Page 32 of Neap & Spring

“That’s the one.”

Hayes sits back in his chair, running his hand over his mouth. “Well. Fuck.”

Dad doesn’t even correct him this time.

Beckett is staring at me like I’ve just told him the ocean is on fire. “How? How is that even possible? Did she know? Did you know?”

“She knew,” I say, and the bitterness in my voice surprises even me. I let go of the beer bottle to run my hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. “She looked at the file and saw my name but came anyway.”

“And you didn’t know?” Wesley asks, brows raised.

“Nope. I stupidly didn’t look at the file. I figured it didn’t matter who they sent.” I pick up my spoon then set it down again, the restless energy needing somewhere to go. “So imagine my surprise when she walked into my restaurant.”

“Jesus,” Beckett breathes.

“What did you say?” Hayes asks. “When you saw her? It’s been what — five years?”

I let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “Something along the lines of ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’”

Dad winces slightly but doesn’t comment on the language.

“And what did she say?” Beckett presses.

“Not much. She said she could leave and get the investors to send someone else.” I drag a hand down my face, feeling the stubble rasp under my palm. “Seems to be what she’s good at,” I mumble then sigh loudly. “I told her to stay.”

All four of them stare at me.

“You told her to stay,” Hayes repeats slowly.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re six months away from losing everything!” The words come out sharper than I intended, and my hand slaps the table, causing the bowls to rattle. “Because the restaurant is doing well. The food is good. The reviews are solid. We’re getting new customers every day. But none of that matters when you’re drowning in debt. I need help whether I like it or not. She’s supposed to be good at this, and if she can actually save the restaurant, then I need to put my personal shit aside and let her do her job.”

There’s a heavy tension around the table. They all know what I’m talking about. They know the debt isn’t from bad business decisions or failed ventures. They know exactly where it came from, and they know I’m still paying for someone else’s choices.

“Cal —” Dad starts, his voice hesitant.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

I’m not fine. I’m so far from fine I can’t even see fine anymore. I push my bowl away, suddenly not hungry. “We’re keeping it professional. She does her consulting thing. I run my kitchen. We barely talk. It’s working.”

“Is it?” Wesley asks quietly.

I look at him. He’s the only one who knows how bad it’s been this past week. The countless sleepless nights. The anger that sits under my skin is like a low-grade fever at this point. I’ve been avoiding my own restaurant because being in the same room as her makes me feel like I’m being drawn and quartered.

“No,” I admit, and my voice sounds rough even to my own ears. “It’s not.”

Dad reaches over and puts his hand on my arm. “Tell us what you need.”

That’s the thing about my family. They don’t tell me what to do. They don’t offer unsolicited advice or try to fix it without asking because they know I don’t want that. They just show up and ask what I need.

The problem is, I don’t know.

I stare down at the table. I trace the grooves worn into the wood with my fingers, my throat tight.

“I don’t know,” My voice cracks slightly. “I don’t know what I need. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to work with her when —” I stop and take a deep breath, my chest expanding, then releasing. “When I don’t understand why she even left in the first place. I thought we were in —” I stop, refusing to go there.