Page 42 of Neap & Spring

“About six months after we opened, things started changing,” he says. “She got distant and stressed. Said she was worried about money. And I believed her. I was worried too. Restaurants are hard, especially in the first few years. I thought it was normal.”

He picks up his coffee again and takes a long drink even though it must be getting cold by now. His throat works as he swallows slowly.

“Anyway, she started working late. Spending more time in the office and less time on the floor. I told myself she was just focused on the business side. She was trying to figure out how to make the numbers work. I didn’t question it.”

His hands tighten around the mug. I can see his fingers pressing into the ceramic, like he’s trying to crush it.

“Then one morning, I came in early. Around five or so. I was going to prep for a private event we had that night. And I saw the light on in the office.”

I can see where this is going and I don’t want to hear it. But I can’t stop him. I can’t even form words to ask him to stop.

“She was at the desk. Books open. Laptop on. Calculator out. When she saw me, she tried to close everything and act like nothing was wrong. But I’d already seen it.”

He sets the mug back down. His hands are shaking slightly now.

“The accounts were wrong. There should have been more money. A lot more. And when I made her show me everything, there it was. Monthly transfers. Thousands of dollars. Going back months and months. She’d been taking money out of the business account and putting it somewhere else.”

My hand goes to my mouth. I can’t help it. I press my fingers against my lips, hard enough to hurt.

“She didn’t even try to deny it,” Callum says, and there’s something almost awed in his voice. Like he still can’t believe it. “I asked her what she’d done, and she just — said it. Said she’d been seeing someone else. And she was leaving. She’d already packed her stuff and moved out of her apartment while I was at work the day before.”

He says her apartment with a wry twist to his mouth, like he’s only just now noticing it.

“Maybe that was the sign,” he adds, quieter, almost to himself. “Engaged and we still had separate leases.” He puffs out a short, humorless laugh. “Should’ve figured.”

“Callum, I am so sorry.” I breathe, but it feels minuscule to the moment.

“She said she was sorry,” he continues like I haven’t even spoken. His eyes are distant now, like he’s seeing it all over again. “She said she didn’t mean for it to happen and that she’d tried to make it work with me, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. And then she left. Just walked out and left me standing there with the books open and the restaurant drowning and no idea how to fix any of it.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

I can’t breathe. The air is too thick. My chest is tight. My ribs are constricting around my heart.

“Did you —” My voice comes out hoarse. “Did you go to the police? Press charges?”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “I tried. I talked to a lawyer. But she was smart about it. She was on all the accounts. Legitimate business partner, co-owner, and fiancée. Technically, she had legal access to the money. And she’d been moving it to a joint account we’d opened together, then transferring it out from there. The lawyer said we could try to sue, but it would be expensive and would probably take years. And there was no guarantee we’d win or that she’d even have any money left to take.”

He drags a hand through his hair again, the familiar motion causing my eyes to tear up.

“I couldn’t afford a legal battle. I could barely afford to keep the doors open. So I had to let it go and just accept that the money was gone and figure out how to survive without it.”

God. That’s even worse. She got away with it.

“I had to tell everyone,” he says quietly. “My dad. My brothers. The staff. The investors who’d believed in me from the beginning — they were furious. They almost pulled out completely. I had to beg them to stay, and in the end, I had to bring on a few new investors just to cover what she took and keep the doors open. More money meant more debt, more people to answer to, more promises I had to keep. I had to explain to all of them that the woman I was supposed to marry had stolen from me and disappeared. I had to admit that I didn’t see it coming and that I’d been so focused on the restaurant, I missed all the signs.”

He laughs, but it’s hollow and empty.

“I promised them all I’d work day and night and do whatever it took. And I have. For two years, I’ve been doing whatever it takes. But the debt —” He shakes his head. “It’s so much. The loan payments are killing us. Almost every dollar we make goes straight to paying it back, and there’s never enough.”

I feel like I’m going to be sick. My stomach is churning, acid rising in my throat.

“I don’t think I loved her. But I did trust her,” he says, and his voice cracks slightly. “But it doesn’t matter. She still took everything. Not just the money. But that trust and the dream. The belief that I could build something good with someone. She took all of it.”

He looks at me finally, and his eyes are so tired.

“And I’ve spent years trying to convince myself that I’m better off alone. That trusting people, letting them in and building something with them — it’s not worth it. Because they’ll just leave. They’ll take what they want and leave me with the mess.”

The implication hangs between us.