Chapter Nineteen Ezra
Chapter Nineteen
Ezra
“Nice job, Marshall!” I clap loudly, grinning as I watch him drop right back into position after stopping the other kid’s attempt at going glove side on him.
He stops the next six shots, which come in quick succession, and pride swells in my chest. He’s done so much better since that day he said he wanted to quit, and I’m beyond proud of him for pushing through and sticking with it.
I just wish Summer would do the same.
She hasn’t been back to my house since we talked about her buying Sunnie’s.
We’ve been sneaking in kisses after work, but it’s clear something is distracting her.
Part of me hopes it’s that she’s rethinking the idea of potentially purchasing the space, but I can’t be certain.
I plan to talk to her tonight about it during our third cooking lesson, where we’ve graduated from pasta to chicken Parmesan.
The timer on the scrimmage runs out, and Marshall’s team is the winner. The kid looks ecstatic about it too.
“Good work out there,” I tell him as we skate toward the tunnel leading back to the locker rooms.
“Thanks, Coach. I was hoping for a shutout, but a win is a win.”
“That’s right. And a win means ice cream, right?”
“Heck yes it does!”
I laugh as he darts off the ice, joking around and carrying on with his teammates, as I help the other coach clean up.
We’re just about done when the door to the rink opens and in walks the last person I was expecting to see today.
“Sheriff Turner.” I skate over to him. “How are you?”
“Not bad, Mr. Rawlings.” His eyes roam over the rink. “Nice place you got here.”
“Thanks,” I say, but I get the feeling that’s not what this visit is about. In fact, I get the feeling he’s here about something else entirely. Someone else. “Was there something I could help you with, Sheriff?”
He clears his throat, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to thank you, Mr. Rawlings.”
“Pretty sure we know each other well enough at this point that you can call me Ezra. And thank me for what?”
“For taking care of my daughter. I got an alert on my doorbell when she was sick. I saw that it was you who brought her home, and I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of her. Summer’s a stubborn girl, and I’m sure she said she could handle herself, but I appreciate you not leaving her alone. ”
If he received an alert on his camera, that must mean he knows how late I stayed, which was long past the appropriate time for a boss to be taking care of his employee.
He knows. About me and Summer, he knows.
And that’s why he’s really here. He doesn’t want to thank me. He wants me to be aware that he’s aware.
I keep my face and tone neutral as I say, “It was no problem, sir.”
His eyes narrow for only a moment, but I know what it means all the same. He’s sizing me up. He’s trying to suss out if he should be worried or not.
He shouldn’t. I have no intention of harming Summer.
You also had no intention of even starting anything with her, and look how that turned out.
I drive the thought away.
He nods, like he’s satisfied with whatever goes unsaid between us, then says, “How’s the remodel going?”
“Good. We’re just about done. There are a few more days left on construction, then the grand opening is after Noah and Odette’s wedding.”
“Ah. Explains why my kitchen looks like a war zone.”
I tip my head to the side, unsure what he means.
“Summer,” he explains. “She’s been cooking up a storm, working on the menu. She’s testing recipes left and right. Pretty sure I’m going to burst if I have to eat another brussels sprout or mac and cheese ball.”
Relief floods me. She’s not avoiding me. She’s cooking.
Now that I know, it makes me happy she hasn’t been around. I’m glad she’s feeling inspired enough to stay away. And I hope more than anything it was because of our conversation the other night.
“White cheddar and Gouda?” My stomach rumbles at the thought of the last time she made mac and cheese for me. I don’t know how she turned something so simple into a culinary experience, but she did.
“Yep. She’s adding Parmesan too. Really kicked it up a notch.”
I grin at that. I wish I could be there to see it, but I understand that this is her process. She can have it for herself—for now.
Sheriff Turner relaxes for the first time since he came in here and leans against the boards. I do the same. “I haven’t seen her this happy since she was leaving for culinary school. I guess I have you to thank for that too.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Me? What’d I do?”
“You have given her the space to do her thing. Gave her a nudge.” He sighs. “Honestly, I was scared she was going to give up after Chicago.”
Summer’s been fairly tight-lipped on what happened there. All I know is that she had a shot at her dream, and she lost it. She’s never given specifics, but whatever they are, it’s obvious they had an impact on her confidence.
