Then he spins on his heel and heads back toward his office.
He’s gone for a moment, leaving me with all my whirling thoughts, then he reappears as if he didn’t just shock me to my core.
“I’ll ask again tomorrow, Sunny.”
“Ezra!” I call his name, but he doesn’t stop.
He just keeps walking, and while I know I could follow him, I don’t.
Some people’s childhood homes smell like fresh-baked cookies or flowers. Some smell like freshly washed laundry or a nice, plump roast simmering in the Crock-Pot all afternoon.
Even after all these years, mine still smells like my mother—like honeysuckle. It has everything to do with the bushes that surround the front door. The same ones my mother planted when she was pregnant with me and tended to until she couldn’t anymore.
The same ones my father has maintained all these years.
It’s the first thing that greets me when I wake up, and that’s solely because I keep my windows open nearly all year long when I’m in Washington. Even when it gets unbearably chilly out, I still can’t bring myself to close them. I like the smell of the Pacific Northwest too much.
I peel my eyes open and take in my childhood bedroom. It still looks the same in so many ways, but a lot less childish than it once did. There are no longer posters of my favorite boy bands and celebrity crushes of the month covering the walls, and I’ve long since boxed up my old trophies and photos.
But everything else is the same. The same floral wallpaper that I picked out with my mother on my seventh birthday. The same bed anddresser my father got me for my sixteenth birthday. And the same full-length mirror hanging off the back of my closet.
It’s how I know I look like a complete wreck.
My bangs are pushed up from sleeping on my face and not pinning them back last night, and my eyes are tired from tossing and turning at all hours.
I want that person to be you.
Ezra’s offer replayed in my mind on a loop. I even put on a show on my iPad to help quiet it, but it didn’t work. All I did was end up missing three episodes ofGilmore Girls.
I both love and hate that he offered, just like I feel the same about telling him no last night.
I’m proud that I didn’t put myself back in that position again, especially when the wound from losing my last kitchen is still so fresh.
But, truthfully, I’m also sad that I said no.
It would be the perfect chance to finally make something of my own. That’s what I was trying to do with Lore,but the owners weren’t having it. They wouldn’t listen to me about the menu. They wouldn’t take into account my years of schooling, real-world experience, or advice on anything. They just wanted what they wanted.
The worst part is that I get it. I would be the same way with my kitchen. If I had the chance to create the menu at Stick Taps, I would feel sick if someone came in and tried to change it.
You could stay.
That little voice in the back of my head makes itself known. I could lie and say it means nothing, but it does, and it’s been there since I set foot back in Port Harbor.
I love this little town. It has my dad, who has been my hero my whole life. It has memories of my mother and the years I had with her. It has friends I’ve known since childhood. And I love the people because, even when everyone is all in one another’s business, they’re still respectful. It has everything I could ever need except for the opportunities Chicago gave me.
Opportunities I squandered, but still opportunities.
I’m just not sure if that’s enough to go back. I have a friend who is taking over my lease while I stay here to figure things out, but maybe that doesn’t have to be temporary. Maybe I could move back here.
I want that person to be you.
Ezra’s words rattle around in my head again, and the more I hear them, the more I like them.
Still, I’m scared. I can’t say yes, because what if I fail? What if what I create for themdoesn’twork like Ezra thinks it will? What if nobody orders from the new menu? What if they say what I make sucks?
There are too many “what-ifs,” and I can’t deal with them right now, so I tuck all the thoughts away and peel myself out of bed.
I get dressed for the day—which I thankfully have off from the cidery—and make my way to the living room, where I’m unsurprised to find my father enjoying a cup of coffee.
