Page 76 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“The restaurant business is brutal, Clem. You know that. It chews people up and spits them out, and sometimes even the good ones get twisted by the pressure. That doesn’t make it okay, but it might help explain why someone you thought you could trust would disappoint you.”

I leaned against the coffee shop’s window, feeling some of the fight go out of me. Dad always had this way of reframing things that made my problems feel less catastrophic, more manageable.

“I just thought he was better than that,” I admitted quietly.

“Maybe he is. Maybe this was him at his worst, not his truest self. People are complicated, sweetheart. Even the ones who seem larger than life.”

We were quiet for a moment. I could hear the familiar sounds of home in the background. The television murmuring from the living room, the distant clatter of dishes being put away in the kitchen. It made my chest ache with longing.

“You know what?” Dad said. “I’ve been dying to tell someone about Henry’s game tonight. You should have seen your little brother out there, Clem. Three touchdowns in the first half!”

Despite everything, I felt myself smile for the first time all evening. “Three? Seriously?”

“I’m telling you, the kid was unstoppable. Coach moved him to running back for this game, and he just took off like a rocket. Your mom was screaming so loud I think she scared the other team’s parents.”

I laughed. “I can picture it perfectly. Was she doing the thing where she jumps up and down and claps her hands like a seal?”

“Oh yeah, the full performance. She nearly knocked over a couple people. Then spent ten minutes apologizing and explaining that her baby boy was having the game of his life.”

The mental image was so vivid I could see it. Dad would have been more contained but no less proud, standing with his hands in his pockets and that satisfied grin he got whenever one of his kids succeeded at something they’d worked hard for.

“I wish I could have been there,” I said. The homesickness hit me like a physical blow. “I should have been in the stands with my ridiculous air horn, embarrassing him in front of whatever girl he has a crush on these days.”

“Jenny Morrison,” Dad supplied helpfully. “Blonde ponytail, on the JV cheerleading squad. He turns bright red every time she says hi to him in the hallway.”

“Jenny Morrison!” I exclaimed. “She must be what, a sophomore now?”

“Yeah, and apparently no longer has braces. Jake’s been casually asking about her favorite candy for the past two weeks, trying to work up the courage to buy her something.”

The sweetness of it made my heart squeeze. My little brother was growing up into someone who got nervous around pretty girls and scored touchdowns and made our parents cheer until their voices gave out.

“I miss so much being away,” I said softly.

“I know, sweetheart. We miss you too. But you know what? You’ll be home in just a few weeks for Thanksgiving, and we’ll all be there for the grand opening of the new soup kitchen.”

The soup kitchen had been Dad’s pet project for the past two years—his way of giving back to the community that had supported our family’s restaurant for so long. He’d been working with the city and several local organizations to renovate an old building downtown, turning it into a proper community kitchen that could serve hundreds of meals a day to anyone who needed them.

“How’s it coming along?” I asked, letting myself get distracted by something positive.

“Better than I hoped,” Dad said. I could hear the excitement in his voice.

“Yeah?”

“The whole building is coming together beautifully,” Dad continued. “Fresh paint, new flooring, proper ventilation systems. It’s going to be everything I dreamed it could be. I can’t wait for you to see it. I know you’re going to love it.”

I had no doubt I would. The soup kitchen represented everything I admired about my father. Everyone would get to see his generosity and his belief that food was about more than just profit or prestige. He believed a good meal could change someone’s entire day. It was the kind of project that reminded me why I’d fallen in love with cooking in the first place.

We talked for another few minutes about logistics and timelines, and by the time I finally hung up, I felt lighter than I had all evening. Not completely better, but somewhat. The hurt and anger from my confrontation with Rhett was still there, but not nearly as heavy.

Dad had reminded me there was a whole life waiting for me beyond this tour, beyond Rhett’s approval or disapproval.

The hotel lobby was nearly empty when I walked through the automatic doors, just a few guests sitting in the bar area and the night desk clerk reading a paperback novel behind the reception counter. I headed for the elevators, already thinking about a hot shower and maybe ordering room service.

I was almost to the elevators when I heard voices from the hallway that led to the guest rooms. Familiar voices, one of them slurred and stumbling, the other tense with frustration.

“Come on, Conroy, work with me here. Just a few more steps.”

I paused, recognizing Rhett’s voice. He sounded irritated. Curiosity got the better of me. I peered around the corner to see him half-carrying, half-dragging Conroy toward the elevators. Conroy was clearly drunk as a skunk. He had that loose-limbed stumble that made him look like a marionette with cut strings.

“I’m fine,” Conroy was insisting, his words sliding together in a way that suggested he was anything but fine. “Perfectly capable of walking by myself.”

“Sure you are,” Rhett muttered, adjusting his grip on Conroy’s arm as the other man swayed dangerously to the left. “That’s why you tried to tip the cab driver with your room key and asked him to drive you to ‘wherever the bourbon lives.’”

I found myself almost smiling at the scene. Rhett looked like he was wrestling with a particularly uncooperative scarecrow.

They were making slow progress down the hallway, Conroy stopping every few steps to gesture emphatically at something. I should have just gone to my room, pretended I hadn’t seen anything, avoided any interaction that might reignite the emotions I had finally got under control.

Rhett looked up and saw me. “Can you give me a hand here?”

“It looks like you have it handled,” I said, the words coming out cool. “Goodnight.”

The elevator doors slid closed, and I left him to finish dragging Conroy to their own elevator.

I felt a little guilty, but just because he was taking care of his drunk friend didn’t erase what had happened in that storage tent. It didn’t make his cruel words any less cutting.