Nothing But This

by Anders, Natasha

  “I, uh . . .” Greyson wasn’t sure what to respond to. The chocolate thing or her observation about him being home early? Instead he settled on, “I don’t care for chocolate.”

  “Philistine.” Olivia wrinkled her nose at him. But her smile deepened. She stood on her toes and gave him another kiss. “We were just about to have some Thai takeout and watch a Say Yes to the Dress marathon. Joining us?”

  “Wait, you said we could watch the football,” Harris complained. “I’m not watching that dress show, Libby.”

  “And I’m not watching a bunch of guys aimlessly kicking a ball around for ninety minutes.”

  “You always do this. You always lure me in with these false little promises, and then we wind up doing whatever the hell you want.”

  It was the Harris-and-Libby show, and as always Greyson felt relegated to merely an observer.

  “I brought some work home,” he fabricated quickly, never sure where he slotted in when they were in their best-buddies mode. Olivia looked a little disappointed but unsurprised, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a hard hug. His arms closed around her instinctively, and he relished the warmth of her slight body against his, the smell of her skin and her hair. She was intoxicating.

  The hug ended too soon, and she stepped away after one last lingering kiss.

  “We’ll be in the den, watching something,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Join us if you need a break, okay?”

  He nodded, and she brushed a loving hand over his jaw.

  “If I send you an SOS text, come and save me from whatever ridiculously girly show she’s forced me to watch, okay?” Harris muttered in an aside to Greyson. The latter forced a smile and nodded curtly.

  Greyson watched—eaten up with resentment and disappointment—as his brother draped a casual arm around Libby’s shoulders and steered her toward the den.

  Neither of them so much as glanced at the flowers on the side table as they walked right by.

  Present day

  Greyson shook his head, impatient with himself for allowing the disturbing memory to intrude on the already unpleasant present. So many nights he had come home hoping for some one-on-one time with Olivia, only to find Harris—or sometimes Tina—there. Tina he didn’t mind, but to find Harris there so often . . . he made an involuntary sound at the back of his throat. Greyson now recognized that the sour emotion churning away at his gut every time he had seen Olivia and Harris chuckling over some incomprehensible joke had been jealousy. He had been wildly jealous over their easy familiarity, the camaraderie, the casual touching.

  The jealousy had eaten away at him, had made him irrationally suspicious. It had allowed him to completely lose sight of reality, to color his view of the two of them. By the time he had spotted them in that restaurant, he had been more than ready to believe the absolute worst of them.

  Four fucking months since he had seen Olivia last. Since he had grudgingly looked at the infant he now accepted was his child. It was too long, and he couldn’t stand the thought of another four passing without seeing them. Worse . . . of years passing. Of never seeing Olivia again and never getting to know Clara.

  The thought was beyond bearing.

  Before he could overthink it, he swiped his screen and brought up his brother’s number. He and Harris very rarely exchanged personal calls anymore. Except for the pictures Harris sent him every day, they kept things strictly business between them. But Harris needed to hear his decision. Greyson owed his brother that much, at least.

  Harris replied almost immediately.

  “Yeah?” The man’s voice was curt and unwelcoming, but that didn’t deter Greyson. His decision had been made the moment Harris had sent him that first picture so many months ago. It had just taken him this long to summon up the guts to do what he knew needed to be done.

  “I’m bringing them home.”

  “Nobody’s coming,” Tina lamented, agitatedly chewing on her thumbnail. Libby tugged her shorter friend’s hand away from her mouth.

  “They’ll come,” she said confidently, even though nerves were gnawing at her stomach. It was MJ’s grand relaunch, and they’d opened the doors half an hour ago. Opened the door to crickets.

  Not the queues they’d been hoping for. Libby had expected the place to be packed, especially on a Friday night. She’d hoped curiosity, if nothing else, would have them come in to check out the place. The staff, which they had kept largely intact, stood around uncertainly.

