3. Chapter Two Savannah
Chapter Two: Savannah
With misty eyes, I look over the restaurant I created in memory of my parents. It took every ounce of blood, sweat and tears I had—and every dollar—but I freaking did it.
The decor I chose is natural and plush. I wanted guests to feel like they were stepping into a friend’s house, not just a random bar or some franchised eating establishment.
Dark, rich wood paneling and exposed brick give it a cozy feel with a modern twist. The soft amber lighting and cushioned booths make it homey.
There are always fresh flowers at the hostess station and pictures of my parents, me and my younger sister, Harper, hang in the entryway.
My staff is genuinely warm and welcoming, always smiling.
They even come to hang out here when they’re not working.
That has to mean I’m doing something right.
And the dishes we serve are hearty, soul-warming and made from scratch.
Several are family recipes, my favorite meals Mom used to cook.
Over the past year and a half, Charlie’s Place has become everything I’ve always dreamed of—a successful eatery on Coronado’s Main Street, serving up comfort food with a welcoming atmosphere.
It’s been a battle to get here, but I can finally breathe a little easier now that the business is making money.
Wrapping my arms around myself, a bittersweet smile tugs at my lips.
Dad would be so proud of his Savannah Banana.
Unfortunately, neither he nor my mom are here to see it.
They’ve both been gone over two years now, and I miss them every single day.
Charlie and Libby Grant were high school sweethearts who seemed to fall in love a little more with the passing of time.
When Mom died, Dad followed a few months later, and I know it’s because he couldn’t live without her.
Theirs was a rare and beautiful love story.
The kind I’ve sadly come to realize most people never find.
Pulling in a shaky breath, I give the main dining room another appreciative glance then head to the back office so I can finish some paperwork. It’s almost eleven, and while my brain may still be thriving on the endorphins and adrenaline a good night brings, my body is exhausted.
Weekends are always busy, but tonight seemed extra chaotic.
I suppose because it’s tourist season, and they flock in by the droves.
Then combine that crowd with the usual military guys who wander in from the nearby Naval base, and I’m doing five jobs at once.
But they keep me in business, and I love it.
My little office is cramped, and while it might appear unorganized to anyone else looking in, I know where everything is, and that’s all that matters.
Sitting down, I move some new bills aside and open my laptop.
It’s decorated with a few stickers from my favorite story, Alice in Wonderland.
I’ve always loved the book and the films—from the Disney cartoon to the Tim Burton version—and the original book holds a special place in my heart.
It was the first classic I ever read, probably because my mom was an avid reader, and she loved it.
Dad was more into classic movies than books, and the reason Harper tried her luck at being an actress.
Those two used to sit around and watch Turner Classic movies all the time together.
But Dad also spent many evenings reading to me before I could even read on my own.
And my story of choice was always Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
I miss my parents every day. Sometimes it feels like we were all just together, laughing and hanging out.
Other days, it feels like I haven’t seen them in forever.
It was hard after they died, and the main reason Harper and I decided to leave our small Ohio hometown and move to California.
The memories were just too much. Too painful.
And as much as people meant well, it got too hard seeing the sympathetic looks and having neighbors constantly checking in and asking how we were doing.
So we sold our childhood home and split the profits.
Then we packed up the car and decided to chase our dreams, just like Dad always encouraged us to do.
Harper moved to Los Angeles to pursue acting and I came here to open my restaurant.
I might’ve had a rough start getting this place up and running, sunk every dollar I had into it, but now things couldn’t be better.
I’m out of the danger zone and the numbers are good.
In fact, business is running so smoothly, I’m not spending all my time being stressed out and trying to make sure it’s a success.
Because it is. That means I have a little extra time on my hands to think about other things, and that isn’t necessarily good.
Focus on the positive, I remind myself. Being able to work a little less means I can spend more time with my new niece.
