Sex & Sours

by Dani McLean

  Pocketing his phone, he said, “You’ve got a week. If you don’t supply the necessary forms by then, your license will be revoked and you’ll need to appeal the decision to have it reinstated. In the meantime, we’ll issue a formal report of the investigation and the suspension notice.”

  This was followed by a warning. “You should ensure all future renewals are completed correctly and on time as this will remain on file.”

  He left quickly, leaving me alone in a room too small for everything I was feeling. I barely knew where to start.

  Dropping into the closest seat, I started with slow breaths. I needed to think clearly, get a plan in order.

  Jesus, had this really all happened because of Pierce? Because of a single interview in a single newspaper? He turned out to be worse than I’d realized.

  I knew this wasn’t solely a by-the-books situation. This was a statement. A declaration. I’d stepped out of bounds. And I needed to be put in my place.

  The sinking realization that this wasn’t wholly Pierce’s fault sat like lead in my stomach. Yes, this shit show was his doing. But it wasn’t his fault.

  No. That laid entirely with me.

  For months I’d been poked and goaded into a grudge match with Pierce, but I’d refused to play that game. Why? Because I knew this was what it would lead to. The entire time, I’d stuck to defending the bar and myself but never made any direct remarks about Pierce or his bars—at least publicly—because you could never walk them back.

  So, why had I? What a great question.

  It had made so much sense at the time. Months of Pierce’s snide personal attacks against me, the bar, Tiffany. Defending her came easy. I couldn’t help it. And it felt like the right thing to do at the time.

  It should be the right thing to do. But what was right didn’t always factor into business, did it?

  What a lesson to learn twice. That was what stung. Hadn’t I already worked out that love and work didn’t mix? That if I wanted to do this job and do it well, I needed to keep those two things as far away from each other as humanly possible?

  What had I been thinking? The truth was, I hadn’t been. Not like myself, in any case. In a moment of anger, I’d done something completely out of character. No planning, no strategy. Just a few choice words, aimed at the wrong person, at the wrong time.

  Months of work, and now I was potentially facing losing the bar entirely. Another loss for the books. Another notch against my reputation.

  My head hung heavy in the silent bar. There was a lot to do. Someone needed to tell the staff not to come in. Visit my lawyer. Check the paperwork. Call our distributors. Shit. Announce the closure publicly.

  I should have …

  Well, I should have done a lot of things. I should have not have done a lot of things.

  Within minutes, I’d called Jordan, awaiting his arrival at the bar. If anyone knew how to handle this, it was him.

  It was startlingly obvious now where I’d gone wrong. Coming home, this bar had been my priority. However, I’d gotten distracted by attraction. By Tiffany. Now, I was acting irrationally and upending everything I’d been trying to re-establish.

  I needed to refocus. Get back on track. Put the bar before anything, and everything, else.

  Breaking it off with Tiffany wasn’t something I wanted to do, but the bar had to come first. Once this mess was sorted out, maybe we could see how to make it work.

  By the time Jordan arrived, I had barely moved, too lost in the cavalcade of emotions running through me.

  As he took the seat beside me, I let my head fall into my hands. There was no time to sugarcoat anything. “I’ve fucked up.”

  He faced me head-on, serious. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

  “Where do I start?”

  “The beginning usually works.”

  So, that’s where I started. I told him about Pierce, the permit issue, the problems with the contractor, and then further back, to my first day at the bar, meeting Tiffany, the arguments, the growing respect, the attraction, the surprising night that she showed up at my apartment and announced she was quitting—“Ballsy move. I really like this one, Sam.”—as well as my inability to stay away despite knowing I might be putting myself in the same position I’d found myself with Piper.

  “You were there. You saw how I blinded myself with her. It’s happening again. No matter what, I’m always going to put her first. And so far, all it’s done is make things harder for the bar.”

  “You’re allowed to have both, Sam. You don’t have to choose.”

  “I do. Maybe if I’d waited until after the bar was a success, it could have worked out differently. But you can’t tell me that I haven’t been dropping the ball here.”

  “Fine. Yes, you’ve clearly let your emotions get in the way of work. And after seeing what you went through with Piper, I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t warn you against making the same mistakes. I just want you to be sure that this is what you want.”

  It wasn’t. But what choice did I have? How many more setbacks would I accept before I realized this relationship was a problem? “If we end it now, it’s still recoverable.”

  “For you or Tiff?”

  “She’ll be fine. I’ve never met anyone as self-sufficient as she is. Not even you.”

  Tiffany was tough, perhaps not as tough as she acted, but tougher than anyone else I’d ever met. Or maybe tough wasn’t the right word. Resilient. She would move on. Even though I knew I’d never meet anyone like her, it would eventually be fine. I would concentrate on the bar, which is what I’d come here to do.

  I’d been so busy defending her against Pierce that I’d put her before anything else.

  It was time to get my priorities in order.

  42

  Tiff

  Shock was an understatement. The bar had been forced to close. For a week, at least, and (if what Sam was explaining to me was right, and knowing him, it absolutely was) potentially longer. It all came down to what his lawyer could do to turn around the discrepancy on the original paperwork.

