Three Little Words Page 8

  The men shifted, Seth realigning in front of Ava, shaking his head. “That was smooth, I can admit.”

  She dribbled back, forward, back again. He met her every move.

  “You know, I just decided something.” He spoke between gasps for air. “Next time we play, we switch up the teams. You and me, Bear and Rae.”

  Her dribbling stilled. “Actually, Seth—”

  “Hurry up, Ava!” Raegan’s voice poked in.

  “I need to tell you, I’m thinking about . . .”

  Raegan whisked passed her and grabbed for the ball, Bear on her tail.

  But suddenly Ava wasn’t paying any attention to the game anymore, and neither was he. “There’s a job opportunity back in Michigan.”

  He heard a screech from underneath the hoop, vaguely realized Bear had stolen the ball from his cousin and made the winning basket.

  “I think I might interview for it. Sooner rather than later.”

  “Soon as in—”

  “I should probably hit the road tomorrow.”

  Bear was whooping, and Raegan already calling for another ten minutes of play. But all he could focus on was Ava and the news that shouldn’t be clawing under his skin the way it did. Especially not considering Maddie, over on the porch, clapping for his win.

  8

  Seth,

  I’m trying to decide which I’m more sorry about: So randomly springing the news that I’m leaving last night. Or that springing it when I did cost Rae and me the game.

  I’m especially sorry that I’m leaving this morning, before you’re even awake. I know you and Maddie were out on the porch talking late. I heard her car leave around midnight. Why isn’t she staying at Case’s? I thought Case joked last night that there’s still room in the inn.

  But seriously, I was abrupt last night and I’m leaving abruptly today. But I never really saw myself moving back home to Michigan. And I’m worried if I don’t go right away, I’ll talk myself out of it.

  Plus, there’s something your uncle said last night. About knowing when to hold on and when to let go. I think it might apply here.

  Sorry, too, about not helping you finish the apartment. I’m apologizing a lot here. Sorry about that, too. :) But I’m sure Rae and Bear and Case will help. I hope Maddie likes the red . . . even though I still think it’s the wrong color.

  And Seth, thanks. Thanks for the past two weeks. It was the perfect getaway.—Ava

  Ava,

  Admit it: you and Rae would’ve lost the game either way. Your revelation just sped up the inevitable.

  Knowing when to hold on and when to let go. A little cryptic there, Kingsley. But let me go ahead and join in the less-than-straightforwardness and say I’ve been doing some mulling of my own in that same arena.

  That is, in between my sixteen-hour days at The Door. Speaking of which, Shan misses you and said you were the best waitress we had and you should’ve at least given two weeks’ notice. I reminded her you only worked a couple shifts here and there because you were being nice—you weren’t actually on the payroll. She threw a towel at me and said well, then, that was my own fault and I should’ve offered you a full-time job.

  And now I’m realizing, I never even paid you for those hours. I’m a jerk. Tell me where to send a check and I will.

  Will you let me know how the job interview in Michigan goes? You never told me what the position is.—Seth

  p.s. Sorry it took me two days to reply. Right after you left . . . I wasn’t . . . well, anyway. Sorry.

  Seth,

  Don’t be so sure about the game. Rae and I had you two scrambling. Speaking of which, is Bear ever going to ask Rae out? It couldn’t be any more painfully obvious he’s into her if it was tattooed on his forehead.

  Do you have any tattoos? How have we never talked about this?

  The job: It’s for director of a new rec center here in Whisper Shore. I haven’t even seen the place yet, but I’m interviewing next week. I’ve so far mainly spent my time out at the Kingsley Inn. I’ve told you about the family inn, right? I had to have. Anyway, I’ve been hanging out with Autumn, swimming in Lake Michigan, and have barely even been in to town. Oh and yesterday I went to Detroit and saw Professor Lang! He’s doing really well, loves retirement. I said hi for you. :) Oh and guess what, I didn’t actually drive to Detroit. Blake flew me and my sister in his plane. It was awesome.

