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The break-in isn’t exactly a secret Cassandra asked me to keep, and I don’t want to freak my mother out that someone was trespassing so close to her own house.
“Cassandra is just having a problem, and I don’t think the department is handling it seriously at all because of who she is. Or I don’t think Nikolai is taking it seriously.”
“Cassandra, huh?” Mom doesn’t let that one slide.
I shrug. “We’re … seeing each other. And I’m going to tell the others, but maybe let us have a grace period first?”
Telling someone in my family is not only a huge relief, but it makes it feel more real. Cassandra and I are only in the beginning stages, but it feels more monumental than any relationship I’ve had before. It should scare me, but this innate sense at the back of my neck tells me I might have stumbled into my forever.
Mom doesn’t look disapproving, as much as worried. “I think I might agree with not telling your father for now. But only because … well, you always loved complicated, didn’t you, my boy? There are a lot of obstacles where she is concerned, and I want you to be happy but just tread carefully. As for Nikolai, that’s bullcrap. If something happened to her, he has a duty to investigate, no matter who she is. Like I said, people in this town are shameful when it comes to that young woman.”
“She’s nothing like people assume, Ma. Cassandra is kind and considerate, very down to earth for someone with such a big life. We want such similar things, and the way I feel about her …” I trail off, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“You really think this girl could be the one.” It’s not a question as I turn to Mom, who now has a sheen of glisten to her eyes.
“Could be.” My voice is gruff because I’m trying not to get ahead of myself.
Mom chuckles, but I hear the emotion in her voice. “I always knew it wouldn’t be easy for you. In the back of my head, I knew you’d need this once in a thousand lifetimes kind of love. Like your father and me. The other women were wonderful, but … well, itwouldhappen this way for you.”
“Let’s hold our horses. It’s been like three weeks.” I laugh because this is an awfully deep conversation for the lunch counter.
“I knew I was in love with your dad five minutes into our first date. He took me for ice cream sophomore year of high school, and that was that.”
I’ve heard that story a hundred times, and it still sticks with me. How my parents knew right away, even at their age.
A part of me sensed that with Cassandra the minute I saw her in her field, watching me on my quad all those years ago.
It just took me a while to get it through my thick skull.
19
PATRICK
Even though my brother is grumpy and nonverbal most of the time, he insists we go out for a beer once a weekend.
I think he thinks he’s bonding with me, and Liam has always been a good sibling, so I humor him because once upon a time, something crawled up his ass and died. I don’t quite remember exactly when the change occurred, seems like sometime in high school, but my jovial, cocky brother turned into this shell of a person and never really came back.
A time or two, when I’ve convinced him to drink whiskey instead of lager, I’ve tried to siphon the information out of him. But he gives me this forlorn look and says something like, “what I thought my life would be walked away years ago.”
And shit, if that isn’t fucking depressing.
Which is why I sit next to him at the bar of the Laura Inn, our favorite spot in downtown Hope Crest to grab a drink. It’s a modern hotel attached to a log-cabin inn built before the Revolutionary War. You can still stay in one of the old rooms, but the owners of the inn added a hundred fully upgraded rooms that still fit the aesthetic. It’s all gold metal and light wood in here, with black light fixtures and a slate black bar that stands out among the seventy or so tables seating people for dinner. With a mix of raw shellfish and quaint split chicken, their menu is delicious. And the drinks they serve are top-notch, not to mention top-shelf.
The Laura Inn is one of the less rowdy bars on the main strip downtown, with bars like Halara and Renaissance drawing a younger twenties crowd due to their dance floors and cheaper pours. Back in the day, when I was about twenty-two and fresh out of college, you could find me and my high school friends shutting down those bars. Even as a guy who wanted to get married young, I’d done my fair share of partying. But I’m tired now, nearing an age when I don’t want to be drinking alone downtown at all hours of the night.
Abraham, the owner, has been a family friend since he and Dad started on the Hope Crest business council decades ago, and he waves at us as he passes through to his office in the back. Hope Pizza closed about an hour ago, and we find ourselves two beers deep at the bar around ten p.m.
“I’m not even thirty yet and this feels damn late,” I joke, sipping my beer while watching the flat-screen showing a baseball playoff game.
“Not going to make a joke about it being ancient for me?” my brother quips.
“Nah, too easy. Evan is probably just getting up.” I snort, thinking of our little brother.
“That little shit better be coming home soon. I can’t hear Dad gripe one more time about training him on the line.”
Evan was supposed to be back months ago, but instead is working in fine dining in California. Our dad is silently pissed, while Mom is trying to be understanding and supportive but growing more weary by the day. I know why, and while I’ve tried to talk to Evan a handful of times, he’s like any early twenty-something; he thinks he knows best.
“He’s getting some great experience there, and maybe he’s just hoping to bring some new recipes back with him.” I shrug, trying to take up for our sibling.