  Sam was … I didn’t want to say confident because he looked like a wreck. But he seemed sure that once the week was up, the bar would be reopened.

  From the moment I’d arrived at the bar, he’d been distant. I hadn’t realized how familiar I’d become with having him close until he was standing in his kitchen, the breakfast bar between us. Like a barricade. Or a shield.

  Something was very, very wrong. And I was pretty sure I was about to find out what.

  “Jordan offered me a job.”

  Sam’s eyes snapped up to mine, genuinely surprised, along with something else that I couldn’t decipher. “He did?”

  “Yeah, he, uh, asked me to head up his new bar in New York.”

  “Are you going to go?” Was that hope or fear in his voice?

  “Maybe,” I lied, hoping to get a reaction.

  The need to be near him when he wanted space was eating at me, and I was really starting to hate having these feelings. Life had been so much easier when I only had myself to worry about.

  Well, if Sam thought I would let a little thing like kitchen furniture stand between us, he’d learned nothing.

  His body stiffened as I stepped close, wrapping my arms around his waist. I turned into the crook of his neck, breathing deep. Something about tonight made me want to catch every sense and bottle it up. Memorize it for posterity.

  I had barely settled onto his chest before he pulled out of my arms, stepping back to increase the distance between us again. Ouch, okay. Something akin to a klaxon sounded in my mind.

  My body entered defensive mode; one hip cocked against the counter, arms crossed. I continued to stall. Not my usual M.O., but once I crossed enemy lines, I knew tonight would be over. “Jordan is pretty great. Why have we never talked about how you used to work for him?”

  Sam barely moved but allowed the subject change. “It never came up. He was my rock while I was figuring things out. Wit
hout him, my first bar would never have gotten off the ground. He saw something in me, mentored me, was the reason I believed I could open my own place. I learned a lot from him. After a rocky first month, we almost closed, and I thought I’d have to start over, but he came in, showed me where I could do better, and gave me the confidence to keep going. And it worked out.”

  “I can tell he really cares about you.”

  His nod was slow, his gaze locked on the floor. “He saw what happened with Piper, and I know he feels responsible for not seeing what was going on there, but there wasn’t anything anyone could do.”

  “So, why do you still feel responsible for what happened?”

  “Because it was my fault.”

  “You were in love. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

  His next words were chosen carefully. “That won’t be a mistake I’m willing to make twice.”

  Seconds felt like minutes as my emotions scurried and settled within me. I should have learned my lesson by now (especially when it came to Sam). My heart was practically screaming at me just to LEAVE. THIS. ALONE. But not knowing had never worked out for me. “What’s going on with you?”

  “You mean, on top of the fact that I might lose the one thing I really care about?” Not since we’d met had he spoken to me that way. The one thing he really cares about isn’t me. My heart splintered, but anger rose to the surface first.

  “Fuck you. I know you’re upset right now, but you do not get to say that to me. Not now.”

  Sam’s expression hardened, flexing his hands before he pounded a fist on the counter. I was immediately transported to my breakup with Hannah when I’d done the same. Unbidden, her words flooded back. Some of us can’t take the risks you do. Some of us have to face the consequences.

  “I’m not you. I can’t say what I want and not care about the consequences.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “I care about the consequences.”

  “Do you? Because I’m not sure I’ve seen it. Not when you continually act without thinking.” Shakily, he ran a hand through his hair. He was a mess. I wasn’t faring much better.

  “Christ,” he continued, “Do you realize how lucky it is that you haven’t been blacklisted?” I balked. Because it hadn’t occurred to me. “No, you haven’t. What consequences have you faced? Everything that has come out of your actions has affected me, not you. You’re still able to find work. But this is my business, my life, on the line here.”

  “If you regret it so much, call Pierce. Take it back.”

  “That’s not—” His brows were pinched. “I don’t want to take it back. Pierce needs to be told where to shove his shit. But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret what I said. This isn’t me. I don’t make these decisions. I’m not acting smart.”

  “Meaning I’m not?”

  “Stop twisting my words.”

  “Then stop talking around what it is you really want to say, Sam. If you don’t want to be with me, then just say that.”

  “I do want to be with you. But I think we need some breathing room. We’ve spent every day of the last five months together, whether that was working or—”

  “Fucking,” I finished for him.

  “Yes.”

  The air hung heavy. He continued. “I have feelings for you. You know that. And I want to be you. But …”

  “You need to be sure.”

  “I do.”

  “Goddammit, Sam. You’re not even going to try? Take this one little risk?”

  “I … can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck,” I breathed into the quiet between us. I want to fight him, shout, convince him. But I was worth more than that. And he knew it. But he was still walking away. And I was not going to beg him. He needed to want this as much as I did. Otherwise, I’d always wonder, and he might come to resent me. He loved me, I was sure of it, but if he couldn’t realize that and chose to put the bar before his heart, I couldn’t stop him.

