That Secret Crush

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Huh, okay. Mind if I fix a plate? I’m starving.”

  Well, that was easy.

  “Sure, have a seat. I’ll grab you one.”

  As I’m dishing out the mac and cheese, I notice how Eric takes in my apartment. It hasn’t changed since the last time he’s seen it. I don’t make enough money at the Inn to even consider changing anything up. Every piece of furniture is a hand-me-down from our parents’ house, torn and tattered; it all does the job but isn’t even close to being visually appealing. I wince internally at my worn sofa—its tears covered by an artfully arranged blanket.

  I set a full plate down in front of Eric, along with a fork, and whisk Reid’s plate away, leaving it in the sink. Even though I love my brother, I would rather be sitting across from Reid right now, going over everything I wanted to talk to him about, but it seems like that will have to be put on hold . . . for a while.

  “So, what brings you to Port Snow?” I ask, sitting across from him, though my stomach is so knotted I don’t even consider finishing my meal.

  “To see you, of course.” His answer falls flat.

  “Come on, Eric. I know you better than that. Something big had to have happened for you to come back home. You didn’t even return for Dad’s death anniversary.”

  “I had to work.”

  “You and I both know you could have gotten out of it if you tried, so don’t pull that with me.”

  “Fine. I wasn’t ready to come home. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “If it’s the truth, then yes, that is what I want to hear.”

  “It is.” His voice is empty, emotionless. “I didn’t want to return to a bunch of people who know me and know what I’ve become.”

  Sounds a lot like Reid. Both of them too proud to start a new chapter, so they keep writing the same one over and over again.

  “So why are you here now, then?”

  He shovels a scoop of mac and cheese in his mouth. “I need to talk to you.”

  Fear runs through my body. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says. “But I kind of was offered an opportunity . . . wait, you probably already know about it.”

  “Why would I know about it? I haven’t spoken to you in a while.”

  He thumbs toward the door. “Because it’s with Reid. I’m sure he told you.”

  With Reid?

  What the hell is going on?

  My neck burns with rage as a wave of heat creeps up my back. Why on earth do I keep getting news about Reid secondhand when I should be hearing it straight from him?

  I take a guess. “About the restaurant?”

  “So he did tell you.” He smirks. “Was he over here trying to convince you to convince me to do it?”

  I smack my lips together and shake my head. “Actually, I have no idea why you’re even involved; this is news to me.”

  “Oh.” His brow pulls together. “Well, shit. I for sure thought he would have told you if he was over here.”

  “Well, why don’t you enlighten me?”

  “He came down to Boston two days ago.” Eric scratches the side of his jaw. “Told me Mr. Knightly is starting a restaurant, and he wants both of us to run it, to create the entire thing from scratch.”

  “Really?” I ask, dragging the word out, my fists clenching on my lap. Why wouldn’t he tell me Eric was involved? Why would he drive all the way to Boston to visit my brother and say nothing about it?

  I think I’m about to blow a gasket.

  “Yeah, apparently Mr. Knightly wants both of us or neither of us.”

  Ouch. I do feel a sliver of pity, despite myself. That couldn’t have felt good for Reid to hear.

  “What did you say?”

  “No.” Well, Reid’s mood makes sense now. He’s presented with an amazing opportunity, and with one word, my brother kills it. My anger simmers rather than boils now as everything starts to connect in my head. “But now I don’t know,” Eric continues. “I think I might actually consider it.”

  “Like, you would move back to Port Snow and start up another restaurant with Reid?”

  “Maybe.” He scratches the side of his jaw. “We were fucking unstoppable, Eve. Our restaurant was quickly climbing the ranks in Boston; we were getting press from all over the place. But one wrong move, hiring someone we didn’t really know to handle the books, ruined everything.” He bows his head. “I lost everything. All the money from Mom and Dad, your college money, everything they put toward making my dream a reality . . . we lost it.”

  “You didn’t lose it, Eric. Janelle stole it from you.”

  “And I was the one who convinced Reid to hire Janelle when he started struggling with the business side. It was my fault.”

  I can’t help it—I laugh.

  “Why the hell are you laughing?”

  “Because you two idiots keep taking the blame for the restaurant instead of moving on. It’s probably the most infuriating thing I’ve ever had to deal with.”

  “That’s easy for you to say—you didn’t live it.” Excuse me? I didn’t live it? He can’t be serious. “You didn’t—”

  “I lived it!” I shout, my anger spilling out. All the lies, the omissions, the neglect, the sacrifices—they all come surfacing at the same time. “I was the one who put my life on hold so you could go and chase your dreams. I was the one who put off college so I could take care of our sick parents. I was the one who stayed back in Port Snow, found a way to pay the nursing home bills so you could take the money from Mom and Dad’s house and open a restaurant. And when it was time, you were supposed to bring me out to Boston so I could go to college, pursue my dreams too. We shook on it. You first, me second, and I was okay with that, Eric. I was okay with making that sacrifice because I love you, and I knew you were going to succeed. So don’t tell me it’s easy for me to say. You’re not the only person who lost something that day. I lost too. I lost more than you could ever imagine.”