My sister Harper and her husband Ryland welcomed a baby girl not too long ago, and Sienna Angel is exactly that—a perfect, little angel.
With big blue eyes, blonde waves and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, it’s clear she’s channeling the Grant genetics.
I’m so happy Harper found love. Ryland—a former Navy SEAL—is a good guy, and dotes on my sister like she deserves.
Harper went through a bad breakup when she was living up in Los Angeles.
Couple that with her dreams of acting not working out, and she came down here, tail between her legs and no money in her bank account.
Of course, I welcomed her with open arms, beyond happy she’d escaped that douchebag she’d been living with.
Harper started helping me get the restaurant ready to open, and I was looking forward to bonding with her over our heartbreaks.
But she gets over men way quicker than I do.
What’s his face from LA was already a distant memory, and she couldn’t stop talking about her new hot neighbor—Ryland Mills.
I warned her to take things slowly, but, in true Harper dramatic style, she got pulled into some highspeed, crazy adventure.
Things were tense and scary for a while, but they defeated the enemy, so I can breathe easier now.
I shake my head, typing some numbers into a spreadsheet as the stories she’s told me flash through my mind. My life is nothing like that. If adventure has a name, it’s definitely not Savannah Grant.
No, my existence revolves around running Charlie’s Place, hiding away at home with a good book and avoiding men at all costs. I learned my lesson the hard way: men cheat. Well, most men. I’ll give my book boyfriends a pass, as well as my dad and Ryland, but they’re the exception to the rule.
My mind inevitably wanders back to my pre-Coronado days.
Living in Columbus, Ohio, I was working as a bartender at a fancy restaurant, trying to learn everything I could about the business of what it takes to run a successful place, when I made the worst mistake of my life.
I believed all the bullshit Chadwick Wellington, the owner, told me.
How I was so pretty and so smart and blah, blah, blah.
He’d flirted shamelessly, then seduced me.
And I stupidly fell for the jerk. Tumbled head over heels for his charm and good looks.
Maybe I had blinders on. Or maybe I wanted what my parents had so badly, I was willing to overlook a few faults and ignore the red flags.
Because with hindsight, I can clearly see how Chad wasn’t right for me.
But I was only twenty-five and didn’t have a lot of experience, especially with a man so worldly, polished and sophisticated.
I truly thought I could learn from him—about life, the business… love. All I learned was men suck.
Chad had everything going for him. A successful restaurateur, he’d opened highly-rated establishments all over the country. I think his faux glow blinded me a bit to the truth—the man was a first class asshole. Just ask his wife.
I still wince at that. Yep, I had an affair with a married man.
Unknowingly, of course. He hid the fact very well, and I naively believed whatever came out of his mouth.
No, he never claimed to be single, I just assumed it to be true when he asked me out.
God. It was all so humiliating. Looking back, I feel like an idiot for so many reasons.
For believing his lies, for falling into bed with the boss and, maybe most of all, for not listening to that little voice in my head who warned me he was no good.
The worst part? I’ve spent the better part of the last four years feeling guilty he had a wife, and I know he doesn’t give a shit.
That fact changed my entire outlook on men and love.
I used to think everyone would end up as lucky as my parents.
That if you looked long enough, one day you’d find your perfect person.
Your soulmate. Now I know some people are just destined to be alone, broken of the trust needed to truly love someone else and let yourself be loved by them.
Sadly, I’ve come to the conclusion I’m one of them.
But I’d rather be single and moderately happy than ever risk falling in love and potentially getting hurt again. It’s so not worth it. Not when the world is full of liars and cheaters, and I seem to draw them to me like mosquitoes on a hot summer night.
Harper is one of the lucky ones. She rebounded fast, found her other half, and he helped heal her wounds from LA jerk Patrick.
As happy as I am for her, I’m also a smidge—and it’s just the tiniest smidge—jealous.
She’s so ridiculously happy, she practically glows.
I wish I could be even a tenth as happy as she is.