Chapter 20 #2
“Man.” I shake my head, pushing my empty plate forward.
“Randall sounds like a piece of work.” I wanted to say more, but I was aware that it was still his father, and a son would always care about his father’s approval, no matter how broken the relationship.
“Has he backed off a little more since then?”
“He has.” Declan wipes a hand over his mouth in thought. “Although, I feel like it’s less a result of any character growth, considering my work on the coffee shop giving him a new reason to brag.”
“At least he’s proud of you becoming manager?” I offer, shrugging.
Declan laughs with a jolt of his chin. “Right. Manager.”
“Why is that funny?” The words trickle out like a broken faucet.
“Oh.” He jerks his eyes up to mine. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I was the owner?”
“Of the coffee shop?”
“Yes, Blair.” He chuckles. The sound is light and sweet. “You didn’t know?”
I shake my head, feeling bamboozled. Which, at this point, was difficult to achieve.
“Wait, but…” I lean back. “Everyone refers to you as the manager?”
“Because I am. But I am also the proud owner.” He grins ironically, straightening up and smoothing out his shirt like that should make it more obvious.
I laugh from shock, propping my elbows onto the table between us.
“Okay, wait.” I wave my hands. “So, now you have to tell me how that happened.”
He laughs so hard that the space between his temple and cheek pinch together, and the sight makes me bite the inside of my cheek. He mirrors me and puts his elbows on the table, leaning in.
“Well, after moving into the house and starting renovations, I still had some cash from the lawsuit to start something with.” He motions with his hands like he’s outlining a blueprint on the table.
“And going to college felt too painful if I couldn’t play football.
So, I mapped out some of my interests and figured: ‘Okay, I really enjoy building things, but I also want to work on a team.’ ” He relays it like he’s narrating his inner monologue.
It’s so cute and boyish that I grin. “And then, one evening, I was strolling through downtown when I saw a for-sale sign on a run-down property. I pictured myself opening a coffee shop the second I stepped inside. So, I put an offer in, got it, and then just dove in full force and figured it out as I went. And here we are.” He smiles a soft smile that makes me go warm inside.
I sit back in the booth, convinced only Declan would be capable of being so successful without hinting at it, even the tiniest bit. I’ve been working under him all summer and he never walked around the place like the owner.
“And you love it?” I ask.
“Oh yeah. So much. I get to lead a team. I’m familiar with all the regulars now. And anytime I get some whacky idea, I can build it and add whatever I want to the shop.”
“Like the birdhouses,” I marvel.
“Exactly. Like the weird birdhouses.” He beams with pride.
“What are the metal wheels on the side of them?” I ask. I’ve been wondering since the first day I walked into Seabrook Coffee House.
His mouth quirks to the side. “I’m shocked you noticed that. They’re pieces of a disassembled clock.”
I shake my head in reverent disbelief. “You are the world’s most unassuming nerd, Declan. And you’re just hiding in plain sight.”
He morphs into a look of fake outrage, dropping his mouth. “Oh please. Sounds like a classic case of the kettle calling the pot black here.”
“It’s the pot calling the kettle black,” I correct.
“My point exactly. You’re a little nerd too. I’ve never seen a person more enthused by a dictionary before.” His elbows already on the table, he leans in closer to me. I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it.
“Okay? Says the guy who just used the word ‘enthused’ to insult a girl who likes looking up synonyms,” I counter in a dry tone. “It’s a writer thing.”
“Oh.” He raises his eyebrows. “Look who’s admitting she wants to be a writer now.”
I roll my eyes and look away.
“Okay, well, that leads to my next question,” I deflect.
“Shoot.”
“Does that mean you were the one to hire me after my awful interview?”
He looks thoughtful while he rubs the back of his neck. “Yes. That is correct. Which, by the way, wasn’t the worst interview I’ve ever done.”
“Really? I fudged every question on purpose, and you knew that.”
“Well, yeah. But I thought it was because you hated my guts.”
“Then why would you hire me?”
Declan’s expression turns solemn.
“If I’m honest, I thought it would be a good way to earn your forgiveness.”
“You always had my forgiveness,” I insist.
“But did I?”
“Yes!” I explode, and his eyes burn into mine, begging for more of an explanation. “The only thing I hadn’t forgiven you for was not saying goodbye to me. For dropping me with no explanation. Sitting around waiting for you to show up made me feel five years old again.”
He flinches.
“But now that I know that wasn’t true, of course I forgive you, Declan. And I never hated you. Ever.”
