Chapter 6 Brendan
SIX
Brendan
“Is this some kind of joke?” Rafael Marco’s tanned forehead creases as he holds up the Sully’s Beach News with my picture plastered across the front page. The headline reads: “New Assistant Coach Starts Season in the Fast Lane.”
I cringe inside when I see it. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Really? Because it looks like you were swerving all over town like a drunk driver.” He adjusts his reading glasses, squinting at the article. “Were you intoxicated?”
“No. There was—” I search for an explanation that doesn’t sound completely insane. “Something crawling on me.”
More like someone frantically invading my personal space.
“Crawling?” he repeats, his crease deepening.
“It was extremely distracting.”
Scarlett sprawled across my lap tested the limits of my self-control in more ways than one. Not only did it impair my driving, but all I could think about were the zero degrees of separation between her and me.
When the cop ordered me out of the vehicle, Scarlett had shrieked with delight upon discovering her earring wedged exactly where she’d predicted—right where I was sitting. It was possibly the only part of the night that turned out well.
I was taken to the station for questioning, and by the time we finally made it to dinner, the lasagna was cold and her parents were worried.
Scarlett quickly changed gears and told them the news about us dating, skipping the whole slow reveal we’d talked about in the car.
She knew that being pulled over was the equivalent to blasting it around town with a megaphone.
Our made-up dating history got a serious rewrite.
Her mom and dad were delighted at the news, but Eli made some sarcastic comment about “the happy couple,” and then disappeared out the front door.
I can’t help but feel it’s somehow my fault.
He deserves better than me crashing his family dinner and springing my new relationship on him.
But until I talk to him about what happened years ago, we’ll never be able to be in the same room together.
There’s too much unresolved history between us.
Rafael folds the newspaper with a sigh. “That’s not an excuse, Brendan. You made the entire organization look unprofessional. People are having a field day with this story. You’re the new assistant coach now. You need to start acting like it.”
“I agree.” I set my jaw and link my hands behind my back in classic military posture. The less I say right now, the better my chances of keeping my uncle happy. “It won’t happen again.”
“It had better not. And maybe you should think about improving your public image while you’re at it.”
“Excuse me?” I frown slightly.
“I don’t mean your driving skills. I mean your reputation in this community. You need to settle down at some point. That would help your reputation more than anything.”
Coming from a man who’s been married to his work since his divorce, that’s almost funny.
“I don’t understand.” Though I have a sinking feeling I’m about to.
He folds his hands on his desk. “You don’t participate in community events. You’re not involved in anything beyond hockey. Even your sister has a better reputation than you do, and she was in a coma for a month.”
The guilt I feel over Carmen’s accident wedges itself like a knife in my chest. Even after all these years, I still can’t talk about the night of her car accident.
It was the same night I kissed Scarlett on the beach instead of driving my sister home, and because of that decision, I’ve always felt responsible.
For years, I felt that if I’d been in her car when she veered across the center line while reading a text, I could’ve kept her from that head-on collision.
It was simultaneously the best and worst night of my life.
“People know Carmen because of her accident,” I point out. “Near-death experiences tend to make you memorable.”
“True, but when people think of you, they still think of that kid who got busted for drinking on the beach in high school.”
I grit my teeth. “That was over a decade ago.” And I wasn’t even the one drinking, but apparently taking the fall for your friend’s stupid decisions follows you forever.
“You know what would help your image?” He points at the newspaper photo of me looking like a criminal. “Dating a nice, local girl. Someone like us. That’ll get you accepted into this community.”
“But I am accepted,” I protest. “I moved here four years ago.”
“You’re not one of them, Brendan. You didn’t grow up in this town. You only spent summers here. There’s a difference.”
I lift an eyebrow, realizing he hasn’t heard the news. “So, my mom didn’t mention anything to you?”
“Should she have?” He tosses the newspaper into the trash can. “And please tell me it’s better news than this disaster.”
“I think you’ll be pleased to hear that I’m bringing a date to Carmen’s wedding.”
“A date?” He looks cautiously interested. “Do I know her?”
“Her name’s Scarlett.”
“Scarlett?” He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t remember her. But that’s great news. Now you just need to stick with one relationship until this story blows over.”
And that’s the one thing I can’t do. Scarlett and I aren’t a permanent item. Whatever this is between us, I need to keep it exactly where it is. One week. That’s all I’m allowed.
A knock interrupts our conversation before his assistant pokes her head through the door. “Mr. Marco? I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a woman here hoping to speak to you about the vendor position.”
“Send her in,” he says, straightening some papers on his desk.
To my surprise, Scarlett enters in a pair of black dress pants and a deep red blouse.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail and she’s carrying a different bag—a sharp-looking leather satchel she’s gripping so tight the whites of her knuckles are showing.
To my uncle, she probably looks completely in control.
