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“We can’t very well be together next May if you don’t come back.”
“True enough. And there’s the whole opening a business here too.”
“So that’s one hundred percent? You’re going to do that here?”
“Are you guys gonna just stand there at the bar all night or do you plan to dance with us?” Charlee asked, rushing up to us, breathless.
“Nate’s not much of a dancer,” I said.
“Get a few more beers in ’em,” Lucas said, sidling his way up to the bar, “and it’s a different story.”
Our more serious conversation dropped for now, I picked up on Lucas’s lighthearted tone. “Yeah? Then how about another round. I’d like to see this drunk-dancing Nate.”
Nate rolled his eyes, but there was laughter behind them.
So, he’d be going home next week. I wondered for how long. Actually, I wondered a lot of things, but pushing hadn’t worked very well with Erik, and I didn’t want to make the same mistakes. It would all work out in time.
Go with the flow, Zoe.
Problem was, I’d never been very good at that. Patience might be a virtue, but it wasn’t one of mine. I supposed this situation with Nate, loving a man who was in a major adjustment period in his life, was going to force a bit of patience on me. Like it or not.
Life lessons. Damn inconvenient little buggers if you asked me.
CHAPTER THIRTY
nate
“A restaurant? In a small town on the Finger Lakes?”
My brother didn’t just seem skeptical. He looked at me like I was nuts. But that wasn’t anything new for him.
“Yeah, Ben, a restaurant on the Finger Lakes. Is there a problem with that?”
We sat at the kitchen table, one that seemed so much smaller now than it had when we were growing up. It was just the two of us, my parents playing in a Tuesday night couples’ golf league. Apparently, that was their new thing, golfing together.
Although none of us lived at home anymore, Ben had come over to see me since he had been out of town when I came back a few weeks ago. I should have known the two of us getting along was basically delegated to when we weren’t in the same room.
Ben could be a condescending prick. He accused me of being an emotional void. The two of us had always been like oil and vinegar. I loved my older brother. Respected the hell out of him. But I didn’t always like him.
“I just don’t see it.”
“See what?” I shot back, grabbing the last celery stick. Not that I particularly liked celery, but Mom had cut them up and put them out with some carrots and hummus, both of which I liked even less than celery.
“You owning a restaurant.”
“That was always the plan,” I reminded him.
“Sure, by default. But you don’t cook. Usually people open restaurants because they like to cook.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“Maybe I like the idea of owning my own business. I have money saved—”
“Okay, but why a restaurant? Why not a bar? That would seem to suit you more.”
“There’s a new bar already in Kitchi Falls, not far from one already established. And a popular new brewery not far away. That wouldn’t fly.”
