Chapter 10
TEN
CALDER
By the time I reach the house, I’m starving and tired.
It’s… refreshing. Typically, I have to punish myself in the gym morning and night to get tired enough to fall asleep and stay that way until morning.
Too many times, I’ve spent hours staring at my ceiling wondering about my decision, about Dad, about Mama.
Meredith parks in the garage. I walk in through the front and into the kitchen just as she’s arriving. She’s yawning, covering her mouth with her hand, but she quickly shuts her mouth when she sees me.
Watching her manage the taproom, skilled in all aspects of customer service, has left me with a knot in my stomach.
That damn road crew that joined Ben and his partner gawked at her every time she turned around.
I was ready to kick them out if they made any advances. I don’t need that shit in Jules Creek.
Molly isn’t as efficient. She spent more time chatting behind the bar than serving, leaving Meredith to handle the floor.
While she completed her tasks, she also had long periods of low productivity.
If the customers weren’t so understanding, many of them would have left.
From what Bea suggested, Jules Creek can’t sustain lost business. But why do I care if I plan to sell?
To avoid answering my own question, I turn to the fridge. Meredith is heading straight there, but she stops. If she were still wearing her shoes, they would have squeaked from the abruptness.
I can picture her and Dad pouring through the door from the garage, chatting about the night and preparing a meal.
He probably sat in the same damn chair I was in last night.
She got the time with him I should’ve gotten, and normally, a thought like that might drive me off, but I’m ravenous.
And since I didn’t see her stop all night, she has to be too.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“I was going to get some toast.”
I reach into the fridge, take out two calzones, and toss them on the counter.
She crosses to the island, her face full of disbelief. “Wha—How—When?”
“I need more sustenance than beer and bread.”
“We like our yeast products around here,” she jokes.
I bite back a chuckle and take out two plates. Oddly enough, the arrangement in the cupboards hasn’t changed, and it pleases me more than it should. I rip the plastic off the calzones and dump one on each plate.
Her gaze feathers warm over my face. “Are you… sharing?”
I arch a brow. “Is that so surprising?” When she shrugs, I toss a plate into the microwave. My stomach growls, but the drone of the microwave drowns it out. “I owe you one anyway.”
“They’re only five bucks.”
An amazing price for a simple, filling food. The timer dings. They cook quickly too. I swap plates and slide the hot calzone toward her. She eyes it like it might rear up and strike.
“Do I need to take a bite first; show you I didn’t poison it?”
“You’re being nice,” she says carefully. “Thoughtful.”
“Ransom and Mama taught me to be a gentleman. Doesn’t mean I’m a pushover.”
“No? You seem like the warm, fuzzy type.” She takes her food to the table. “Want a beer?”
Her cheekiness is becoming something I anticipate. I can’t wait for the next smart-ass comment to leave those pretty lips.
“Sure.”
She retrieves the beer as the food finishes. We both sit at the table, same seats as before, only, there are no computer screens between us.
I dig into the calzone, and melted cheese oozes out. Eating quietly together at the dining table creeps along the edges of my awareness. I’ve been less self-conscious while buck-naked with a woman. The brewery isn’t exactly a safe topic, but I have no other common ground with Meredith.
“Why are we so short-staffed?”
She lifts a shoulder as she saws at a chunk of doughy calzone.
“It’s part-time work, and it’s a short drive from Williston.
Tips from regulars can be unpredictable.
The nights can be busy, but if they aren’t, the tip money isn’t there.
Add in that we need to hire people over twenty-one, and most of the college crowd is ruled out.
Williston has only a two-year school, so there isn’t a large population of drinking age, but it’s not like it’s a metropolis in the first place. ”
No, Scandal’s population tops out in the hundreds. Williston’s is far from six digits.
“If we do hire college kids,” she continues, “they tend to quit shortly after to get a job in their chosen career. That’s how we lost two last month.”
I didn’t expect her to answer so easily.
We continue eating. I down some of the beer, and the cold washes through me. Damn, that’s good. A guy could get used to this: hot food, cold beer, beautiful woman.
But this life isn’t for me. Meredith isn’t for me.
All this is just something to wrap up. A loose end to tie.
I’ve built another empire. Cross Financial Consultants bears my name for a reason, and I’m not about to walk away.
Definitely not for a woman who comes from a legacy of seizing a life she didn’t earn.
She takes her last bite, so I gather both our plates, catching the surprised lift of her brows.
Mama taught me manners, and I won’t disappoint her even though she’s gone.
Doesn’t stop me from pausing at the threshold.
Meredith is staring beyond her beer, out the window, a slight divot between her brows, sadness scrawled across her face.
A pang of sympathy stings my heart. An unfamiliar sensation, yet understandable. This is the real reason she didn’t close the brewery: she needs the distraction.
It feels heartless to simply walk away and leave her there, mourning.
“Night, Meredith,” I say quietly.
She glances over, her gaze dipping to my shoes before working up my slacks, brushing over my forearms, and finally reaching my face. Her expression is unreadable, yet the grief lessens. “Night, slick.”
Before I do something like laugh at being calling that absurd nickname, I go to the guest room.