by Dani McLean
“I thought it would be, but …”
“But?”
I sprawled back in the chair, sorting through my thoughts. “He’s surprising. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still frustrating as fuck, but he’s also smart, and he’s got this wicked sense of humor, like evil.” Audrey looked overly pleased. “Ok, don’t go getting that look, Auds. It’s not like that. I just don’t hate him, is all I was trying to say.”
Then, it hit me. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“I think we might be … friends?” That smug son of a bitch. Probably planned this. With his compliments and his clever observations and weird way of being able to charm anybody.
“Mmm-hmm.”
Immediately, I pointed a finger at her. “Nuh-uh. None of that.”
Her hands raised in surrender. “So, what happens when you leave?” Audrey asked.
“It ends, I guess.” What else could happen, really? We weren’t anything to each other. There wasn’t any talk of the future, we only saw each other at the bar (or his apartment), we didn’t talk about our feelings or our past. We worked. We fucked. That was it.
“Are you ok with that?”
The wall was suddenly very interesting. “When have I ever cared before?”
Audrey’s voice was gentle. “There’s always a first time.”
29
Sam
“You’re good at this.” I watched Tiffany as she poured us both another cocktail of her design. Campari, vermouth, coffee, chocolate bitters. Delicious.
“I’ve done it before.” She threw a wink over her shoulder.
We’d taken to testing out recipes on each other. Creating was a habit I was out of practice in, and Tiffany was a good sounding board, blunt to a fault and enthusiastic when she tried something she enjoyed.
“No, I meant, watching you work. It’s clear you enjoy it, and it’s fascinating to see what you choose and how you bring it together. Like I’m watching a show.”
A soft mewl sounded from the corner, where Luna had curled up in an empty cardboard box. The new bed I’d gotten her sat pristine and unused beside it. Tiffany detoured to scratch her behind her ears, and Luna ate up the attention, stretching and purring within her confines.
Suitably pleased with Luna’s response, Tiffany passed me a drink, then fell back against my sofa with her own in hand. “It’s funny you should say that. I’ve been thinking of starting something like a show. All about cocktails.”
“I’d watch it. You’d be a good teacher. Hell, you should be running your own place.”
“Maybe I should buy you out.”
“In another life, we could have been partners.”
“Fuck, can you imagine the two of us running a place together?”
I could. “You’re right. Forget I said anything.”
It was late, or early, depending on how you saw it, and we were more than halfway through at least one bottle of liquor. Which was to say, we were past tipsy, and I was more relaxed than I remembered feeling in a long time.
“Why bartending?” I asked her, curious.
“I kind of fell into it. Got really good at making my ex’s favorites in college. Found I loved it enough to teach myself as much as I could.”
“And how did you learn to make drinks like this?” I raised my glass.
“Lots of trial and error,” she laughed.
“It’s more than that. You have an incredible mind for flavors, and you’re not afraid to try, even if it doesn’t work. It’s not something everyone knows how to do.”
“Thanks.” She hummed pleasantly around a sip of her cocktail, and I liked that she was comfortable acknowledging her skills without being cocky. For someone so accomplished, she certainly had a habit of waving off praise more often than she accepted it. I’d misjudged that about her. What I’d initially seen as arrogance was now rearranging to something more akin to defiance and defensiveness.
She was playing absently with her hair, and I couldn’t help but smile at the picture of her, bare feet tucked underneath her, her back resting against the arm of the sofa as she faced me. She looked cozy. Comfortable.
It might be my favorite view of her yet.
“Actually, if you want to praise anyone, you should be thanking my Mimi. Cooking was serious business in my family, and she ruled her kitchen. Every time she visited, I’d spend hours just watching her bake and listening to her stories. Never saw her use a recipe. Had it all up here.” She tapped her temple.
After another long sip, I heard a soft little sigh, and Tiffany continued. “Being around her was where I felt safest. I used to be scared of storms—thunder, specifically—and Mimi would bribe me from my blankets with a cookie. She always made me want to be stronger. Braver.”
Clearly, these were fond memories for Tiffany. Her smile was deep and warm, and it gave her a glow. I wanted to soak in it. “Is she still around?”
“Not for a long time.”
“She’d be proud of you.”
“Don’t I know it.” Her inquisitive eyes meet mine. “What about you?”
“It’s going to sound silly, but I didn’t ever question myself when I was a kid. My parents had a wonderful ability to make us feel capable of anything. If anything, I was too sure of myself.”
“You? No,” she said, overdoing the sarcasm.
“But I do remember being jealous of having to share my mom. She was a teacher, and she cared about all these other kids all the time, so I would make up reasons to steal her away from it. Have her all to myself. Eventually, she figured it out, and we made a deal—I would pick an activity, and she’d make the time for us to do it together, as often as we could. Just the two of us. They’re my favorite memories of her.”
“That’s really sweet. She meant a lot to you.”
