My parents weren’t great friends with Eve’s parents, who were quite a bit older, but they were still cordial and kind and would have them over for dinner on occasion. So when Eve and Eric lost both their parents, they were there for my friends, but I wouldn’t expect them to remember the days they passed.
“Today’s the anniversary of Jay’s death.”
“Oh dear, how could we forget?” Mom says just as Dad turns around to face me for the first time.
“Is Eric in town?”
I shake my head. “No, but I did go out to the cemetery. Eve was there by herself. I gave her privacy while she talked with her parents, and when she was done, I took her out to lunch so she wasn’t by herself.”
A look of pride washes over my mom’s features. “That was very sweet of you, Reid. Where is she now? Would she like to come over for dinner? I would hate for her to be alone tonight.”
“She’s getting ready to go over to Rylee’s. They’re having a girls’ night over there. I’m going to head up to the LI after dinner, just in case she decides to show up. I don’t want any dickheads trying to take advantage of her right now.”
“Is that what the hip kids are calling the Lighthouse Inn now? The LI?” Dad asks.
“Yup. Dare you to say it in front of the town elders.” I wiggle my eyebrows, trying to entice him.
He doesn’t fall for it. “And risk getting my ass handed to me? I’ll pass.” Stirring the pot again, he says, “Did Eve say why Eric didn’t come back?”
“Work, I guess. But I doubt that was the truth.”
Silence falls in the kitchen as a big pink elephant comes stomping into the small space, blowing his trunk and announcing his entrance.
The restaurant.
The failure.
The broken friendship.
The reason why Eric Roberts really isn’t back in Port Snow.
Because of me.
Mom clears her throat. “Have you spoken with him lately?”
I lift the bottle of water to my lips, stalling for a few seconds. “Nope.”
A year ago, my parents would have followed up my answer with encouragement to reach out to him, to mend the broken friendship. But by now they know it’s a lost cause, and they let my answer slowly float through the air.
“Well,” my mom says, taking some flour and tossing it on the center island. “Why don’t you help me make some biscuits then?”
I hop down from the counter and press a kiss to her cheek. “You know I don’t cook anymore, Mom. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
With a parting glance at the spaghetti sauce—just from the scent, I know it needs a touch more basil—I speed out of the kitchen, make my way up the old set of stairs that I’ve climbed far too many times to count, and take a quick glance out the window, where light flakes of snow start to descend to the ground. Will this snow ever end?
My parents always try to get me involved in the kitchen in a not-so-subtle way. They want me to jump back into my old life, and I always turn them down. Those days are behind me.
I’m a different man now, with a different path. But despite my vow to never make another meal, every fiber of my being longs to chop a fresh crop of vegetables, to smash herbs between my fingers and take in a deep whiff.
My heart craves the kitchen, but I just can’t bring myself to feed it.
CHAPTER FOUR
EVE
“Want another?” Rylee asks, wobbling up to me with a pitcher of piña colada in her hand. She’s gone with the whole tropical theme tonight—Hawaiian shirt, steel drum music, and blow-up palm trees included.
And I would be remiss not to mention the tiny umbrellas that garnish our drinks.
“I’m good.” I hold up my hand, feeling a little tipsy. I want to hold on to that feeling, but I don’t want to get wasted; I just want to ease the ache in my stomach. I might put on an act, force a smile, and show everyone that everything’s okay, but in reality, the burn of my dad’s death, of this day, has set a fire in the pit of my stomach. Even though the company is nice, I’m at the point where I’m ready to just be alone. At least I think that’s what I want.
“You sure? I bought lots and lots of booze, so feel free to drink it all.”
I chuckle as her words slur. Good luck, Beck. “Not concerned about drinking all your booze.”
“Well, it’s here if you want it. You know Beck doesn’t drink, so someone is going to have to make a dent in it.”
Harper comes tottering over to me, wearing her bikini top and a pair of sweats. “Wowee, these drinks are strong. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Please tell me Rogan’s picking you up tonight.”
“Oh yeah, I told him we could do it on the counter again after I was done here.”
Lovely.
She holds up her phone. “He keeps texting me to see if it’s T-minus naked time yet.” She leans in, rum heavy on her breath. “I FaceTimed him in the bathroom and flashed him a boob. Let’s just say . . . he’s on his way.”
“Flashed him a boob, huh? Classy.” I wink.
She flips her red hair. “That’s me, pure class.” She stares down at my cup, hooks her finger on the lip, and pulls it closer. When she sees it’s still halfway full, her eyes widen. “Hey, how come you didn’t get a refill?”
“I want to be able to open my eyes tomorrow without wearing sunglasses.”
“What are we talking about?” Ren, Griffin’s girlfriend, asks. As a new-to-town algebra teacher, she was driven off the road by a wayward moose, but Griffin came to her rescue. It was a long and interesting courtship, especially since Griffin had to get over losing his wife, but they are adorable together, and I’m so glad Ren is a part of our little group.
“Eve here wants to be able to see tomorrow,” Harper says, jabbing her thumb in my direction.
I shake my head. “I’m just not getting super drunk, that’s all.”
“Griffin sent me a text asking if I was drunk and if I wanted to get frisky later.” Ren giggles. “I sent him back a GIF of an old lady humping the ground. Gave him the green light.”
“Wow, looks like the Knightly boys are getting lucky tonight.”
“Maybe Reid can get lucky.” Harper nudges me with her pointy elbow.
“Stop that.” I swat her away. “That’s never going to happen. He’s a good friend. He actually . . .” I swallow hard, wondering why I’m about to say this, blaming the alcohol. “He actually surprised me at the cemetery today. Told me he didn’t want me to be alone and then took me out to lunch. It was nice.”
Ren clasps her hands to her chest. “See? I just knew that boy had some of that sweet and kind Knightly blood inside of him. He isn’t always a smart-ass.”
“Oh, you should have known him growing up,” Harper says, taking another long sip of her drink, her cheeks puckering before the reminiscing begins. “He was always getting on Rogan’s and Griffin’s nerves. It was like he was born with this special knack for driving his brothers crazy. A negotiator, a poke-the-bear kind of guy, a weasel when he knew what he wanted. The number of times Griff and Rogan had to pay him off not to rat them out to their parents . . . you know, I think that’s when he really started saving for the restaurant. Funded by his brothers.”