  You know Blake is Ryan’s brother, right? There’s a whole crazy story there. One that’s still playing out, but I’m pretty sure the next chapter includes my sister getting engaged.

  Which reminds me, you didn’t tell me what Maddie thought of the red walls.—Ava

  p.s. It’s okay that it took a couple days. I wasn’t actually sure if you’d still want to keep emailing . . . go back to the way things were. I understand if not.

  “Look, I really don’t have time to talk right now.” Seth glanced at the woman who’d been trailing him from table to table, practically breathing down his neck, and then set a plate nearly overflowing with sweet potato fries in front of a teenage boy who looked nervous enough to lose the meal he hadn’t even eaten yet.

  He surveyed the table in front of him. Drinks, plates, silverware. “Can I get you anything else?”

  The sixteen-year-old girl he recognized as Lenny and Sunny’s daughter glanced up. She was doing better than her apparent date, any nerves of her own hidden under a calm exterior. “No thanks, I think we’re good.”

  So he turned, nearly bumped into the woman who stood with her hands on her waist. What had she said her name was? Regina, Rebecca . . .

  “Rachel.” She tipped her head to the side, knowing glint to her dark eyes. “You’re trying to remember my name.”

  He swiped his hands on his jeans. “You’re good at mind reading.”

  “I’m good at a lot of things. Not the least of which is knowing a good business opportunity when I see it.”

  He skirted around her, eyeing The Red Door’s occupied tables. “Already told you, I’m not interested in selling.” Table four still needed a dessert. Table sixteen, refills.

  Fine, so Ava had been smart getting him to number the tables.

  And there went another jolt of . . . something. Regret. Hurt. Irritation. Same pinpricks as every time in the past week when he thought of Ava and her hasty exit from his life.

  But she emailed. She wasn’t entirely out of his life, was she?

  The clack of heels sounded behind him. Still there. How many times did he have to tell the woman no?

  He rounded the order counter, pulling a rag from underneath the counter and wiping it across the surface.

  She began to follow him around the counter, but at his narrowed glance, angled to the front and slid onto a stool. “You’re still not listening. I never asked you to sell.”

  He didn’t look up. “That’s what it sounded like to me.”

  The jingle of the front door pulled his attention. He waved at Ernie, one of the town’s few cops, who gave an exaggerated shudder as he walked through the door. Rain fell in sharp whips behind him.

  Another glance at the teenage couple sharing the sweet potato fries—C’mon, son, relax—then finally Seth forced himself to acknowledge Rachel. He abandoned his rag, leaned both palms on the counter, arms spread. “Okay. You’re Rachel. From Chicago. You know Maddie. You work for some huge corporation.”

  “Don’t you have an office or somewhere we could talk?”

  “You showed up here unannounced on a day when half of Maple Valley is looking for something to do inside because of the weather.” As if to punctuate his words, a gust of wind rattled against the front windows. Stormy gray hovered in the sky and in the square, visible from the windows, trees bent against the onslaught. “Which means I’ve got a full place. My chef’s assistant called in sick and I’m a waitress short.”

  All it’d take is an ad in the local paper and he could have a local kid looking for some extra spending money filling the spot in no time.

&nb
sp; And yet, he hesitated.

  For a stupid reason.

  Perhaps. Probably. But that didn’t change the reality of it: He still thought Ava might come back. Hoped she would. He’d gotten so used to seeing her every day.

  “Okay, so we talk here.”

  He blinked. Rachel. Right. He released a sigh, shook his head in a show of resignation. “No, let me take Ernie’s order, and then we can go back to the kitchen.”

  Her look of relief—or was that triumph?—did nothing to alter his own reluctance. So she didn’t want him to sell. She wanted something. He hadn’t even been open a full month yet. It was way too soon to add anything else.

  He scribbled down Ernie’s order, passed it on to Shan in the kitchen, and motioned for Rachel to follow him to the little desk he’d set up in the corner of the kitchen.