  Tears spring to my eyes, and I take a deep, shaky breath.

  Eric turns his tortured eyes on me. “Eve, I’m . . . fuck, I’m sorry. I know everything you did was for me, for us. I didn’t mean—”

  “Save it, Eric. I’m just so sick of the two of you playing the woe is me card.” I motion around my apartment. “Do you think I like living here? In a moldy apartment below a guy who likes to save his toenail clippings as a hobby? No, but it’s what I can afford while I put myself through school and work at the Inn. I didn’t give up when life took everything away from me. I pushed forward. I made lemonade out of lemons, and yeah, it’s been fucking hard. I’ve had some really bad days, but I know by the time I graduate this semester, it will all be worth it. All the hard work and the tears will be worth it. I didn’t give up, so why did you?”

  He shakes his head, taking a pause as I watch him absorb every last emotion I spilled between us. On a gulp, his eyes flash up, and barely above a whisper, he says, “I’m not as strong as you, Eve. Never have been. I still have no idea how you could spend every free moment you had with Mom and Dad while they were dying, watching them deteriorate every day. I don’t know how you’ve been able to carry yourself with such poise, such strength, after everything we’ve been through—and still be a goddamn inspiration. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t come back. I’ve been too fucking ashamed to show my face around you, knowing how much I’ve let you down in almost every facet of our lives.”

  I stare him down. “Then don’t let me down anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The wheels in my head are turning, sifting through the possibilities of Reid and Eric’s new opportunity. “Take the job with Reid. Create something even better than Bar 79. Prove to yourself and to Reid that even though you failed once, you’re not going to do it again. Stop hiding, and be the person I know you can be.”

  “Eve, I don’t know . . .”

  “And take me along with you,” I say before I can chicken out.

  “What?” His brow
creases.

  Here goes nothing.

  “You admitted it yourself—both you and Reid are bad at business. I’m sure Mr. Knightly is going to want a business manager for the restaurant. I’m about to graduate with a bachelor’s in business, and I’ve been managing the Inn for the last two years. I’m qualified, and I have a bunch of fresh and new ideas, ones I can’t act on at the Inn because they’re so set in their ways. Let me be a part of this. Let me help you finish what you started.”

  “You want to manage the restaurant?”

  “Yes, I do, and I want you to make it mandatory that I’m a part of it.”

  I might be overstepping, but I don’t care. I’m so sick of these two morons sulking around and not making true use of their God-given talent. They need someone to push them, to guide them down the path to success, and I have the tools to do that. Mr. Knightly won’t hire Reid without Eric . . . well, guess what, Eric is going to come with a plus-one as well. If they’re not going to take advantage of this amazing opportunity, then I’m going to make them . . . I’ll guilt them if I have to.

  I have zero shame.

  “I don’t know, Eve. That’s asking a lot.”

  “You owe me,” I say, catching him off guard. “You owe me this. You owe it to Mom and Dad as well.”

  “Eve . . .”

  “Do you not trust me? Do you not trust in my ability to manage a restaurant?”

  “This isn’t my choice to make,” he snaps back, hand to his chest. “I can’t just say you’re hired when it’s not my goddamn restaurant.”

  “Then convince them why I would be great for the job. They want you, so make them see why they should want me too.” I catch my breath. “You even said it yourself, years ago—once I got my bachelor’s, you’d go into business with me, and we’d take over the restaurant industry. What happened to that dream, Eric? That was our dream.”

  “It was.”

  “Then help create another. I love you, Eric, and I’m so glad you’re back in town. Stay this time. Not just for me, but for Mom and Dad. You left me and our plans back here in Port Snow, so help make them a reality.” My voice cracks.

  He leans back in his chair, my words hanging between us.

  Then I see the tears in his eyes. “Shit, Eve,” he says. “I didn’t come here to fucking cry.”

  I chuckle and toss my napkin at him. “But you came here for some sisterly advice, and here it is: You belong here, you were meant to cook with Reid, and you’re supposed to be doing something great with your talent. The opportunity is there, so snatch it up before you let it slip through your fingers.”

  He smiles, eyes shining. “Looks like I need to set up a meeting with Mr. Knightly.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  REID

  Reid: Fuck. FUCK! Eric Roberts is back in town.

  Griffin: Oh shit! Is he taking the job?

  Rogan: Does he know about you and Eve?

  Brig: If he does, I didn’t tell him so don’t go blaming me.

  Reid: No idea if he knows. He stopped by Eve’s last night when we were having dinner, but I bolted so fast I couldn’t even tell if he was suspicious.

  Rogan: That couldn’t have been more obvious.

  Griffin: But what about the job?

  Brig: I just asked Tracker if he heard anything about Eric being in town and he said no. You still might be safe, bro.

  Reid: No idea about the job. I was fucking blindsided last night, and now I feel like I’m about to lose my damn mind. What the hell do I do?

  Rogan: What are you worried about?

  Reid: Eric finding out about Eve and me. And fuck, I don’t even know what’s going on with us. I’ve been so all over the place that I’m surprised she even wanted to see me last night.

  Brig: Yikes, sounds like trouble in paradise.