He takes a moment to process my words, and then his shoulders soften, and he looks relieved.
“I’m glad.” His voice is too soft, and I feel warmth spread through my cheeks.
“I guess I can admit I’m pretty stoked to find out you weren’t trying to live the rest of your life without ever seeing me again too.
” Declan smiles, but there’s a tinge of sadness behind it.
“Did you really believe that? That I was fine without ever seeing you again?”
“Oh, of course,” he says quickly.
I wince.
“You were so eager to pursue your dreams, I thought you were excited to not have me holding you back anymore.”
“You never held me back,” I say, shaking my head.
“You and I both wanted to pursue our dreams. That’s one of the things that bonded us, but your dreams seemed so much bigger, and I was scared of relying on you,” I confess.
“But that was dumb. Considering I spent the next four years just wishing I could rely on you anyway.”
He nods, but his eyes are narrowed like he’s unconvinced.
“It’s not dumb. I wasn’t someone you could’ve relied on anyway.”
“What are you talking about?” I protest, but my voice comes out small.
His eyes flit to the door behind me like he’s ready to leave. “I was—” He shakes his head instead of finishing the sentence. “Down and out, let’s just say.”
I nod slowly. I think I’m gathering his meaning. “But you’re not anymore?”
“No,” he says without missing a beat. “No, thank God. The way I felt after the accident feels a million miles away now. I was absent in my own body, it felt like. And I shut everyone out because of it. But not anymore, obviously.” He looks at me.
How much longing must be written across my face right now?
“I understand that. Not in the exact way, but, you know.”
“No, you do,” he reassures me. “Grief is very similar in my opinion. The world keeps hurtling on, but you feel stuck in the moment where everything changed.”
“Yes. And things that felt easy to you before feel impossible to accomplish now. Like texting my friends back. They’re not doing anything wrong, but I feel this endless well of resentment toward them. I just don’t have it in me to joke around and—” I shake my head.
Declan’s eyes go sad, and it takes me a second to realize why.
The place I’m in now is a glimpse into why I couldn’t get a hold of him after the accident.
Except, my external world is different now, yes.
But for him, his internal world was too.
His own body was broken and with it his life.
How much must he have been trying to process as a seventeen-year-old boy, laying in his childhood bed?
He looks at the exit again and I know he doesn’t want to rehash the past right now.
“So, the cottage,” I blurt. “You think the renovations would be easy?”
Declan nods. “I think so.”
“And you could, possibly, maybe help with some of them?”
His face hardens. My stomach free falls.
“Aren’t you moving soon?” For the first time during this conversation, he removes his elbows from the table and leans back in the booth, arms crossed.
Swiping my water off the table, I take a long gulp to hide my flaming cheeks. Why are my cheeks flaming?
“That’s the current plan,” I say, setting my water down and tracing the rim. “But my plan is looking a little flimsy now with the house situation.” I release a wry laugh.
He rolls his lips inward. He’s gone quiet like he used to when he was trying to solve a difficult problem. But those green eyes are simmering with something. Whatever the emotion is, he fights it.
“Blair, you know I’d love to help you. With anything. But, with the house, if you’re leaving soon anyways, I don’t like starting things I can’t finish.”
His eyes burn into mine and I physically resist squirming in the booth. What am I supposed to say to that? I have the urge to insist that I’m staying, but I can’t be making promises I don’t know if I can keep.
The waitress comes back with the check, saving us from the stunted silence. I reach for my wallet.
“Don’t. I got it,” Declan says, voice low.
We return to his car, and I can’t breathe without feeling self-conscious about the sound.
The song he was showing me on the drive over is still playing and he turns it off quickly, leaving us drenched in silence.
Pinks and purples swirl in the distance as the sun is pulled under the sea, and by the time he pulls into his driveway, the moon fashions the sky instead.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He breaks the silence with a flat voice and steps out of the car without looking at me.
That’s my cue to leave, I guess.
“Alrighty,” I say, awkwardly, opening my door. “See you tomorrow.”
I shut the car door and strut across the street to my car, hurrying to get inside and on the road.
What just happened?
Was he upset that I was leaving? Or that I would potentially stay?
I don’t like starting things I can’t finish.
I mull over the meaning of his words until I’m drifting off to sleep.
I’ve let the statement simmer at the edge of my mind for so long that it starts fermenting into a different substance altogether.
Because the conclusion I kept coming back to, the one thing that couldn’t possibly be true, was that he was talking about us.