“Yeah, okay.” I look between Eve and Eric and then to my dad. “Uh, what’s going on?”
“Didn’t they tell you? They’re on board.” My dad claps his hands, grinning.
“They?” I ask, swallowing hard.
“Yes, Eric and Eve. Eric will be joining you in the kitchen, and Eve will be handling all the business. She has quite the impressive résumé, even without the bachelor’s degree she’s about to earn. I have a design meeting set up for tomorrow, and from there, you boys will take it over. I’d like to be updated on all developments at the end of every week, and then there is the focus of what I want this restaurant to be.”
What the hell is going on? I’m still reeling from the thought of all three of us working together. As in me, Eric, and Eve . . . the girl I’m seeing and Eric’s twin sister. This won’t be fucking awkward at all.
“What were you thinking cuisine-wise?” Eric asks my dad, folding his arms over his chest, his let’s get down to business face on. I’ve seen that expression so many times. It means he’s ready to listen and then dream big. Happens every time. The man’s ideas are huge, and I’ve always been the one to bring him back down to earth.
“Well, I’d want the atmosphere to be casual and cool. Hip and modern, nothing stuffy, but food everyone would enjoy. You know, street eats, things you would get from food trucks, but slightly elevated and for a sit-down place,” Dad says. “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes in town, so no crab cakes or lobster bisque, things restaurants are already famous for around here, but I also want to bring a New England flair to our menu and remind tourists where they’re dining.”
I may still be in shock over this change of events, but even so, a part of my brain, the one that’s been lying dormant for years, can’t help but turn on. Recipes and ideas start developing in my head.
Deconstructed clam chowder.
A flight of lobster.
New England street tacos.
“That’s a great idea,” Eric says. “I’ll hook up with this guy”—he grabs my shoulder—“and we’ll see what we can come up with. I’m already seeing flights of food, tapas, soups with special dipping breads. We can completely change the face of Port Snow cuisine.”
Feeling like I’m in a catatonic state, I just let everyone else do the talking as I attempt to wrap my head around what’s happening.
“Perfect. I’ll leave you to it, then. Feel free to start drawing up plans. I’m heading back home. Have fun and make it great.” My dad claps me on the back and heads right out the door, leaving me completely stunned.
Silence fills the warehouse. Without a word, Eve starts walking around, checking out the space, as Eric and I stand there, facing each other. The tension is thick between us—tension from the past, from what’s been said, from why he’s here, why Eve’s here.
I need answers, and now.
“What the hell just happened?” I ask.
“I decided to join you,” Eric answers, rocking back on his heels as if it’s the easiest decision he’s ever made.
“That would have been great to know before you went and spoke with my dad. Who says I want to do this now?”
“Don’t be a dick, Reid. You know you want to be a part of this.”
No . . . sort of . . . okay, maybe.
“I really don’t fucking know, actually.” I push my hand through my hair. “I don’t know if I want to be back in the kitchen. And when the fuck did Eve get involved?”
At the mention of her name, she whips around, her face a mask of rage. Well, there we go. This just confirms what I already suspected: I have a spot on her shit list.
“I don’t want to fail again, so I want to do this with someone I trust,” Eric says.
“You don’t trust me?” I ask incredulously.
“I don’t trust either of us with the business side, and your dad was going to hire someone new to manage everything. So I suggested Eve. Because if anything, I know she’s not going to fuck me over. She’s just as invested in this as I am.”
“Well, I’m glad you two figured everything out because I’m having a hell of a time wrapping my head around this. Do you really think it’s a good idea for all of us to go into business together? Did my dad?”
“You thought it was fine going into business with just Eric and your dad,” Eve says, walking back over to us. “That’s why you went to Boston, right? To get him on board?” Shit. “So why does adding me to the mix make everything so hard to understand?”
For one, I’m fucking you.
Two . . . we’re dating.
Three . . . I like you too goddamn much to let this restaurant come between us.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I say, “It just seems . . . complicated. That’s all.”
“Well, it isn’t,” Eve shoots back. “You two take care of the menu and the design, and I’ll handle the business. Simple. We’ll stay out of each other’s way so things don’t get too confusing for you, Reid.”
Shit, she’s mad. Really fucking mad. Make that place number one on Eve’s official shit list.
“It’ll be good,” Eric says, the happiness palpable in his voice. “I have so many recipes rolling around in my head—and the desserts, we could have an entire dessert bar. A make your own hot chocolate menu for the kids and design your own beer for the adults.” Always the dreamer—this is the Eric I used to be friends with. He’s transformed into a completely different man since I talked to him in Boston. What fucking jolly pole got stuck up his ass, and can he tell me where to find one? “I have to head back to Boston and quit, pack my things and whatnot. I can stay on your couch—right, sis?” That won’t make things even more uncomfortable.
“Of course,” she says.
“Awesome.” He gives Eve a quick hug. “I’m heading out. I’ll be back for the design meeting tomorrow, and then, Reid, let’s start working up a menu. I’ll think of some ideas. See you tomorrow.” That’s it? No hashing out our problems, our trust issues, all the shitty things we’ve said to each other? He’s just going to act like everything is fine and fucking dandy between us? He strides away and, with a wave, shuts the door behind him, leaving me alone with a not-so-happy-looking Eve.
“Eve—”
“Don’t, Reid.” She holds up her hand. “Just don’t.” She starts for the door, but I stop her, gripping her wrist at her side. She glances down at my hand and then back up to me. “Let go.”
“I’m sorry, Eve. I’m really fucking sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” She faces me now, our bodies so close that I can practically feel the anger rolling off of her. “Sorry for lying to me? For not trusting me? For insulting me and my ability to add something valuable to this project?”
Well, that pretty much sums it up. I’ve dug myself quite a hole, and honestly, I have no idea how to fix it besides apologizing.
“I’m sorry for everything. I really am. I just don’t do relationships, and I’ve never been good at them.” Not my best apology, but I’ve certainly had worse.