  “People here are really old fashioned,” Thandiwe, a college student home for the holidays, offered. The young woman had worked for MJ’s throughout her teens, always part time. She was one of their best servers and had helped train the new staff members. “MJ’s has been something of an institution in this town, and maybe they think you’ve messed with tradition or something?”

  “But when I first arrived in town and ate here, people were complaining about how the menu never changed and it would be nice to have some variety,” Tina pointed out.

  “Yes, but they’ve been saying that for years.” Thandiwe shrugged. “I think they enjoyed complaining about it. But it was familiar, and they loved it. I’m sure people will come. Give it time. It’s this or Ralphie’s”—the local pub—“and everyone knows the food is mostly terrible at Ralphie’s. Once they’ve sampled the new menu, they won’t know what to do with themselves.”

  Thandiwe excused herself and went to chat with some of the other waitstaff. After what looked like a terse exchange, they all scattered in different directions, immediately looking a lot busier than they had just moments before.

  “You sent notice of the reopening to the district paper, right?” Libby asked Tina. The paper, Riversend Weekly, circulated on Thursdays and usually contained job opportunities, advertisements for local businesses, and news about town events.

  “Yes, of course,” Tina said, and she lifted her phone and swiped at her screen. She seemed to be looking for something. “I . . . it has to be here. I sent it on Monday.”

  “Did you check the paper?” Libby asked, not liking how this was going. Tina shook her head, a frown marring the smooth lines of her forehead.

  “I forgot to pick up a copy. I meant to get one, but it completely slipped my mind. But I sent it—” She paused, her eyes glued to her phone screen, and the sick dread in her expression did not bode well. “Crap.”

  “Tina?” Libby prompted her, not really sure she wanted to know. She could guess anyway.

  “It didn’t send. I don’t know why it didn’t send,” Tina said, sounding horrified.

  “Oh, Tina.” Libby tried to keep the censure from her voice, knowing that her friend probably felt terrible already, but this was bad.

  “I should have double-checked,” Tina said. “I’m sorry, Libby. First the banner and now this.”

  Tina was referring to the huge, festive banner they had both designed to announce the relaunch, which hadn’t arrived on time. That, along with a few hundred flyers to circulate around town and the ad in the paper, represented their entire promotional plan for the relaunch. But Tina had given the graphic design company the wrong dates. The banners and flyers, which promoted their opening-week specials, would only be arriving next week. At which point they would be about as useful as nipples on a man.

  There was usually some amount of organized chaos around the launch of a new restaurant, but this was worse than usual. Everything had gone wrong at the eleventh hour. Nothing was going according to plan.

  “It’s okay.” Libby tried to appease her friend, even though she was horribly disappointed. “People are coming in; it could have been worse.”

  Tina shook her head. Her hand lifted to her mouth, and she started gnawing on her thumbnail again.

  The door tinkled, and a couple ambled in. The two were holding hands and chuckling, but they stopped abruptly and cast surprised looks around the near-empty restaurant.

  “Hey. You’re open! That’s fantastic. Where is everybody?” the woman—
Libby recognized her as one of the childcare workers at the kindergarten—asked.

  “Apparently resistant to change,” Libby said with a bright smile, focusing on business. An answering smile lit up the woman’s pretty face.

  “Hello, we haven’t officially met. I’m Lia McGregor. You’re Clara’s mum.” She walked toward Libby, dragging the handsome blond man behind her.

  “Olivia Lawson. Please call me Libby,” she said, taking an immediate liking to her. She held out her hand to the slightly older woman, who took it and shook enthusiastically.

  “Really lovely to officially meet you. This is my fiancé, Sam Brand.”

  “Nice to meet you,” the man said, also taking Libby’s hand. He had a wicked smile and an English accent, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  “This is the restaurant’s new owner, Martine Jenson. But everybody calls her Tina,” Libby said, gesturing toward her friend, who acknowledged the couple with a slightly austere smile, as was her habit with strangers. Tina didn’t befriend people easily.

  Lia McGregor seemed to have no such problem. She was still smiling warmly, and her eyes brightened at Tina’s name. “Ooh. You’re an MJ too? That’s perfect,” Lia enthused.

