I narrow my eyes at him, shifting in my seat, hoping he doesn’t notice it. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.
“Sorry that I wasn’t at the cidery for your first day back,” he says a few moments later. “Those damn delivery guys kept giving me the runaround with the machines. I won’t be ordering from them again.”
“That sucks. But you got it sorted, right?”
“Yep, she’s plugged in and looking good. Plays nicely too.” He takes another sip of his wine, then sets the glass down. “Saw something interesting on the way home tonight.”
“Oh?” I ask, shoveling another bite of food into my mouth. He’s right that the chicken is just a bit overdone, and I’m impressed he realizes that.
“Sunnie’s is for sale.”
I’ve been doing so well all day not thinking about it. Or at least trying really, really hard not to. But the second he says it, my heart does that same hammering thing it did earlier.
“I heard something about that.” My words are cool and calm.
“Could be a good place for a new restaurant. Great location, that’s for sure.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say noncommittally, taking a bite of the crescent roll, even though I’m suddenly feeling full. I just need something to do to distract me from the hopeful way Ezra is staring at me. It reminds me too much of the look my father gave me earlier.
He sets his fork down. “I’m saying you should buy it, Summer.”
I sigh, pushing my plate away. “No.”
He works his jaw back and forth. “Why not?”
“Because not all of us are former hotshot hockey players with money burning holes in our pockets, Ezra. I can’t afford it, for starters. And even if I could, I’m not doing it. I don’t want to.”
“Okay—I get the financial aspect of it, but I’m not buying that you don’t want to. I’ve seen the way you’re giving your all to the menu at the cidery, and I’m excited as hell to have you working there, but imagine doing that for a place that’s all your own. You deserve that.”
“You’ve never even seen me in a kitchen. Not really. How do you know I don’t suck?”
“Because I knowyou, Summer, and I believe in you.”
He believes in me?I hate that such a simple statement makes my stomach do flips, especially when this ... whatever this is we’re doing ... it’s not supposed to mean anything.
When itdoesn’tmean anything because it can’t.
“Look,” I say, rising from my chair, my plate in hand as I take it over to the sink. “I appreciate your vote of confidence—I truly do—but my answer is still no.”
He sighs, following behind me. “Fine, but we aren’t done talking about this.”
“Are too.”
“Are not.”
I glare over at him and point to the mess we’ve made in the kitchen. “Stop being annoying and start cleaning.”
“Yes, Chef,” he says with a grin, grabbing a towel and slinging it over his shoulder.
We work together for the next twenty minutes to restore the kitchen to where it was before we started his lesson, and I spend the entire time thinking about Ezra’s words.
Because I knowyou, Summer, and I believe in you.
I wish I had the same faith he does, but I don’t. Once upon a time, maybe, but losing something you’ve worked so hard for, like I did—folding under the pressure—it does something to you. It shakes you up. I ... I can’t trust myself anymore. I’ve never admitted that before, but it’s true. It’s why it’s taking me so long to refine this damn menu for the cidery. It’s why I’m dragging my heels in deciding to stay in Port Harbor. Because what if the choice I make is the wrong one? What if I try something and I fail again? Can I bounce back from that?
I ... I don’t know, and I’m not willing to find out.
“Hey, Sunny?” Ezra says a while later. We’re lying in his bed, his fingers playing with the ends of my brown locks as we watch something mindless on TV.