“That old boss of hers was a real piece of work. Used to berate her for the smallest mistakes, even when they weren’t her fault.
Change the menu on her at the last minute after hours of prep, then blame it all on her for not being able to handle it.
She wanted to be an executive chef so badly, she kept her mouth closed and took it. ”
I can’t see Summer ever letting someone walk all over her like that. She’s never let me do it, that’s for damn sure. Never had an issue standing up for herself, and I’ve always admired that about her.
Is that what rattled her? Her old boss? Is she . . . Is she worried I’m going to do that same thing?
“I was proud as hell of her when she finally spoke up for herself,” the sheriff continues.
“Sure, she could have chosen a better time to do it—not in the middle of dinner rush and maybe not have yelled at the entire kitchen and stormed out—but still proud.” He frowns. “They blacklisted her in Chicago.”
I whip my head toward him. “What? Are you serious?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t. She never . . .” I clench my teeth, shaking my head. “She never told me.”
“I’m not surprised. She’s embarrassed as hell over it.
She feels like she failed. Hell, I don’t think I’d even know she was blacklisted if I weren’t following food blogs, looking for any mention of how incredible a chef my daughter is.
Didn’t expect to see the whole debacle getting picked apart in the comments. ”
I want to tell him never to read the comments, but I’m still reeling from this new piece of information.
Fuck, it makes so much sense now. No wonder Summer doesn’t want to pursue Sunnie’s. They broke her. They took away her dream.
But doesn’t she know that this town would rally around her until the end of the earth? That her father would do anything to see her succeed? Doesn’t she realize I would do the same?
I’m not quite sure when that became the truth, but it did. And fuck if that doesn’t scare me like it should.
“Why are you telling me this, Sheriff?”
“Because Sunnie’s is for sale.”
I swallow the knot in my throat. “I know.”
“So you’ve already talked to her about it?”
I want to deny it, because that would imply that Summer’s been spending time with me that she shouldn’t be, but I don’t think it matters at this point.
“I have.”
“And?”
“And she said no. She’s scared. She doesn’t believe in herself.”
“So believe enough for her.”
I do.
The weight of those two words is heavy, and even more so because of how honest they are.
The sheriff grins, and it’s one of those annoying kinds of grins. The knowing kind.
“What?” I snap at him.
He just laughs, and it pisses me off.
“Stop it.”
He rolls his lips together in an attempt to stop, but it does nothing to quell the irritation clawing at me.
I don’t know what he thinks he knows, but he’s wrong, whatever it is.
I push off the boards, my hip throbbing. “Is there anything else you needed, Sheriff?”
“Nah, son. That’s all. Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page when it comes to my daughter and her dreams.”
I nod. “We are.”
“Good. So don’t let her blow this. Don’t let it pass her by.
Don’t give up on her. She might try to push you away or run, but don’t let her.
She’s done it once already, and it damn near broke me to see her so down about it.
She’s my little girl, and I want the world for her.
Her happiness comes first for me. It has since the day her mother died.
The only way that’s going to happen is if someone is there for her.
Someone she trusts. Someone she cares about. Someone like you, Ezra.”
His words are heavy, made even heavier by the fact that I feel the same way. I trust Summer, and I care about her in ways I never expected to.
“Don’t let her walk away from her dream,” he says. “And don’t let her walk away from you either.”
When I get back to the cidery, not even locking myself in my office and burying my head in work seem to help distract me from my conversation with Sheriff Turner.
Don’t let her walk away from her dream. And don’t let her walk away from you either.
We parted ways after that, and all it did was leave me in a sour mood.
What the hell was he getting at? Why did he keep giving me that look that said I know something you don’t? Why did he have to tell me not to let her walk away from her dream?
I don’t control Summer. Nobody does. She’s made that clear since the day I met her.
But it doesn’t escape my notice that she’s been cooking up a storm since our conversation at my house when I told her I was in her corner.
Did that mean more to her than I thought? Did she really hear what I was saying beneath those words? Did she know how much I meant it?
“Hey.”
I’m so lost in my head that I didn’t even hear my door being pushed open.
Summer stands in the entryway with a soft, almost mischievous smile. She’s not even on the schedule today.
“Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you were coming over later.”
She lifts a shoulder. “I was bored.”
But her eyes are sparkling far too brightly for that to be true.
“Want to play some pinball?”