Saving the restaurant meant accepting that Eva was gone. It meant admitting that her dream had become mine to protect. And I had already failed her once.
Jack rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced toward the kitchen. “Will says we’re low on supplies again.”
“Then buy more.”
“With what money?”
I did not answer.
The kitchen door swung open, and Will stepped out with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. He was a quiet guy in his mid-twenties with a permanently serious expression around me and the kind of focused demeanour that made it clear he cared far more about cooking than conversation. Jack had hired hima year ago after our previous chef quit when we missed two months of paycheques. Will had stayed anyway. I still was not entirely sure why.
“You should eat something,” Will said.
“I’m fine.”
“You said that yesterday, too.”
“I was fine yesterday.”
He studied me for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as if he was deciding whether the argument was worth the effort. After a second, he shook his head and disappeared back into the kitchen.
The faint clatter of dishes drifted out from the kitchen.
I looked around slowly across the empty tables, the faded paint along the walls, and the bar where Eva used to sit beside me after closing.
“Maybe it should just close,” I said finally.
Jack’s head snapped up. “You don’t mean that.”
“Why not?” I asked as I finished the whisky in one swallow. “It’s already dying.”
“This place is the last piece of Eva you have left.”
I stared down at the empty glass in front of me.
Jack reached for the bottle again but hesitated before pouring. “You ever think maybe drinking yourself into the ground isn’t what she would have wanted?”
A bitter laugh slipped out of me. “Eva doesn’t get a say anymore.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “She would if you stopped pretending she doesn’t matter.”
I finally looked up at him. Really looked at him. “Everything that mattered to me died in Nepal.”
Jack did not flinch. Instead, he simply poured another drink and slid the glass toward me. “Then maybe it’s time you stopped burying yourself with them.”
I stared at the whisky for a long moment before picking it up again.
Because the truth was, I did not know how to do anything else.
And somewhere deep down, a part of me did not believe I deserved to.
The front door opened, and a rush of cool air swept inside along with the soft sound of rain tapping against the floor just inside the entrance.
Jack glanced toward the door automatically.
At first, I barely looked up. I assumed it was just another customer stopping in for a quick drink before leaving.
But then I heard a small, familiar voice.