  The fact was, what I wanted hadn’t changed. I still wanted a partner who accepted me and was as committed as I was to making a life together. Making it work. It didn’t matter how much I liked Sam if he wasn’t going to be that person.

  I couldn’t resist one last chaste kiss before I left, my fingers ghosting his in an aborted hold before I pulled back. “Goodnight, Sam.”

  My steps fell heavy on the stairs as I left.

  This was the problem with diving headfirst into everything. The risk was high, and the crash was hard. I had lots of practice picking myself up when things didn’t work out. None of them had involved my heart before, so ...

  Guess it never was too late for your first heartbreak.

  43

  Sam

  It was done. Over. It was what I wanted. What I’d decided. The safer option. So, why did it feel like my heart just got up and walked out the door?

  The apartment was cold and empty, and I was suddenly sure I couldn’t spend the night there. Not alone. Not without her.

  Everywhere I looked, there was a memory of her. The way she’d draped herself over almost every piece of furniture in the room, Luna curled up and purring in her lap. The sound of her laugh as she plucked a book at random from my bookcase and inevitably found some way of making fun of me for it. The lingering smell of cinnamon and coffee that followed her everywhere.

  It was too much.

  After I packed an overnight bag and put Luna in a carrier, I called Harry.

  It was late, but he was still up and refused to take no for an answer when he offered to drive in and pick me up.

  Imogen and the baby were fast asleep when we arrived, and I dropped my bag and Luna in the spare room before joining my brother for a beer.

  “How are you holding up?”

  “Fine.”

  “It’s okay if you’re not fine.”

  “Tiffany and I …” How did I phrase this? Broke up? We’d never acknowledged it as dating. “Decided just to be friends.” It was not even close to what I wanted to say and sounded ridiculous, but there it was.

  Harry had paused in raising his beer, decided to follow through, and was now watching me. “And how do you feel about that?”

  “Fine.” I sounded anything but.

  “Liar.”

  I took a draw of my own beer, the cool liquid soothing my frayed edges.

  “Will the suspension change your plans for the bar?”

  “Probably, but I won’t know for sure until it’s fixed. I have to close for a week. But it should get turned over quickly, so hopefully, we can keep to the re-opening date.”

  “I’m glad. It’s better in your hands.”

  “Look, Harry, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say for a while. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here after mom and dad passed. You had so much going on—”

  “So did you.”

  “—and I should have come home sooner, or at least helped in some other way.”

  “Sam, you have nothing to apologize for.”

  “Funny. That’s just what Tiffany said you’d say.”

  “Smart woman.”

  “She’s a menace.”

  “I would offer the same critique of you.” His hand stilled mid-air. “Holy shit, you’re in love with her.”

  I wordlessly acknowledged it while taking a long drag of beer. There was no denying it, even if I wanted to. It would certainly make life easier if I weren’t. But from the beginning, I’d been entranced by her.

  Pinpointing the exact moment when I’d known would be impossible because the only timeline I had become aware of was before and after her presence in my life.

  “No offense, brother, but what the hell are you doing here, then?”

  “How I feel doesn’t change anything.”

  “You’re not making any sense, Sam. Of course, it does.”

  “Yes, I have feelings for her.” I felt like a coward, fumbling around the word he’d used, knowing I wasn’t ready to face those feelings yet. Not if I was going to move on. “You and
I both know that what happened with Piper crushed me. I shouldn’t be with anyone right now, let alone the first person I slept with after I’ve gotten back.”

  “You’re acting like you weren’t practically infatuated the minute you met her.”

  “Of course, I was. But isn’t that how it started the last time? I let my feelings for someone get in the way of my work, and it bit me in the ass. I won’t let it happen again.”

  “You have to let that go, Sam. Tiffany isn’t Piper.” Rubbing his hands on his thighs, he sighed, and I knew what came next would be a hard truth. “So, you had to hit the reset button on your life. Starting over isn’t inherently a bad thing. The difference is that you have experience now. What would be a bigger mistake is throwing away something good because you’re scared. Hurting Tiffany won’t make up for how Piper hurt you.”

  “You don’t think I know that? Tiffany is a hundred times the person Piper was.”

  “I’m not hearing the problem.”

  “The problem is that I should be focused on the bar right now. You remember? The whole reason I came back?”

  “This has nothing to do with the bar and everything to do with you.” He’d clearly given up trying to be gentle with me and so plowed on, exasperated. “Do you seriously think Tiffany gives a rat’s ass about taking over? Has she indicated once while working for you that she felt she deserved it in some way? Has she mentioned once that that’s even something she wants?”

  “This is more than sex. I can’t go through it again. When Piper ended it, the damn floor disappeared beneath me. I don’t know that I’ll be able to get back up a second time.”

  “Are you afraid she doesn’t feel the same?”

  “No, I know she does. That’s the problem. If this doesn’t work out ...”

  “Then, it doesn’t work out.” He finished his beer and set it on the table, tired. “Look, you’re going to do what you want. You always have. But life’s too short to give up on something that clearly means this much to you.”