I nodded, then held out what was left of my drink in a toast. “To formidable women.”
Tiffany clinked our glasses together with a chuckle. “Jesus, only you would use four-syllable words when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Tipsy, then. And she was. A fucking amazing woman. Same as my mama.”
“I can see where you get it from.”
“Careful, honey, or I’ll start to think you like me.” She winked. Surely, the warmth in my chest had everything to do with the whiskey we were drinking and nothing at all to do with the term of endearment she’d used.
Although, I wasn’t about to tell her to stop.
“So, tell me,” Tiffany started, and I steeled myself for whatever was going to come next, “what brought you back here?”
I’d later blame the alcohol for what I said next. “A broken heart.”
There was a long silence as I drained what was left of my glass before walking over to make a new one.
If my admission surprised me, it was nothing compared to what Tiffany admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.”
Abandoning my original plan of mixing another cocktail, I walked back to the sofa with the bottle, filling both our glasses. “Never?”
“Most people only want me for sex.”
“I doubt that’s true.”
She reached a foot out to poke me in the thigh. “Do you want to tell this story?”
“Carry on.” I caught her ankle before she could retract her limb, tracing the soft skin as she spoke.
“I think the closest I ever came was in high school. I’d already realized I liked guys and girls, and I had the biggest crush on this chick. I’ve forgotten her name now … Wow, that’s terrible. I really should remember that.”
“What happened?”
She blew out a breath. “We kissed a couple of times until she told me she wasn’t ‘like that’ and that she was just experimenting. That hurt. Then, she outed me to half the school, and the bullying got bad enough that I had to transfer to another school. Mama was pissed.”
I swallowed, knowing I was teetering on the precipice of another dangerous decision. But Tiffany had opene
d up, and at that moment, with the soft glow of the streetlights extending through the window and the delicate feel of her under my fingertips, I felt the truth slipping past my defenses. “Her name was Piper. We met at a young entrepreneurs event,”
“Of course you fucking did,” Tiff groaned, making me smile. It eased the ache in my chest and made the memory easier to bear.
“I fell straight away. She was incredible. Larger than life. My first bar was already a success, and I was looking for investors to start a second. Piper was the one who rallied for capital. It felt like kismet.”
“Destiny, Sam? Really?” Tiff stretched out her other foot, brushing my thigh. “What happened?”
“I was blinded by love. After the second bar was a success and I was planning for the third, I asked her to be my business partner. We’d been dating for a few years at that point, and we were in love. I thought it was forever. We decided that I’d continue to run the business, and she’d handle the investors. We made a great team. So, I signed over half of everything over to her. It was my way of committing to her since I never wanted to get married or have kids. Only, when we broke up, she had better lawyers. She told me I could go quietly and keep benefiting off of the company’s reputation, or she would tie me up in court until I had nothing. So, I took the payout and came home.”
“Fuck.”
And that one word, empty of pity and full of everything I’d been unable to say about the situation myself, was probably the most perfect thing she could have said.
Laughter bubbled out of me, unexpected but freeing, until I was doubled over with it. Like a dam broken, the release left me light-headed. Or maybe that was just the alcohol.
Tiffany eyed me like I had lost my mind, and maybe I had, but honestly, it felt good to let it go like this. Months of pain, first the heartbreak of losing the person, the partner, I’d spent the better part of nine years with, then the loss of my business. My hard work.
Every single hour of pushing and learning and growing. Every sleepless night. Every time I pimped myself and my work out just to get seen, get heard in a sea of voices vying for the same.
All because it would boost the business.
And in the end, I was relegated to being the glorified spokesman.
As quickly as it had come, my laughter died, and with one long, deep breath, I came back to myself, finishing my drink with one large swallow.
“For what it’s worth, you didn’t deserve that, Sam. I know we don’t really know each other, but no one who spends any time around you could miss the fact that you’re a good person.”
As her words, her conviction, settled under my skin, my breath caught in my throat. I pushed the next words out. “It’s worth a lot.”
“Can I ask why you broke up?”
In for a penny. What was another truth added to what I’d already shared? “She wanted to have children, and I didn’t.”
Tiffany shuffled closer, her hand landing on my shoulder, her face clouded in concern. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“That would have been difficult. You cared for her, and not being on the same page sucks. Not to mention how she’s acted since.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you? Want children?” I tried not to think about why I wanted to know.
“No. I knew early on that marriage and kids weren’t for me. I like kids, but I’ve never been inclined to being a parent. I’m happy being a kickass Aunty.”
I thought of Gracie and how happy Harry was now. “I know how you feel.”
It seemed Tiffany had the same thought. “I still can’t believe I didn’t know Harry had a kid. I’m glad he’s happy. He always seemed so solitary.”
“To be fair, he didn’t like owning this place.”
“Why did he start it anyway? I’ve never asked him.”
