Page 24 of When I Come Back
She’s pulled up her long hair into a messy bun at the top of her head, as always, a few wisps have escaped the tie and hang down around her face. My eyes catch on the slope of her neck, and hundreds, thousands of memories of kissing her there flit through my mind. It drove Thea crazy—she used to always let out the sweetest moan when my lips would graze the spot just behind her ear. She always smells like her flowery perfume and a lemony scent that is solely her in that spot. I have to restrain myself from going over to her and doing just that.
Suddenly she turns, and our eyes meet—her singing cutting off with her surprise. I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction.
Please don’t shut me out.
Her face transforms from startled to mildly embarrassed, but her guard stays down. I push off from the wall, pick up the plate, and walk around to the other side of the bar.
“Come here,” I say.
“Hold on, I still have to clean these glasses and the trash—”
“Come here, Thea,” I repeat firmly. My voice brooks no argument, and before I resort to physically removing the glassware from her hand, she puts it down and makes her way around the bar. She hoists herself up on the stool next to me in front of the plate I made for her.
“You made grilled cheese,” she says as she stares down at the food. Her voice is quiet—timid like the fateful phone call I hate to remember—and I can’t make out what she’s thinking.
“Yeah, with bacon and pesto on brioche. You used to like that, said it’s how your mom used to make it. Is–is it okay?” There’s a long silence while she continues to stare down at the sandwich, never once taking her eyes off of it. It’s in that moment that I start to question the gesture.
When she still doesn’t say anything, I make to stand up and grab the plate to take it back. “I–I can see if I can make something else. The options are pretty spar—”
“It’s perfect,” she says and looks up at me. It could be the lighting and the exhaustion evident on her face, but I could swear her eyes are misty. “It’s just what I need after a day like today. I can’t remember the last time I had one of these.”
“Good. You eat, I’ll clean. Then we’ll drink to a successful shitshow of a night,” I say with a smile. She smiles back at me and picks up the sandwich. I watch as she takes the first bite, and her eyes all but roll to the back of her head. The sound she lets out—a cross between a whimper and a sigh—is indecent, and I quickly step away and take over the cleaning tasks behind the bar.
“I hope you know that the only reason I’m letting you boss me around is because you saved my ass today,” she says in between bites. “I wouldn’t get used to it.”
“Oh, so you’re admitting you needed me?” I say, my lips curving up.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I neededBrooks. You were just a pretty stand in,” she says, her eyes teasing. Then she must realize what she said because her eyes get big, and her smile falls. Her focus returning back to the food.
“Second best to Brooks, story of my life,” I say with mock self-pity, letting her off the hook. I’d hate to lose the comfortable, easy mood between us. I’ve been yearning for a moment like this since I first saw her face on the steps of RED. I pull down two tumblers and fill them with generous pours of Ripple Effect, placing the bottle on the bar next to the glasses. Pushing one over to her, I lift mine and take a sip.
“I’m sure Brooks would have something to say about that,” she says when she finishes chewing her last bite. “You know he always thought your parents held you up on a pedestal.”
“Pedestal? More like a cake stand. Did he somehow miss me having to move to the other side of the fucking country to feel like I could be taken seriously?”
“I love Owen and Hazel, but they didn’t make it easy for you two growing up,” Thea says and then covers her mouth and quickly adds, “I’m so sorry, I really shouldn’t be talking about them like that.”
“It’s fine. I mourned my relationship with them a long time ago. Now, well, it just feels like going through the formalities.” I take another sip of my bourbon. “I started going to therapy, did I mention that? I started after you—” I clear my throat and avert my eyes. “Well, it’s helped. My therapist is great. You’d like her actually. She doesn’t put up with my shit either.”
Thea takes a long sip of the bourbon I poured for her, and I finish my glass. I pick up the bottle and pour myself another, then cork the bottle and look over the label as I make my way around the bar to sit on a stool next to her.
“You know, it’s crazy. I just started carrying RED at my restaurant. I had no idea. Seth—he’s my bar manager now—sourced it, and I never knew it was from here. I’ve been telling everyone about it, how much I love it,” I say.
“Yeah, Ripley’s made something amazing here. I can’t believe how quickly it blew up. You hear so many stories of other distilleries and how hard it is to get off the ground, but his seemed to just take off,” she says with a soft smile.
Fucking Ripley.
“I don’t think it has anything to do withhim.”
“You think this is because of me?” She scoffs then adds, “I can’t take credit for any of it. They’re his recipes. I just made sure the world knows about them.” If she was anyone else, I’d wonder if she was just being modest, but I know Thea—or I used to—and there’s no doubt in my mind that she truly believes what she’s saying.
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. This,” I gesture around the restaurant, “and this,” I lift the bottle, “are all you. I’m so fucking impressed with what you’ve done here. You’ve put so much of yourself into this place, it’s hard to see where one ends and the other begins. RED is you.Youare RED. It’s perfect.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, sipping our drinks and sharing a glance every once in a while. Music has been playing softly in the background, and it isn’t until this moment that I hear the song change. The first chords of Thomas Rhett’s “Die a Happy Man” play out.
I take a chance and say, “Dance with me, Lem.”
Chapter Thirteen
