Chapter 4
Her anger is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. And when she was stroking my arm like that? I almost gave up right there and told her I’d not only leave Sassafras, but leave planet Earth if she wanted me to.
I hear they are almost ready to attempt human settlements on Mars.
She doesn’t know it but it takes everything in me not to do what she asks.
Because as much as I say I’d move to Mars, it’s been torture living so far away from her for the last twelve years.
A slow, painful torture knowing that she was off doing amazing things, never once thinking about me while I was trying to achieve, succeed, transform—anything for another shred of her attention.
And now that I have it? No fucking way am I giving it up again.
“Absolutely yes, Red,” I finally reply. “Aren’t you going to properly welcome me home?”
Stepping forward, I open my arms and gesture for her to give me a hug. To my absolute shock, she tentatively takes a step to close the gap between us—and then forcefully shoves me backward into the waiting arms of my brothers.
“Fuck you, Bardot!” Colette shouts before stomping off down the sidewalk. After a moment she calls over her shoulder, “You better have chocolate croissants when you reopen, or else!”
“Or else?” Gabe asks. “She’s an angry little thing, isn’t she?”
I scrub a hand down my face. “Yeah, she is.”
“And Ben loves it,” Jules chimes in. Before I have a chance to deny it—not that I would—he continues, “I’ve got to head back to school to finish up a few things. Are we done for today?”
Nodding, I run through the list of things we still need to do. “We should be good for today. It’ll be a few more weeks until we can sign all of the paperwork. Let’s check in with Colton and make sure he has room in his schedule to start construction after that.”
Jules fires off a text, pocketing his phone afterward. “I know I’ve already told you—”
I hold up my hand to silence him. “Don’t. You can’t keep thanking us every five minutes for the next however many years we run this coffee shop.” Gripping Jules’ shoulders, I shake him lightly. “Your dream is our dream, Brother. We’re going to make it happen and we are ecstatic—”
“Thrilled!” Gabe adds.
“Elated!” I reply.
“Joyful?” Gabe ponders.
“Overjoyed to be joining you on this adventure. Got it?”
Jules dips his chin in acknowledgement. “Got it,” he murmurs.
“Great. Now, shoo!” I wave him off, satisfied when he seems to relax just a bit before heading back to school.
Gabe and I walk back to the apartment, one of the perks of living with him instead of with Mom and Dad—I’ll literally be able to walk to work every day once we reopen The Coffee Shop.
“Do you think we should keep the name of the shop? The Coffee Shop is a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” I ask Gabe. This has all been rather sudden that I don’t think any of us have really slowed down to think about how massive of a change this will be for all of us.
“The Coffee Shop is a Sassafras institution. Will people riot if we try to change that?” he muses.
Change is hard, typically uncomfortable, but oftentimes a really good thing. “I don’t think it will truly feel like ours if we keep operating under the same name…”
He nods, unlocking the door to his apartment—my apartment—and letting us in.
It’s comfortable. Fairly similar to my place back in Boston.
Definitely a bachelor pad but Gabe isn’t a complete slob so it’s not bad.
Honestly, he’s been here so long, it wouldn’t surprise me if Anders and Bex were the ones who forced him into getting curtains that at least coordinated with the pillows on the couch.
It’s just enough space for both of us, already feeling much homier than my last place.
Dropping down on the couch, Gabe contemplates for a moment before saying, “I think it should just be the Bardot brothers.”
“It is just the Bardot brothers, Gabriel. Remember, Bex and Anders were pissed about it? Bex kept saying how it was anti-feminist to exclude her even though she continued to admit that she didn’t actually want to help run the place.”
“No, no.” He shakes his head. “I’m not talking about who is running the shop. I mean that’s what we should call it. Bardot Brothers Coffee Shop.”
Hmm. Simple but obvious. It’s almost perfect. “Company,” I correct, continuing when Gabe gives me a quizzical look. “Bardot Brothers Coffee Company. Or Coffee Co. really—shortening the word company sounds more official.”
“Not too on the nose?” He laughs.