“When our parents died, he took it really hard. After I’d left, he’d been the one to keep an eye on them. He saw more than I did of their decline. He said it made him think about his future and why he’d always played it safe when life was so short. He bought this place because he hoped we could run it together, but I’d just received funding for my third bar, and I couldn’t get back home. I’ve always felt bad that I wasn’t able to help him run it. But then it turned out I didn’t need to.”
“Because a hotheaded bartender went and took over.”
“Tiffany, that’s not what I meant. I’m glad you were here to help. I’m sorry I never told you that earlier. I guess I felt guilty. You were a reminder that I’d let my brother down. And if I’m honest, I was jealous.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You managed to do what I couldn’t. And you were able to help my brother when I’d abandoned him.”
“You didn’t abandon him.”
“He didn’t even mention me to you.”
“Sam, no. Ok, he didn’t talk about you, but we never talked about anything personal. I was too busy taking over the bar, and he was busy trying to have a baby. But it’s obvious he cares about you.”
“Do you have brothers?” It sounded like she spoke from experience.
“Three. They’re …” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Ok, if you ever tell them I said this, I’ll kill you, but I love those jerks more than anything. I don’t always get along with them, but I wouldn’t want anyone else in my corner.”
“I know we don’t really know each other,” I said, mirroring her own words, “but I imagine they feel the same. You’re a force, Tiffany, and I mean that in the best way possible. For what it’s worth, I’m glad I have you in my corner.”
Her expression was thick with vulnerability. Our eyes met and locked, and I felt far too raw for what we had established was a purely physical arrangement.
In wordless agreement, we both downed the rest of our drinks and scrambled to refill. Anything to break the tension. To reestablish the status quo.
Because there was one thing I wasn’t able to give to anyone right now, or maybe ever again, and that was my heart.
30
Tiff
Those were good drinks.
Wait.
I cracked an eye open. Where was I again?
Shit. Loft. Sam. Alcohol.
Fuck.
Ugh, my mouth tasted like shit. Where was the bathroom again?
Gathering what little energy I had, I rolled out of his bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Using the old college method of finger and toothpaste, I scrubbed what I could of my mouth, willing my stomach to settle.
So thirsty. Need water.
I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle from the fridge (because, of course, Sam was the type to be prepared in these situations), chugging half before I dragged myself over to the couch. With a heavy thud, I flopped on it, face down, my brain pulsating a beat against my skull.
Ugh, why?
“Morning.” Sam’s voice carried across the room.
I groaned into the cushion, not bothering to open my eyes. How did he sound so chipper?
“This is your fault,” I grumbled.
“I don’t see how that’s true.” Was he smiling right now?
It took an enormous amount of effort to sit up. “You were the one who wanted to test those recipes.”
“And you were the one making them.”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant. Also, aren’t you meant to be the responsible one?”
“You think I’m responsible?”
My eyes narrowed so much they practically closed. I didn’t handle hangovers well, ok? “I hate you.”
He smiled. “You know, you say that a lot.”
“It’s true a lot. When it stops being true, I’ll stop saying it. Until then, go fuck yourself.” I laid back down.
“Come on.” He tapped my shoulder.
I cracked one eye open. “What are you doing?”
“We,” he emphasized, “are walking.”
“And why would we do that
?”
“For many reasons, but right now, to burn off the hangover.”
“God, you don’t even hangover like a regular person. Who are you? Who made you this way?”
“If that is a dig at my parents, I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I’d rather you didn’t exist right now.”
We were still inside, but I didn’t care. I threw my sunglasses on anyway, sighing at the relief of sweet, sweet darkness on my eyes. Sam looked far too smug this early in the morning, and I gave him a dirty look, not caring if he couldn’t see it.
It didn’t matter. He could still tell, smiling as he said, “I know. You hate me.” Smug bastard.
At the bottom of the stairs, he pulled me in for a kiss, then chuckled against my mouth at my semi-indignant grunt. I might be hungover, but I still had Sam’s lips on mine, and their tenderness was almost enough to make me feel better. Almost.
“That’s right,” I argued, but I didn’t hide my smile.
We walked to Millennium Park (stopping blessedly for strong, large coffees), and I followed him as we crossed through into Lurie Garden. There was a chill in the air, the weather finally turning towards lower temps now that we’d officially entered fall, and I was glad for my jacket. But, even through the haze of fatigue (and smattering of early tourists), the garden was beautiful.
I didn’t think I’d actually visited before.
Sam looked personally affronted when I told him this. “That’s really a shame. There are over 126 native species of plants here, and they wanted it to be a wild meadow that lasted through all four seasons. It’s actually incredible the way they—”
“I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking right now, I’m going to throw you off this track.”
He went quiet, but I spied a smile in my periphery.
“Why do you like this so much anyway?”
He said nothing.
“Are you ignoring me now?”
“You said to stop talking.” He chuckled at my low growl. “And, by this, I’m assuming you are referring to my enjoyment of the outdoors?”