  As he sat, the distant wail of weather sirens drifted in. Rachel’s gaze darted to the window. Eerie green tinged the storm clouds.

  “Sirens go off anytime the wind gets up to eighty miles an hour, or something like that.”

  She returned her focus to him. “Eighty miles an hour? Nothing to blink at.”

  “This is Iowa. We’ve got tornado watches once a week in the summer. You wanted to talk.”

  She crossed her ankles and smoothed one hand down her black skirt. “Well, I’ve been talking. You gonna listen this time?”

  He indulged a half smile. “Considering you showed up here without warning, trying to sell me something or get me to sell or I don’t know what, I’m going to assume you’re not big on the whole establishing rapport thing, are you?”

  “I already told you I’m not trying to get you to sell. And it’s not rapport I’m interested in.”

  “Then what are you—”

  “The Red Door. And you.”

  He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, tried not to let his confusion—or his hint of interest—show. “Go on.”

  “You said earlier that I’m with a huge corporation. Fair enough. Maddox Co. is good-sized. We own four upscale restaurant chains. But we’re also a family business with a solid history. We’re looking at diversifying, possibly expanding into diner-class territory. I’m heading up the acquisitions team.”

  Raindrops beat against the window behind him. “Okay.”

  “So when Maddie got back to Chicago last week, raving about this place—”

  “She raved?” Even after . . . everything?

  “Not about you, mind you, but about the diner, yes. She had good things to say.” She reached into her leather bag. “Even better, she had photos.”

  “I don’t see how this conversation leads to anything other than you asking me to sell.”

  “Patience.” She spread a handful of papers in front of him. All photos of The Red Door.

  Except . . . not exactly The Red Door. What had once been pictures of the exterior of his restaurant had been Photoshopped into new locations. Interior shots displayed minor tweaks.

  “Maddox Co. would like to explore franchising The Red Door. Understand that this is all incredibly preliminary. There’s all kinds of prep work and research we’d need to do before making a firm offer. But we’d rather not expend our resources on that until we know whether you’d even be interested.”

  He slowly unfolded his arms and leaned forward. “Franchising.”

  “You’d still retain partial ownership and depending on your interest level, we’d be happy to include you in the groundwork for expanding into other cities. You could relocate or stay right here.”

  He fingered through the photos. “But I haven’t even been open a full month. And you barely know anything about me, the restaurant—”

  “I’ve got good instincts. The photos didn’t do The Red Door justice. You’ve got the comfortable, charming feel of a small-town establishment with the accents and architecture of a trendy urban setting. And with the Maddox brand behind you, we could up your exposure considerably.”

  The siren repeated itsblare.

  She looked out the window again. “Are you sure that siren doesn’t mean anything?”

  He lifted one photo. Franchising. He’d never even considered . . .

  She’d said relocate, hadn’t she? “Did Maddie know you were coming to see me?”

  Rachel shook her head. “No, I didn’t know if that’d be weird.”

  This could’ve solved things with Maddie. Probably still could. He could get on the phone and explain that he had options now.

  Except he’d always had options. If he’d wanted, if it’d been right, he could’ve given up the restaurant at any time. Agreed to move back to Chicago for Maddie.

  But he’d known, deep down—maybe for a long time without admitting it—that it wasn’t right. That as much as he desperately wanted to be a man who finished what he started, followed through on commitments, marrying Maddie wasn’t right.

  What’s more, Maddie had known it. She hadn’t been happy, not even a little bit. But she’d known.

  “If you’re really crazy in love with someone, you should want to follow him anywhere, right? I should’ve wanted to follow you to Iowa months ago. You should’ve never wanted to leave Chicago in the first place.”

  They’d stood outside Case’s house while Maddie murmured the words, hurt in her voice but understanding in her tone. An uncertain hug and awkward good-bye later, he’d watched her drive down the road.

  She’d left, but the echo of her words hadn’t. If you’re really crazy in love with someone, you should want to follow her anywhere, right?

