“So I need to torture him, basically. Be a boss lady. Graduate, do my job, date someone, show him just how great I am, and make him weep himself to sleep.”
Rogan laughs. “Please, please fucking make him weep. He needs nothing more than a good dose of reality.”
“You know what? You’re right.” I glance down at myself. “I’m not this girl, the one who shows up to meetings looking like a complete disaster. I’m not the girl who gets hung up on a guy. I’m not the girl who forgets about her dreams or why she’s pursuing them. Damn it, I’m better than this.” I reach up, pull my ponytail holder out of my hair, and fling it across the room as if I’m making a grand statement, declaring a new day. “Listen up, you two. From this point on, you’re going to see the old Eve back in action. Hold on to your loins, people, because I’m coming in hot!” Feeling like myself for the first time in a week, I stride out of the office and toward the manor’s front doors.
“Might want to take a shower first!” Harper calls out after me. “Because your hair hasn’t moved since you took it out of that ponytail.”
“Well aware, Harper, well aware.”
I shut the front doors and race off toward Main Street with one thing on my mind: getting my life back in order.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
REID
Rogan: And the dumb ass award goes to **Drum roll**
Griffin: [Michael Scott Drum Roll GIF]
Jen: Oh I’m positively excited to find out.
Brig: **Crosses fingers** please don’t let it be me, please don’t let it be me.
Rogan: Not this time, bro. It goes to your older sibling, Reid.
Brig: That’s a relief.
Jen: What did he do?
Griffin: Has to be really dumb for Rogan to be talking about it.
Rogan: He broke up with Eve.
Jen: What?!?!
Griffin: Uhh . . . why?
Brig: My heart just plummeted. **Whispers** The curse.
Rogan: Heard from Eve, just waiting for Reid to chime in.
Griffin: Care to share, bro?
Jen: Curious minds want to know why you’re an idiot.
Brig: My heart can’t take this rollercoaster of emotions.
Rogan: Reid . . .
I toss my phone to the other side of my living room couch. The last thing I want to fucking do right now is talk to them—not that I can anyway because they all seem to have a connection to Eve. And anything I say about the breakup will most likely get back to her. I can’t have that. Not when I’m barely hanging on by a thread.
It’s taken every ounce of energy left in my body to not drive up to the Inn and just stare at her from the bar.
Working with her, oh yeah, a real fucking treat—note the sarcasm. Seeing her, acting like everything is cool . . . it’s fucking killing me. A slow, torturous death.
But after just a week, I have to admit that we’ve all been working well together. Eric and I have been pairing flavors, figuring out a menu. Construction is in full force, and we really couldn’t ask for more.
Well, I could.
There’s a knock at my door, and before I can say, “Come in,” it opens. I don’t bother to look up, knowing full well it’s Eric, come to do some taste testing.
“You look like shit,” he says in greeting, taking a seat across from me at the table where I have everything set up.
“Yeah, well, when you force me to break up with your sister, this is what happens.” Even I can hear the bitterness in my voice.
“Don’t do that, Reid. If roles were reversed, you would have asked me to do the same exact thing.”
“Or you’re just trying to be a dick because I was a dick to you years ago.”
Eric sits back in his chair, slaps his notepad on the table, and crosses his arms over his chest. “So this is how it’s going to be? You’re not going to be able to be a mature adult about this? I didn’t ask you to break up with her because I was trying to be a dick. I asked you to break up with her because she’s a business partner. You and I both lost everything we ever wanted because I mixed business with pleasure, and it clouded my judgment. Even back then, you warned me against dating a coworker. I’m just installing the same guidelines here so that this time we can succeed.”
My jaw works back and forth as I stare down at the covered plates in front of us. The difference between the two of us, though, is that I fucking love Eve, I was with her before the opportunity came about, and restaurant or no restaurant, I don’t know if I want to wake up another day without her in my arms.
With every day that goes by without a text from her, without seeing that contagious smile or hearing her sharp tongue, I realize more and more just how attached I am to her. And every time I see her at Knight and Port, I wonder if I made the right decision. We’re working seamlessly right now, but we were beforehand too. Did I make a gigantic mistake and let go of the one thing in this world that truly made me happy?
In all honesty, I don’t think I’m good enough for someone like Eve—someone with so much damn confidence and drive. I may not be good enough, but what I do know is that she’s good for me.
But before I can say any of that, I swallow my pride and lift the cover off the first plate.
“A classic take on the baked bean sandwich. French toast bread, grilled and buttered, baked beans, crispy applewood bacon, cheese, and thinly sliced Granny Smith apples.”
“French toast bread? Like this is actual french toast?”
I nod, the previous conversation vanishing the minute we start talking food. “The idea came to me the other night when Griffin was going on and on in a text message about Ren wanting breakfast for dinner, french toast in particular. Since baked bean sandwiches are such a New England staple, I thought it would be fun to have a breakfast-for-dinner take on it.”
Eric picks up the sandwich, examines it with a sniff and a cautious eye, and then takes a large bite. The crispy bacon crunches against the soft beans and tart, fresh apple. I know it’s fucking good. I spent most of the afternoon perfecting it.
I push a small dish toward him. “Dip it in the bourbon-pecan glaze.”
“Oh, dude.” He smiles and dips the sandwich in the glaze before taking another bite. I swear his eyes roll into the back of his head as he slowly chews. And for a brief moment, I forget about my deep-rooted pain at the loss of Eve. And instead, I’m transported back in time to when I used to test new dishes and flavors with Eric. We spent so many long nights in the kitchen, trying to top one another with secret ingredients like on Top Chef, throwing each other off, and reveling in the challenge.
“This is damn good. Fuck, it’s really good.”
“Thanks.”
“This has to be on the menu, no question about it.” He picks up his notepad and starts writing down the details about the sandwich.
“Would you change anything? I wasn’t sure if I should add nutmeg or not.”
He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”
With a surge of pride, I uncover the next dish and pour the sauce on top before he picks it up. I didn’t want the bread going soggy.
“This is a take on a meatball sub. I made lobster balls with panko and egg as a binder with some lemon seasoning, and the sauce on top is a cheesy clam chowder, all on a New England bun, buttered and toasted.”