Page 53 of Second Tide's the Charm
“It’s a—” I blink, trying to find my equilibrium “—it’s just a Long Island. Rhonda got inspired to fancy up the place and thinks they need signature cocktails. Angie is fighting her every step of the way.”
“What did she mean about having you to thank?”
“She thinks I’m some sort of branding genius. I’ve told her a lot of that is due to Marissa, and now Gabe. I’m just the talent,” I joke.
She shakes her head. “You’re more than that.”
“I know. But sometimes I don’t feel like the right guy for the job.” I rest my elbow on the bar, turning to face her. “I’m not spontaneous. I don’t up and start YouTube channels.”
“But you did.”
“I did, yeah.”
“And it worked out. Millions of followers.” She grins. “Everywhere we go, you’ve got fans.”
Glancing around, I ask, “Who?”
“Uh, the two women who own this place?”
“Now you’re just messing with me.”
She shakes her head, expression serious again. “Before, I hadn’t given it much thought. But I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t believe in what you’re doing. And as for your platform—” her eyes meet mine, and my breath catches “—it’s mind-blowing, what you’ve accomplished. You don’t need to hear me say it, but I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
I shake my head, throat tight with emotion. “It was really great to hear, actually.”
She shrugs. “Like you care what I think.”
“What does that mean?”
Dodging her eyes away, she says, “Nothing. Just that I’m sure you hear it plenty from people you care about.”
She’s who I care about. If it weren’t for the rules we put in place, I’d be tempted to tuck a finger under her jaw and tilt up her chin until she looked at me with those gorgeous eyes. I’d tell her how horribly I missed her. How I could have all the success in the world, and without her, it feels empty. How I would trade it all for a chance to go back in time and be there for her.
Yearning floods me so strongly that I clench my fists tight against the sensation, or maybe to hold it tight. I want to believe things would be different. That I could trust us not to let go. But the hurt of rejection is too strong to ignore.
Hope’s still watching me, and I swallow, running my thumb down the condensation on my glass. “Honestly, I’m afraid of letting everyone down. What if I feel differently about all this in five years and want out? I’m just not sure it’s a forever thing, if it’s sustainable long-term.”
“Is that so scary? It not being permanent?”
“Not for you, I guess.” I realize that sounds like a jab, and rush to explain. “You’ve never been concerned about worst-case scenarios. Or maybe you have, but you don’t let that stop you.” I smile at her. “Your parents chose your name right.”
Hope.She always told me it felt like a verb, not a noun. Not a name. An action, or worse, a concept, undefinable. But I know that’s not the case. It’s her—she’s the definition of Hope.
“They chose it because they always knew I’d come along. Just like they knew they were destined for each other.” She makes a skeptical face. “Or so they say. I sure never thoughtIwas destined for anyone.”
I’ve had a lot of time to think about this topic since she left. “I don’t think we are.” She looks up, curious, and I feel compelled to elaborate. “I think we choose who we love. How we love.” Good lord, I just saidlove, out loud, two times in a row. Not five minutes since we sat down, and I’ve already gone way off-script. Straightening up, I raise my hand to catch the bartender’s attention.
Without meeting her eyes, I tell Hope, “One thing that hasn’t changed here is the hush puppies. Rhonda’s still got a knack with the fryer. Want some?”
If my mouth is full of food, no chance for me to put my foot in it.
twenty-one
hope
Adrian is at my elbow, sipping a beer and keeping quiet. We haven’t spoken since the hush puppies arrived, eating the deep-fried corn fritters in blissful silence. Well, not silence, because the restaurant is packed, but peace. Not as good as being home alone on the sofa, but substantially better than having to force a conversation with strangers.
Networking with Sylvia and Liam was important—talking with them helped me sort out my goals, and Sylvia offered to send me the information about the white shark research program—but it left me drained. Hiding out here with Adrian ought to be just as stressful, especially with how we left things after our kiss, but like he said, he knows me. I don’t have to put up a front or fill the space between us with empty words.
