but not buy a building good.”
“You don’t have to. It’s yours, no strings. You know I can afford it. You can put the money you were spending into your romance bookstore revamp.”
“At least let me pay you what I would pay in rent until the building is covered. I can’t just take a whole building.”
“Yes, you can.” I kiss her temple. “It’s yours, because I love you. Now go to sleep. We can fight about rent tomorrow if you want, but trust me, it’s a fight you’re going to lose.”
“Beau.”
“Don’t be too mad. You win almost every other fight.”
Brinley cups my face in her hand. “Thank you.”
I brush my lips against hers. “You’re welcome.”