Chapter 16 #2
She flopped on the couch, a secondhand piece she’d paid too much money for in a vintage shop. It went perfectly with the rounded shape of her living room.
Practically everything inside had been thrifted. She liked feeling the energy of previous owners who’d loved the things before her; it made her feel connected to other people who might have been like her. Every piece went perfectly with the life she’d envisioned for herself.
She sighed, wishing things had worked out differently—that somehow there was a gold mine waiting for her in being a small-town florist.
As tears flowed down her cheeks, she hugged a heart-shaped lace pillow, still wearing her coat. She memorized her perfect cottage and wondered how many months she had left in it.
WELLS
Fear struck Wells’s heart as he entered his mother’s house.
The annual specter he’d evaded for five years stared him down in his mother’s kitchen as he saw big block letters spelled out on a whiteboard.
The Food Bank Date Auction Fundraiser.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered and whirled around, hoping they hadn’t seen him.
“Just a minute, young man,” June, his second-grade teacher, commanded.
Wells froze.
“Oh, good, you’re home,” his mother called, tugging him back into the kitchen.
Pop fussed with something on the stove that smelled like cinnamon and shook his head, chuckling. “You came home at the wrong time, son.”
A whiteboard with notes was propped up in front of Olivia and The Gossip Guild, aka all of his unofficial aunties. Annabelle colored on the floor, lost in her own world.
They all sat at the table, plotting the maximum havoc to wreak between their glasses of wine and cookies.
There was a dwindling supply of single men for the food bank date fundraiser, and Wells had—very purposefully—been unavailable for the last several years.
He’d happily write a hefty check rather than be pawed at by the older ladies of Fairwick Falls, but they wanted their ounce of flesh, apparently.
“Now, you’ll be date number five,” his mother said, pointing to the whiteboard propped up on the kitchen counter. “And this year we’re doing it a bit differently. You are going to have a date idea to bid on.”
Wells smiled his most charming smile. “How about I make a hefty donation instead and don’t do this at all?”
“Oh, pssh.” His mother tsked. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“We can’t get drunk and rowdy by signing checks,” Margie, an ancient woman with neon pink lipstick and an unlit cigarette between her lips, said with a hacking cough.
“It’s all in good fun, and for a great cause,” his mother said, petting his arm, but stared at his wet hair with confusion.
Uh oh.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why is your hair wet?”
Shit. He’d taken a shower at the empty studio apartment on the backside of the diner to rinse off the fryer smell.
It was exhausting living a double life.
He was almost ready to tell them. Everything was almost back on track. The foot traffic into the diner had picked up. Tiny had been doing well, and Wells no longer had to watch him like a hawk.
“I, uh, got my haircut. No time to blow dry it,” he said, needing to distract her. “So, the date auction is different this year?”
“Luca is doing it,” Olivia said, looking pleased that Wells had been roped in. “His date is a car maintenance lesson, teaching how to change a tire.”
Wells started walking backward, out of the kitchen. “No way to teach someone how to negotiate a contract, so I guess I’m out.”
“Wells! Make them milkshakes and wear your apron,” Annabelle said, aiming a bright smile up at him.
Oh no.
“Apron?” his mom asked with a curious grin at him.
Annabelle nodded. “That’s what he wore when the Girl Scouts got milkshakes.”
Fuck. He’d forgotten about that. Jessica had handled most of it, but he’d helped her carry out the trays of milkshakes.
“Was that a pretend milkshake, dear?” his mom asked, patting Annabelle’s hair warmly.
Annabelle looked indignant. “No, he made real ones. He made sure mine didn’t have any bad things that hurt me at the diner field trip.”
Fuuuuck.
Annabelle looked at him with her sweet face, her big eyes earnest. “Right?”
Welp.
It’s been a good run.
Wells squeezed his eyes shut tight. He’d never make Annabelle out to be a liar. He slowly nodded. “Right.”
“You’re cooking at the diner?” Pop asked slowly, confused.
All eyes stared at Wells.
“No.” Annabelle giggled. “He owns it. ’Livia said so.”
Suddenly all the ladies were scooting their chairs and grabbing their purses.
“We should be going—”
“I’ve got to get home—”
“Annabelle, let’s get home—”
The ladies all quickly headed out, practically leaving a dust cloud in their wake.
Anxiety crushed at his chest as he turned to face his mom and Pop, who looked hurt.
“I wanted to fix everything before I told you,” Wells started, clearing his throat. “I, um…I bought the diner. From you.”
Pop moved a hand to his mouth in surprise.
Maybe he could make them understand. Explain his very logical reasoning.
“I’d hoped it would be an investment. You wouldn’t have to worry about it in your retirement, and you could enjoy your life. I know it went through a rough patch,” he said, shaking his head at himself. “But everything is on the upswing, and—”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” his mom said, upset.
Pop looked exasperated. “I would have given it to you—”
“Exactly,” Wells said, getting angry.
Why couldn’t they see he’d been trying to take care of them this whole time? He’d been running himself ragged for the last six months. He’d worked so hard. Fucking exhausted was what he was.
“Can’t you see that I was doing this for you? I wanted you to be able to retire, relax. Finally do something for yourself.”
Pop shook his head. “While my life’s work crumbled in front of me? Why didn’t you ask for help?”
It had honestly never even occurred to Wells.
He’d never wanted to admit he’d failed. That he needed help.
“I was going to tell you, but then you got hurt. But it’s going to be fine. Everything is better now that I’m running it myself. I bought a house. I’m moving back permanently.”
Complicated emotions passed across his mother’s face. “You’re giving up law?”
Jesus. He couldn’t do anything right, could he? “I didn’t want to miss any more time of being with you guys while you’re…” Still here. “You know, uh, free to hang out.”
How were they not thrilled at all this news? That he’d helped them? That he’d see them every day?
Pop shook his head, biting his lip. “I’m going to go lie down, I think.”
“Pop, wait.”
“No, just let him go,” his mom said. Her normally bright, mischievous eyes turned on him, livid.
“He has been sick with guilt for months,” his mom hissed, and his balls shrank at her tone.
“He’s been ashamed; did you know that? Ashamed of ruining the one thing that his parents worked so hard for.
It was…it was like a memorial to them, that diner.
They worked themselves to the bone, practically until the day they died, to set it up for him.
You probably thought it would be a fun lark,” she said, tossing her hands in the air.
“He worked his entire life to build it into the thing that made our community stronger. You didn’t think of the serious consequences, didn’t think of who might be impacted by your crazy ideas. Just like always.”
“Mom, everything’s going to be fine. I’m fixing it—”
“Wellesley,” she sighed, shaking her head. “That is not the point. And I’m disappointed that I even have to say that.”
Her gutted look was punishment enough as she walked after Pop.
“Goddammit,” he muttered, wiping his hand down his face.
Suddenly, he was rethinking every decision he’d made in the last six months.
Were all his crazy ideas worth it, the toll they took on everybody?
Nash having covered his tracks for the loans. Jessica at the diner withstanding terrible kitchen staffs and losing her tip money. All the people who loved the diner.
Not to mention two of his favorite people in the world were currently mad at him.
More importantly, where did this leave him with his latest crazy idea?
He twirled a light-up wand Annabelle had left on the table, jealous of his sister. She was practically Annabelle’s stepmom, a cute family having plopped into her lap when she’d least expected it.
He sighed, knowing that in his bones, he still wanted that experience for himself—a family, someone to comfort and take care of, build memories with.
Even if it’s the craziest idea yet.
It had never not worked out for him, and this one was going to work out the same way.
He pulled out his phone to text Allison.
WELLS
Any update?