  Rogan: Yeah, you’re kind of in a sticky situation.

  Griffin: This is why you don’t date friends’ sisters.

  Reid: Wow, you are all so fucking helpful. Thank you.

  Brig: Not a problem.

  Rogan: Any time.

  Griffin: We are here to serve.

  Reid: Fuck all of you.

  Brig: ^^^ don’t take that personally, boys. He’s just projecting the anger he feels about his own decisions onto us.

  Reid: I will pop all of your goddamn tires.

  Brig: Now that’s just low, going after my cars. That’s so beneath you.

  Reid: At least something is beneath me, unlike you . . .

  Rogan: Oh damn.

  Griffin: Ha, he’s talking about how you haven’t had sex in a really long time.

  Brig: Thanks, Griffin. Wasn’t sure I got that (note the sarcasm). I’m saving myself for the woman I’m going to marry.

  Reid: Either that or the curse passed over all of us and landed only on you.

  Rogan: Ooo, that’s not going to go over well.

  Griffin: [Homer Simpson backing into bushes GIF]

  Brig: You mother FUCKER! You know how hard I’ve been working to cleanse my goddamn aura. Don’t be throwing that around if you don’t mean it.

  Reid: Who says I didn’t mean it?

  Rogan: Dude, you’re going to make him cry.

  Griffin: And then I’m going to have to pick up the pieces.

  Brig: I’m dying ALONE!!!!

  Rogan: Good job, Reid.

  Reid: At least I’m not the only miserable one now.

  Dad: Meet me at the restaurant at four. Be sharp.

  I stare down at the text message and then back up at the restaurant . . . or at least the space that my dad wants to make into a restaurant. I have no idea what he wants. All I got from him was this text and nothing more. I haven’t heard anything from Eric or Eve either. I sent her a text a few hours ago, asking her how she was and apologizing for bolting last night, but I haven’t heard anything back.

  Why do I feel like I’m about to get bombarded?

  Heaving a deep sigh, I scan the warehouse beside the Lobster Landing. Dad has kept up with its outward appearance, making sure it isn’t a sore thumb on the end of Main Street, but it serves no real purpose. With its white siding, its pitched roof with Cape Cod–style windows, and the giant LOBSTER LANDING sign painted on the side with an arrow pointing to the entrance, the building is used more for Instagram pictures than anything.

  Pocketing my phone and trying not to let my nerves get to me, I make my way to the restaurant and pull open the door. A loud creak echoes through the hollow space, pulling the attention of three figures standing near the expansive windows that overlook the bay. From the sunlight pouring in, I can’t quite make out who the shadows are until I walk across the sealed concrete and step up next to them.

  The first person I see is my dad, followed by Eric . . . and Eve?

  “Reid, glad you could join us,” my dad says as he gestures to the space. “Won’t this be beautiful once it’s all done? They’ve already started on the floor plan, sectioning things off and putting in the proper wiring for what we need, but the design is still slightly up for debate. All I know is the kitchen and bathrooms have to be on the left.”

  Err . . . did I miss something? Did I black out at some point and am now just waking up?

  “Yeah, okay.” I look between Eve and Eric and then to my dad. “Uh, what’s going on?”

  “Didn’t they tell you? They’re on board.” My dad claps his hands, grinning.

  “They?” I ask, swallowing hard.

  “Yes, Eric and Eve. Eric will be joining you in the kitchen, and Eve will be handling all the business. She has quite the impressive résumé, even without the bachelor’s degree she’s about to earn. I have a design meeting set up for tomorrow, and from there, you boys will take it over. I’d like to be updated on all developments at the end of every week, and then there is the focus of what I want this restaurant to be.”

  What the hell is going on? I’m still reeling from the thought of all three of us working together. As in me, Eric, and Eve . . . the girl I’m seei
ng and Eric’s twin sister. This won’t be fucking awkward at all.

  “What were you thinking cuisine-wise?” Eric asks my dad, folding his arms over his chest, his let’s get down to business face on. I’ve seen that expression so many times. It means he’s ready to listen and then dream big. Happens every time. The man’s ideas are huge, and I’ve always been the one to bring him back down to earth.

  “Well, I’d want the atmosphere to be casual and cool. Hip and modern, nothing stuffy, but food everyone would enjoy. You know, street eats, things you would get from food trucks, but slightly elevated and for a sit-down place,” Dad says. “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes in town, so no crab cakes or lobster bisque, things restaurants are already famous for around here, but I also want to bring a New England flair to our menu and remind tourists where they’re dining.”

  I may still be in shock over this change of events, but even so, a part of my brain, the one that’s been lying dormant for years, can’t help but turn on. Recipes and ideas start developing in my head.

  Deconstructed clam chowder.

  A flight of lobster.

  New England street tacos.

  “That’s a great idea,” Eric says. “I’ll hook up with this guy”—he grabs my shoulder—“and we’ll see what we can come up with. I’m already seeing flights of food, tapas, soups with special dipping breads. We can completely change the face of Port Snow cuisine.”

  Feeling like I’m in a catatonic state, I just let everyone else do the talking as I attempt to wrap my head around what’s happening.