  She continued chatting cheerfully, and Libby watched Tina closely during the exchange. Her friend, never one to immediately warm to new people, still looked distracted and anxious. But Libby knew that this time Tina’s anxiety did not stem from being forced to chat with strangers. She could tell that Tina’s mind was still on the unsent email. Libby couldn’t understand how Tina could have made such elementary errors just before their opening weekend. They both had so much riding on this restaurant, yet now—at the most crucial time—Tina seemed to be mentally and emotionally imploding.

  And that terrified Libby. Unlike Tina, she didn’t have wealthy parents and an inheritance to fall back on, and she couldn’t help feeling a simmering pang of resentment at the other woman’s seemingly careless attitude toward her responsibilities. Libby needed Tina to recognize that she had staked Clara’s future on this restaurant. This could not become yet another one of Tina’s failed “projects.”

  She feared that Tina was crumbling beneath the pressure, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to make things right. She only hoped Tina would find a way to cope. If she couldn’t, then they were both doomed to lose much more than just a business. Libby wasn’t sure their friendship would survive such a catastrophic loss. Not when she had left a stable—if unremarkable—job to do this with Tina. If it were just her, she would be able to brush off such a loss and move on, but she had a baby now, and everything she did was for Clara.

  The evening wasn’t the disaster they had feared it would be. But it wasn’t the capacity crowd they were hoping for either. Still, it was a busy and tiring night for both women. Libby tried to maintain focus, but it was hard when she knew Clara was in Tina’s office in the back, with a young sitter they had found online. She was trying to gradually wean Clara off the breast, planning to pump milk for bottle feedings—a necessity—at day care and then to continue with breastfeeding in the evenings. She wanted to maintain a stable routine for Clara. But she felt incredibly guilty about it, as her original plan had always been to breastfeed for at least six months before even thinking of weaning. She hated losing out on those last two months. But in this case, head had to overrule heart.

  At least she still had the evenings, and tonight she popped in occasionally to cuddle and breastfeed her baby and to make sure both Clara and her teenage sitter were comfortable and happy.

  The sixteen-year-old girl, Charlie Carlisle, had been frank about the fact that she’d never sat for an infant before, but Libby had been desperate and had liked the no-nonsense teen immediately. Still, it made her feel better to know that they were close by.

  At the end of the evening, Libby was relieved to call it a day. She knew Tina was disappointed by the turnout and wondered—not for the first time—how much money her friend had put into this venture. Tina had been secretive about the finances, telling Libby to focus on creating the mouthwatering, inventive dishes that Tina was sure would put MJ’s firmly on the map as a premium eatery.

  Their new friend Lia McGregor and her immediate family had lavished the food with praise. But most of the other locals who had ventured out had been stingy with their feedback. Time would tell if word of mouth would generate new business and if the people who had come out tonight would turn into regular patrons. Come summer, tourists would flock to the seaside town, and there would definitely be an uptick in business then. But Tina and Libby knew that the only way the business would survive was if the locals took to it. Or they would go belly up before next winter.

  Once the last of the patrons had left and the kitchen staff had the cleanup under control, Libby joined Tina in her office. Charlie was still there, putting her e-book and phone into a tattered denim backpack.

  “Thank you for all your help tonight, Charlie.” She smiled at the pretty girl, found her purse, and dug through her wallet for the payment.

  “She’s a darling, Mrs. Chapman. I enjoyed taking care of her.” Libby winced inwardly at the name, wishing she’d thought to introduce herself as Libby Lawson to Charlie. Now she was stuck with Mrs. Chapman, which was aggravating when she would rather not acknowledge the fact that she’d ever been married.

  “Please, call me Libby,” she said hastily. “Clara seems to like you. How often do you think you would be available to sit?”

  “I can sit most weekends. School nights will be a bit more difficult because I have swim practice after school, followed by studying and homework.”