I chuckle, settling in the chair across from him. “It’s perfectly on the nose. Pass me my computer, I want to try a few logo mockups.”
A few hours later, several logo options have been ordered as T-shirts—Gabe said he “had a guy” for that—and we are digging into one of Gabe’s favorite traditions, Margarita Monday.
Various menu items were ordered from his favorite Chinese takeout restaurant and are now scattered across the kitchen island. He pulls out the blender and the tequila for margaritas, pouring with a heavy hand.
“Woah there, are we drinking to forget tonight?” I ask to the glugs of the tequila bottle.
“It’s been a rough few weeks,” he laments.
That takes me by surprise. Gabe is the happy-go-lucky one. He’s never met a stranger, putting everyone around him at ease. There’s been a few times I’ve seen him frustrated, mainly when he steps into his perceived role as the protective older brother, but really he’s a big teddy bear.
“Do… you want to talk about it?”
“Girl troubles. But I’ll be fine.” He turns on the blender to punctuate that statement.
I wait patiently as he blends for what feels like an excessive amount of time. Lucky for him—or not—I’m used to playing the long game. When he finally stops blending and starts pouring our drinks, I ask, “Girl troubles?”
Gabe sighs. “I said I’ll be fine,” he repeats, taking a sip of his drink.
And I wait him out.
And wait.
Not touching my drink, just waiting.
Finally he says, “You aren’t going to quit staring at me until I talk, are you?”
“Bex says you aren’t very smart, but you are proving otherwise, big brother.” I smirk.
He runs his hand through his hair, slightly lighter than the rest of ours, and it flops back down across his forehead. “Do you remember Bex’s friend Luci?”
“Gabriel. You mean the one that was just here over Christmas? The one you snuck out of Louie’s with when you thought no one was watching? The one you’ve been obsessed with for years? That Luci?”
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Yes, Benoit. That Luci. We—” He pauses, trying to find the words. “Things have… it’s complicated,” is what he lands on.
“No shit.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Anyway, we saw each other over the holidays obviously, but it didn’t… end well.” He finishes off his margarita at that.
My eyebrows creep up my forehead the longer I watch him gulp this drink that will one hundred percent be giving him a brain freeze. “Oh, like it really didn’t end well,” I guess.
The glass lands with a clatter when he clumsily sets it down for a refill. “It’s complicated,” he states again, a sense of finality in the words. “What about you?”
I freeze. Because as much as I want to dish it out, I don’t know that I’m ready to take it. “What about me?”
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Gabe continues, “I mean obviously you didn’t have anyone serious in Boston or you wouldn’t have left.
Are you going to try to date now that you’re back?
Should we establish some rules? A sock on the door situation?
” He winks, in much better spirits now that the topic of conversation has pivoted.
Or maybe that’s because of the tequila hitting his system.
“No one in Boston,” I confirm. “And no, we don’t need a sock on the door. I’m here to focus on the coffee shop—everything else comes second.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue as a flash of red hair pops to the front of my mind.
Gabe holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Well, just know that now that you’re back, I’m sure Mom will try to set you up on dates. She already bugs Jules and I about it, but you’ve had distance to your advantage.”
“Noted.” What Gabe doesn’t know is that Mom is aware of my… uh, infatuation. I’ve always been close with our mom, and one night I let it slip that I had a crush on my biggest rival. Her response? The line between love and hate is very thin, my cabbage. Accompanied by a knowing smirk.
Needless to say, we’ve both quietly kept up with Cole over the years. Occasionally, Mom will ask, “Still, my cabbage?” and I know exactly what she’s talking about without any clarification.
“Still, Mom,” has always been my response.
But now I’m here. We’re both here. And maybe it doesn’t have to be a secret anymore.
Maybe, I can finally confess my feelings for Colette Russell.
When I get in bed that night, I have the unfortunate experience of realizing just how strong Gabe’s margaritas were.
Because after years of quietly stalking Cole’s Instagram without ever making it weird, I make the fatal mistake that all drunk, lovesick fools make.
I like one of her posts.
From five years ago.