But I can see the way she holds her bag and the nervousness in her eyes.
She takes in the room—the trophies and awards on the bookshelf next to the family photos—and her step barely falters before her gaze lands on me and she stops short. “Brendan? What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same question.” I stand, temporarily forgetting that my uncle is watching us and hasn’t made the connection yet. Right now she looks like she could run a Fortune 500 company.
Her mouth curves. “I decided it was time to stop talking myself out of this opportunity.”
“You two know each other?” Rafael interrupts, looking between us.
“This is the girl I was just telling you about.” I gesture toward Scarlett. “Rafael Marco, this is Scarlett Rossi.”
Scarlett’s eyebrows shoot up before she stumbles over her words, “You were…talking about me?”
“Only good things,” Rafael assures her. “It’s about time I got to meet you.” He extends his hand. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better at Carmen and Anthony’s wedding.”
She stares at his hand for a beat before shaking it, then steps back, smoothing down her blouse absently.
“Actually, I didn’t come here to discuss Carmen’s wedding.
” She bites her lower lip, then pulls out a folder from her bag.
“I’m here to submit my application for the arena food-vendor position.
” She holds out her application for him.
“You’re applying in person?” Rafael asks, his eyebrows lifting as he takes it from her.
“Yes, my family owns Magnolia Brew Coffee Shop downtown, and we’re looking to expand our operations. I manage the business side of things, and I see this as an incredible opportunity to serve more people in our community while growing our customer base.”
“You could’ve saved yourself a trip and submitted this online,” he says, flipping through her paperwork.
“I know, but I thought it would be better to meet face-to-face. Put a name with a face, show you I’m serious about this opportunity.”
Rafael skims through several pages, but I can’t get any sense of his impression of her. “Coffee, huh?”
She hesitates, her hand tightening on the strap of her bag before she answers, “Coffee, specialty drinks, and a full range of baked goods and desserts. Muffins, brownies, cookies—things that pair well with sporting events.”
He puts her application down. “What makes you think hockey fans want fancy coffee drinks? This isn’t exactly a Starbucks demographic.”
“Actually”—Scarlett tips up her chin—“I believe you’re wrong.
Why do you think there’s a Starbucks in almost every town now?
They’re almost as ubiquitous as fast-food chains.
Our sales have grown exponentially since the arena opened.
Hockey fans stop by for coffee before games, but imagine if they could get it at the game.
That’s the type of convenience you want to offer. ”
Even though I could tell she walked in nervous, I’m impressed by how prepared she is for this pitch meeting.
Rafael studies her application for another moment, then narrows his gaze. “Hockey fans are different, Ms.…”
“Rossi,” she reminds him.
“They want sports food—hot dogs, nachos, beer, pretzels. Not gourmet desserts and expensive coffee drinks.”
“I expected you to say that, but I think you’re underestimating this community. The same people who attend your games wouldn’t think twice about paying five dollars for our triple-chocolate brownies. You know why?” She leans her palms on his desk. “Because they’re legitimately amazing.”
My uncle actually cracks a grin at her boldness. “Then I’m looking forward to trying one.”
“How about I drop one off tomorrow?” she offers, straightening. “For extra brownie points, of course.” She grins at her joke.
She’s absolutely crushing this interview without my help. Maybe she never needed this wedding-date deal after all.
My uncle takes off his glasses, holding them in his right hand. “It’s obvious you know how to sell brownies. But have you ever actually been to a hockey game, Miss Rossi?”
Scarlett hesitates, glancing over at me. “Not yet. I just hired a new employee so I can get away from the cafe in the evening.”
“Perfect timing, then.” Rafael opens a cabinet and takes out the game schedule. “We have games at the end of this week. Why don’t you join us?” He extends the publicity calendar we use at all our games.
Her eyes dart to mine, then back to him. “Uh, sure, I’d love to come.”
“Excellent.” Rafael turns back to his desk and picks up his phone. “I’m sure we can find room on the team bus.”
She blinks. “Bus?”
He looks up from the screen. “The games are in Charlotte. Back-to-back nights, so we’ll be gone for the weekend.”
“The entire weekend?” Rafael doesn’t notice the slight panic on her face. But I know she’s not thrilled about leaving her parents or the cafe for the weekend. “I…uh, don’t know if I can arrange to be gone that long.”
He tilts his head. “Why not? This would be an ideal opportunity to observe how food vendors operate in other arenas. If you’re serious about this position, and I assume you are, you need to start attending games regularly.”
I watch Scarlett go still for just a second as she does the math. A weekend away with the team. Which means a weekend away with me.
“Plus,” Rafael adds with a hint of a grin, “don’t you want to support Coach Marco?”
His eyes meet mine and that’s when I realize what he’s doing. He’s not just testing her commitment to the team.
She looks back at him before she nods. “Then it looks like I’m going to Charlotte.”