  “Of course.” Libby smiled, swallowing down disappointment. She wasn’t sure what to do about the weeknights. She had to be at the restaurant from ten thirty to three for the brunch and lunch crowd and then back by six thirty for dinner service. The early shift was fine because Clara spent those few hours in day care. But evenings would be a problem. She needed to find a nanny . . . but the cost was prohibitive.

  Libby paid Charlie, and the girl beamed happily.

  “Do you need a ride home?” Libby asked.

  “Oh no, my brother, Spencer, is waiting for me.”

  “Spencer is your brother?” Spencer was Lia McGregor’s good-looking but intimidatingly big brother-in-law. The man had hovered around his heavily pregnant wife, Daffodil, all night. The woman in turn had rolled her eyes and good naturedly teased him about his overprotectiveness. Libby envied the woman her doting, concerned husband. And couldn’t help but compare how the man was around his wife with how absent and disinterested Greyson had been throughout Libby’s pregnancy.

  She forced the bitter memory to the back of her mind and focused on the girl. Spencer and Daff had been introduced by their first names only, so she hadn’t made the connection that they might be related to her babysitter. Charlie was biracial, and with her dusky skin and soft dark-brown curls, the familial relationship wasn’t immediately apparent. But now she could see the resemblance: the girl had her brother’s emerald eyes, shy smile, and dimples. But she was very petite, while her hulking brother was huge.

  “Yep. He’s a little overprotective; he’d never allow me to walk home or even use Uber. I mean, we have, like, two Uber drivers in town, and Spencer knows them both, so I don’t know what his deal is.” She rolled her eyes, clearly finding this bit of brotherly tyranny tiresome. Libby hid her smile and nodded.

  “Best not to keep him waiting any longer,” she said, and the girl nodded.

  “Thanks again, Mrs. Chapman. Same time tomorrow night?”

  “Yes please.” Libby nodded, and the girl bent over the crib to gently stroke the sleeping baby’s head.

  “Sweet dreams, Clara. See you soon. Night, Mrs. Chapman. See you, Tina.”

  Tina—who had been silently staring at her laptop throughout Libby’s exchange with the teen—looked up and waved as the girl flounced out in that carefree manner only teens seemed to possess.

  “She’s sweet,” she s
aid in reference to Charlie, dragging her reading glasses off and pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly. “God, I’m knackered.”

  “Me too.” Libby sank down in the chair opposite her friend. “How did we do?”

  “Just about broke even tonight,” Tina said with a tight smile.

  “It’ll get better,” Libby reassured her—mentally crossing her fingers in hopes that her words would prove to be prophetic.

  Her friend nodded with an unconvinced smile. “It has to.”

  “Tina, how much did you spend on this place? Renovations and rebranding included?”

  “My inheritance more than covered it,” Tina said with another tight smile. “It’s fine. It’s just . . .”

  “Just what?” Libby prompted her when her friend stalled in midsentence. She hated feeling like Tina was hiding something from her. Libby knew that she had been too involved with her own life and concerns to pay more than cursory attention to her friend’s behavioral changes before now, but it was becoming more and more apparent that something was very wrong with Tina. And had been for a long time. It made her once again second-guess her decision to go into this business venture with Tina. But it was too late for regrets, and she could only hope this worked out, despite whatever was going on with her friend.

  “This is the first thing I’ve done,” Tina said. “The first meaningful thing, and my parents are just waiting for me to fail. I know it. They think that I’m a total waste of space. Their flighty daughter, who could never keep down a job, trying to run a restaurant. Without any qualifications whatsoever.”

  Self-doubt reflected in the woman’s pretty sea-green eyes, and Libby shook her head. She felt abruptly terrible about all her earlier uncertainty regarding Tina’s commitment to the restaurant. In a moment of revelatory clarity, she understood that Tina was absolutely terrified of failing. Libby had judged her too harshly earlier; Tina wanted this to work, but it wasn’t easy for her. Libby, with her past experience in the restaurant business, had simply expected Tina to immediately get everything right, when that was a near-impossible ask for even an experienced restaurateur.