Page 67 of How Not to Date a Griffin

He watched as Nolan swept the glass together, then bent to retrieve it with the dustpan before starting with another area.

Reid went for the bourbon, the burn in his throat similar to that of the anger within him, but instead of fanning the flames higher, it seemed to douse them. He slumped against the bartop.

Eventually, Nolan joined him at the bar, and laid a comforting palm on his shoulder. “Do you have some trash bags we can tape across the window?”

It jolted Reid out of his reverie, and he nodded. “Yeah, good idea.”

He gave Reid the unofficial tour of the back rooms, his office. Flipped over an envelope with red letters stamped across its front. Ignored the sympathy coming off Nolan in waves, and led him back out into the main area, tape and bags and some scissors in hand.

It went much faster with two people, whereas the last time Reid had done this, he’d had only himself to count on.

The warm air was once again shut out, this time by an attractive display of black plastic across the front of his restaurant.

“I’m really sorry,” Nolan said again.

Reid grabbed the dustpan and broom, the extra bags, and the tape, and returned them to their locations, ending in his office.

When he turned after placing the tape on the desk, he stopped to find Nolan filling his doorway.

“Are you okay?”

It was like Nolan could see right through him, and the care in his voice, the worry, made him crack.

He shook his head slowly, eyes slamming shut against the heat of tears behind his lids, and the next thing he knew Nolan was wrapped around him. A hand on the back of his neck pushed his head down into Nolan’s shoulder.

Reid sucked in huge, gasping breaths, filled with the citrus scent of Nolan. Bright and jarring and addicting and perfect.

Slowly he lifted his hands, slid them around Nolan’s waist, and held on tightly.

“It’ll be okay,” Nolan promised. But he didn’t know that. He didn’t know about the stack of unpaid bills and the notices in red letters. He didn’t know that Reid lived above the restaurant because he’d had to sell his place to cover some of the expenses. He didn’t know how hard it was.

Reid focused on his breathing, and swallowed his tears and his worries.

“I started this restaurant because of my mom,” Reid admitted, the words soft and sorrowful in Nolan’s neck.

Nolan stroked a hand up his back, warm and comforting. “Yeah?”

He nodded and sniffled. “Yeah. We were poor. Couldn’t afford a whole lot. And I spent my whole childhood wishing for more, never able to see that she did all she could. I’d wished we had a place like this to come to. To feel fancy, even if it was for one night.”

“Oh, Reid,” Nolan whispered. “You were just a kid.”

“I know. And kids aren’t supposed to feel the financial strain of their parents. And Mom was so good at taking care of us, we never knew. But I think I did, deep down. I mean, she worked two jobs and was never home, and my older brother got a job as soon as he could find someone to hire him, to pay him a little under the table. And meanwhile, I… I just wished for more, without appreciating what I had.”

“That’s part of being a kid. That’s every kid’s experience.”

But Reid hated it. He felt so guilty it kept him awake most nights. “I think I made her feel like she wasn’t enough. And I hate that,” he said, voice breaking. “Fuck.”

He pulled away, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, and leaned against the desk.

“I never got to tell her I was sorry. That I appreciated everything she did for us,” he muttered, crossing his arms and staring down at the floor

“But you made this for her,” Nolan said gently, motioning to the building around them. “A place for families to come together, to feel special together, like you said.”

But not for long. Not if your father has any say in it.

Reid was afraid of failing. Again. Failing this restaurant like he’d failed his mom, and then he really would be left with nothing.

Nolan didn’t understand that Reid was one, just one costly accident away from losing it all.