“I want to know when you’re seeing her next.”
“There is no next.”
“Well, why the hell not? This is Holly.”
“Exactly. She’s got her life and I’ve got mine.”
Jonah snorted. “That’s being generous.”
Ben crumpled up his schedule and threw it at him. “Back to business. I’ve got a tasting starting in an hour. Pop in and say hi to everyone. When guests come by they like to meet the farmer.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jonah threw the crumpled ball of paper back at him, and Ben caught it. “Show me the numbers, and I’ll come by more often.”
His brother was still skeptical about Ben’s idea to offer tastings to the public. Ben had done a handful so far, and learned pretty quickly. The first one was with a private group of eight guys visiting the area on a golf retreat. He’d charged a flat rate for the hour, but didn’t have an oyster limit: after they polished off two hundred in thirty minutes, Jonah enforced one prettyquickly. The next two tastings were mixed groups of tourists during an open two-hour window, with a rate by oyster. The first was too crowded, and the second only two people showed. Neither earned enough profit to make them viable. Ben’s latest pivot was to offer a “happy hour tasting” on Fridays and Saturdays, as well as preregistered tours. The tours would require taking people out to the oyster beds and explaining the methods and operations behind aquaculture, before returning to the dock for a tasting paired with local wines. As much as Ben had learned, Jonah was the expert, and getting him involved would make it more authentic and special for clients. “I’m setting up our first private tour tomorrow at five. Can I count you in for the fifteen minutes of it?”
Jonah was already halfway out the door. “Tomorrow? That’s our busiest delivery day.”
“And they’ll get done, in the morning. The tour is one hour. I’ve already gotten Saltwater Vineyard on the hook. They’re donating bottles as long as I agree to sell some on-site for guests to take home.”
“Great. So now we’re in the winery business, too?” Jonah raked his hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea how swamped we are with processing at the moment? The spat is growing like wildfire. We have to check the bags daily.”
Ben did know. He saw the circles under his brother’s eyes and the sunburn across his nose. He saw that his truck was in the driveway before Ben arrived each morning, and still there when he left at night.
“I can help with processing,” Ben offered.
“No.” Jonah shook his head. “You’re better with this…” He waved a hand toward Ben’s desk. “I’m on board for growingespecially when margins are tight, but let’s take it slow, alright? You love to push the envelope.”
Ben nodded. He knew he had a habit of getting ahead of himself. That inclination had led to him taking on some risky cases back at the firm, some of which had worked out very well for him, and a few which had blown up in his face. Over the years he’d honed that instinct, and this time it was telling him to push.
“I know we’re new, and I know you’re the heart of this operation,” Ben allowed. “You’re the one out there on the flats with the experience.”
“Exactly,” Jonah said, leveling him with a look.
“But you hired me to come in as the head. You said you wanted to innovate and to expand beyond traditional farming.”
“All true. Just don’t push too fast, okay?”
“As long as we don’t mail it in.”
Jonah shook his head. “There had better be beer at this tasting.”
Ben leaned back in his chair and swiveled to the window. The bay was glowing at that hour, the sun reflecting off the water in sheets of gold. Back at the firm, by this hour he’d probably be sitting at his computer for the seventh hour in a row. Or sitting in a deposition, probably not much shorter in duration. Working in insurance defense had been lucrative, if soul-gutting. Ben was good at his job as outside counsel for the insurance companies his firm had relationships with, but the better he got, the harder it was to like himself. Defending large insurance companies against individual policy holders whose claims were denied didn’t do much for his sense of character. The past year had been especially unbearable. At first hethought it was due to the aftermath of his divorce from Laura. Sure, they’d ended amicably, but it was still a blow to the life he’d looked forward to and no longer had. Despite how hard it was getting to go into work each day with any level of enthusiasm, he decided to give it more time, attributing his malaise to the transition he was going through. When six months passed and he’d settled into his new apartment, and even started to date a little bit again, he realized it wasn’t just the divorce. He couldn’t stomach the job. Too often he sat across the table from plaintiffs and their counsel listening as they detailed the costs of health care denial to the patient, their wives and husbands, their kids. There were medications denied and treatments that were delayed. Time, the most significant factor for many, was lost. And then, after all the suffering, and sometimes even losses, there were the exorbitant expenses accrued by these poor families to pursue their claims. The health insurance companies were giants; they held the funds and had the means and the legal support to defend themselves, even when Ben knew they were in the wrong. When Jonah called with his plans to move back east and buy the shellfish farm, Ben thought he was crazy. He told his brother as much when Jonah floated the idea that they partner up. And when he hung up from the call he realized: it was exactly what he needed.
Holly
When she woke, Holly let the gauzy light of early morning wash over her. All night she’d slept fitfully. What she wanted to do was slide back under the covers and tug the blanket over her head, but there was no chance of that happening. The countdown was over: the four-day wedding weekend was on. Quickly she showered, donned a smart linen sheath, and pulled her hair back in a sleek chignon.
Already firing up the espresso machine in the kitchen was Linus, dressed sharply. “Early bird,” Holly said appreciatively.
As she poured her coffee, she could feel the weight of his once-over. “Well, well. Very French,” he said approvingly, as he touched her hair.
“Don’t touch. It took me thirty minutes to twist that thing. You look pretty good yourself.”
He lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “I try. Besides, there’s this thing called overtime.”
She knew Linus was joking; she also knew that if he were any more of a fan of @savvysissy he’d officially cross over to stalker.“Sissy’s been up since six a.m. for goat yoga, and she’s already posting about the weekend!” he said, shoving his phone under Holly’s nose.
“Anything about us?”
