Chapter 18
“What a night.” Benjamin groaned as he held The Depot’s door open for Chloe.
“I thought you liked busy nights.” Chloe eyed him as they stepped into the thick, still night air. Even the cricket’s songs seemed stifled, and the dark forms of the mountains in the distance only seemed to trap the heat in the valley. “School must be starting soon. We always get our worst heat wave then.”
“Yeah. Max starts the day after tomorrow.” He’d learned that from the boy when he’d stopped over this morning—in the twenty minutes he’d had with Max before Summer had practically shoved Benjamin out the door, claiming she and Max had to finish school shopping. When Benjamin had offered to help, Summer had mumbled some lame excuse about how they might have to drive to Cypresswood to get some things and she didn’t want to make him late for work.
Benjamin hadn’t called her out on the flimsy excuse—which wasn’t even the flimsiest she’d used over the past two weeks. Every day, it seemed she wanted less and less to spend time with him.
Well, she could fight it all she wanted, but he wasn’t about to go back on his promise to take care of her and Max.
“Hello? Are you still here?” Chloe’s voice penetrated through Benjamin’s thoughts.
“What? Sorry. Did you say something?” Benjamin pulled his gaze off of the mountains.
“I asked how your finger is.”
“Oh.” Benjamin shifted the bag of leftover prime rib to his right hand and lifted his left. Blood had nearly soaked through the bandage on his index finger. “Rookie move.”
“Distracted move,” Chloe corrected.
Benjamin sighed. “Yeah. I guess.”
“It will get better.” Chloe patted his arm. “Give it time.”
Benjamin nodded and said goodnight, then dropped into his car, every one of his muscles protesting from the training regimen Zeb had them all running. He let himself sink back into the Gremlin’s restored seats.
Time was the one thing he didn’t have. Max’s guardianship hearing had been set for four weeks from now. And still Summer hadn’t found a job, TJ’s house wasn’t ready to sell, and everything felt less certain than ever.
Trust in the Lord. Dad’s advice had been rolling through Benjamin’s head for the past two weeks, and he was trying. He really was. But sometimes he felt like if God didn’t do something soon, Benjamin was going to have to take matters into his own hands.
And do what, he didn’t know.
Maybe not marry her. He’d come to realize that Dad was probably right about that being a bad idea. But surely there must be something he could do.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and started the car. The time on the dashboard flipped over to midnight. He had to get to bed. He planned to be at Summer’s bright and early tomorrow. It was Max’s last day off before he started preschool, and Benjamin planned to make it a good one for all of them—no matter how much Summer protested. Max needed to remember what fun felt like. So did Summer. And so did he, for that matter.
The three weeks since TJ’s death had felt like one long, somber unrelenting march through grief.
Tomorrow, they were going to smile and laugh and remember what it was to be alive. He was determined.
When he pulled into his driveway, everything was dark—he kept forgetting to leave the light above the door on for himself. Inside, he kept the lights off, navigating the spartan space easily. The living room boasted only a second-hand couch and a TV, and he hadn’t had time yet to purchase a dining room table. But the bar stool at the kitchen island worked fine for one person.
After a quick shower to wash off the smells of the kitchen that always clung to him after work, he dropped into bed, sighing as the comfortable mattress he’d splurged on cradled his sore muscles. He set his alarm, then closed his eyes, looking forward to letting sleep take him. But he had just started to doze when his phone dinged. He pried his eyes open and snatched it up in case Summer needed something.
But the text was from Ian, one of his buddies from culinary school.
Got a proposition for you.
Benjamin set the phone down. Ian always had some wild plan or another. He could wait until morning to find out what it was this time.
But his phone dinged again. And then again.
Benjamin sighed and picked it up.
Kalibre is opening a second location, the first text read.
They asked for my recommendation for a chef. I gave them your name.
Benjamin blinked at the words. Kalibre was the hottest new restaurant in New Orleans, owned by Kendra Hill, a friend of Ian’s who also happened to be a YouTube sensation who credited her success to Ian. She’d started Kalibre as a thank you to him, although neither of them had anticipated how quickly it would take off.
They’re opening a location in River Falls? Benjamin texted back, his curiosity getting the better of his exhaustion. It seemed an unlikely spot for a second location. The Depot did well, but Kalibre was much trendier, much more big city than small mountain town.
A laughing emoji greeted his comment.
Atlanta.
Benjamin stared at the screen for a moment. As in Georgia?
Obviously. He could practically hear Ian’s dry response. What do you think?
Benjamin shook his head against his pillow. It was what he’d thought he wanted once—the acclaim of working for one of the hottest restaurants. And it would allow him a lot more culinary creativity than The Depot’s steakhouse menu.
But he had responsibilities in River Falls. A house. A job. His family. And Summer and Max.
Even if he wasn’t going to marry Summer, he was going to stay put to make sure they were cared for.
Thanks, man. But I can’t.
He laid his phone down, telling himself to ignore it when it dinged with a reply.
But Ian was nothing if not persistent.
Three dings later, Benjamin relented again.
This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. You have to at least see the place.
I’m going in a few weeks. I’ll buy you a ticket too.
And cover your hotel room.
Benjamin rolled his eyes. What part of no do you not understand?
The return text was quick. Come on. If you say no after that, I’ll stop bugging you. Besides, you know you want to see me.
Benjamin set his phone down without replying. He already knew it would do no good.