  They’d hammered through him for days now, in perfect time with the heart-scraping rhythm that nagged his days and kept him awake at night ever since Ava left. And it hit him, just now, that he’d twisted one of Maddie’s words—changed his to her.

  He swallowed, emotion pulsing inside him. Ava. Why hadn’t he realized sooner? I’m in love with her. I’m in love with Ava Kingsley . . . and I let her walk away.

  “So what do you think? This is a great opportunity, Seth. A lucrative opportunity. Don’t you think it’s worth at least exploring?”

  Right. Rachel. Telling him she wanted to franchise his place and line his pockets and expand his options.

  But he knew now, with a certainty that ached through him, the only option that mattered was Ava.

  He stood. “Actually, Rachel—”

  Before he could finish, Shan burst into the kitchen. “We have a situation, Seth. Those sirens—”

  “Go off all the time.”

  But her face had gone white. “The radio said a funnel touched down seven miles from town, and it’s heading straight for Maple Valley. Fast. We gotta get people down to the basement. Now.”

  9

  Ava,

  A) Raegan’s like my little sister, and Bear is my best friend. I can’t think of the two of them that way. Although, for the record, Raegan is the one with the painfully obvious crush.

  B) I don’t have any tattoos. Not because I have anything against them, but because I don’t know what I’d want it to be. Words? A picture or symbol? That’s a big decision, right? Which leads me to . . .

  C) I’m realizing lately that some decisions take time. And that’s okay. When I decided to open The Red Door, it happened pretty fast. And I felt good—really good—about the fact that I’d made a decision and gone for it. I saw it through, beginning to end. But as much as life is sometimes about knowing what you want and going after it and finishing, maybe other times it’s about slowing down and shutting up and waiting. There’s not always a clear beginning and obvious end. Sometimes we’re in the middle . . . and it’s okay to camp out there for a while.

  D) That said, some things do have an obvious end. Maddie never saw the red walls. She left the same day as you, actually. And that’s . . . that.

  —Seth

  p.s. Of course we are going to keep emailing. However, it can never entirely go back to the way it was. Because now I know how stubborn you are about learning to paint the right way, how addi
cted to Diet Coke you are, and what a good layup you’ve got. Which altogether clearly changes everything.

  Seth,

  I am so sorry I’m just getting your email now. You sent it yesterday and it’s just been crazy around here. I’ve been helping Autumn at the inn and my laptop charger has gone missing and I didn’t realize my phone was silenced and . . .

  Forget that. I just feel awful that it’s taken me this long to respond . . . about Maddie and the end of that relationship. I’m really sorry. I want to say something wise and comforting and witty, but Blake’s waiting to take me to the rec center . . .

  Ugh, I hate my failure to be a good friend in this moment.

  I’ll write again. Soon.—A

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Blake.”

  A coastal breeze tinged with the foamy scent of Lake Michigan whipped Ava’s ponytail around behind her and brushed over the mammoth pile of dug-up ground—dirt and grass and rock—looming in front of her. The wind peeled away the top layer, fanning dust and pebbles in a downward swirl toward the huge pit.

  “I came all the way back to Michigan so I could come look at a mountain of dirt and a hole in the ground?”

  “That hole in the ground is eventually going to be an Olympic-size swimming pool.” Blake Hunziker—her sister’s boyfriend, brother of Ryan—offered an innocent shrug and a sheepish, dimpled grin on the heels of his words. The man’s resemblance to Ryan—dark hair and eyes, tall and muscular—used to freak her out.

  But whereas Ryan had always had a serious streak, Blake tended toward carefree and adventurous, all in one rakish package. Honestly, she couldn’t blame Autumn for falling for the guy. Even if his presence had, at one time, sent shivers of annoyance through Ava.

  Speaking of which . . .

  “You said the city is hiring a new rec center director. I don’t know, maybe this was overreaching as far as assumptions go, but I assumed that meant there was, in fact, a rec center to be directed.”