That Secret Crush

by Quinn, Meghan

  “That would fall under the no-touching rule.”

  “Just wanted to clarify.”

  “What about when we want to see each other? He’s staying at your place, so that means no sleepovers.”

  “We’ll just have to be creative, that’s all.” She slips off my lap and walks toward my bathroom, her pert ass swaying before disappearing inside.

  “I can be very creative,” I call out. “I’ve been known to be super creative.”

  She leans out of the open bathroom door. “You better only be creative with me.”

  “As if I could handle anyone else. You’re it for me, babe.”

  “Damn right. We just have to be honest, and once we get through all the early stages of the restaurant and things start going smoothly, we tell Eric. We will sit him down and respectfully let him know. And at that point, we’ll be able to say that if we got through the early processes of putting together a restaurant while dating, then we for sure can get through opening and beyond.”

  “Prove to him that we can do both.” I nod, thinking about her plan. It very well might work, and I really don’t have any other suggestions on how to handle the situation other than walking up to him and telling him right now, which I know will blow up in not only my face but also everyone else’s. It would be putting a lot of dreams on the line, and I can’t fathom doing that right now. My dad’s face flashes in my mind, the excitement he had in his eyes when talking about the restaurant; yeah, I can’t fuck this up for him. “You know, that’s going to be a huge fear of his, the two of us being able to work together, because Janelle screwed him over, screwed us both over. I’m not sure he’s going to be okay with mixing business and pleasure.”

  “This isn’t business and pleasure.” Eve walks back into the living room wearing one of my shirts, which hits her midthigh. “We’re in a serious relationship with the promise of a future, and we also happen to be working together toward a common goal. This is completely different from him and Janelle. We’ll just have to help him see the distinction.”

  That makes sense. And it is different. I’m not just fucking Eve; I’m falling for her . . . hard.

  “We can do that, but in the meantime, we can find secret places to do it.” I wiggle my eyebrows.

  She smothers my face with her hand and laughs. “Seriously, five minutes, Knightly. Five minutes without talking about sex.”

  “That was like ten.”

  “Ha, okay . . . nice try.” She curls up on me and pulls a blanket over the both of us as she rests her head on my shoulder.

  “What about the town?” I ask, just remembering that we live in a place that put out a freaking news article about our budding relationship.

  “Damage control. Hit up the biggest gossips in town; let them know to spread the word.”

  “Spread the word about what?”

  She glances up at me. “Spread the word about keeping this a secret.”

  “You think that’s going to work?”

  She nods. “You have to know the right people. I can hit up Franklin and Mrs. Davenport. Use them to our advantage for once. Within an hour, everyone in town will know. They work fast.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Tell Brig—he’ll work his side of the gossip train.”

  I chuckle, half in disbelief, half in awe. “You’re unfortunately right. I already told my family to keep their mouths shut, but I’ll reinforce it with Brig and have him spread the word.”

  She tilts up and kisses my chin. “Perfect.”

  Perfect is right.

  I snuggle into her and hold her tight. It feels like everything is going right in my life. But even in the midst of all this happiness, part of me is fucking terrified. Because when everything goes right, the ball is bound to drop at any second.

  I just hope I can hold everything together when it does.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  REID

  Reid: Heads up, Eve and I will be secretly dating now, spread the word.

  Rogan: Okay, good luck with that.

  Brig: Secretly? How is that possible in our town when everyone already knows you’re dating?

  Griffin: You know I hate agreeing with Brig, but I’m kind of with him on this.

  Reid: We are being discreet. Acting professional with each other around Eric, and when we’re ready we’re going to tell him.

  Rogan: Truth is better than deception, bro.

  Brig: Haven’t you watched any Lovemark movies? This idea ALWAYS goes wrong.

  Reid: I don’t make decisions based on frilly romances. This is real life. We can be adults about this.

  Griffin: Smells like a bad idea.

  Jen: As a lady, I would like to interject and say it can be done if handled properly. It’s usually the man who screws everything up . . . according to Lovemark.

  Brig: Not FUCKING true. In Trotting for Turkey Love, Isabelle was the one who broke Kent’s heart by not being honest about the turkey-carving contest. It’s not always the man.

  Reid: You are seriously disturbing. Why do you know their names?

  Rogan: He’s watched each movie at least five times.

  Griffin: He recorded the turkey one on my DVR and watched it at my house at least twice.

  Jen: Twice at my house.

  Rogan: Once at mine.

  Brig: Four at mine, OKAY! We get it, I like the damn movie. There’s just something about watching Isabelle’s tits jiggle while she’s carving that turkey with a motorized knife that gets me every freaking time. And then the heartache Kent feels when she cheats him out of the win. God, I feel it in my bones.

  Reid: . . .

  Rogan: I . . . oh hell.

  Griffin: Jiggling tits? Come on, man.

  Jen: Not that I ever want to defend Brig (I think we’re all on the same page when it comes to that) but I must say that Isabelle IS stacked and her boobs do jiggle a lot. Brig played it for me in slow motion a few times. I can see the appeal.

  Brig: THANK YOU. **Drops Mic**

  Griffin: I really need to remove myself from this group text.

  Rogan: Jen, you’re better than that.

  Jen: **Shrugs** They were jiggly. I’m not sorry.

  Reid: Jesus Christ, can you all just promise me to be cool and not mention anything about me and Eve dating. Any help is appreciated.

  Brig: I don’t ever want to hide love, but I’ll suck it up and do this for you, bro . . . because I love you.

  Griffin: Seriously, removing myself right now.

  Rogan: Why do you always have to make things weird, Brig?

  Jen: It’s sweet.

  Reid: Jen!

  Rogan: Jen!

  Griffin: **Figuring out how to remove myself**

  Brig: Jen—you, me, Oliver’s ice cream and April Showers Brings May Man Powers this Friday. You in?

  Jen: Oddly, I think I am.

  “Got some more fudge,” Dad calls out as he enters the Lobster Landing’s kitchen.

  I’ve been packaging and blocking yesterday’s fudge for the past hour, painstakingly making sure everything is the way Griffin likes it. He’s very particular about how we present our products. And I get it, because if it was my restaurant, the rules would be the same.

  “Did you bring more chocolate raspberry?” I ask. “Griffin’s been going insane since we ran out.”

  “Brought two batches, so he can pull his undies out of his ass.”

  I chuckle as I set a dozen blocks to the side and help my dad pull the rest of the fresh fudge out of the coolers. “What’s this?” I ask, holding up a pan of pink-and-orange-swirled fudge.

  “Sherbet. Don’t tell your mother, but I slipped that one in last night. Thought I’d try something new in preparation for summer.”

  “A new flavor without the family taste testing it first? Do you think that’s smart, Dad?”

  He waves his hand at me. “I know when fudge is good, and this is good.”

  “You think?” I take off the clear plastic cover and flip the bloc
k over on the table. With my metal scraper, I slice off a piece and take a taste. I’m immediately hit with an overwhelming wave of sweet that nearly rips my tongue in half.

  “Good, right?” Dad is nodding as I run to the fridge for water.

  “Dad, that was . . . oh fuck, that was gross. You need to get your taste buds checked.”

  “What?” His brow furrows as he reaches for a bite. He chews and then grimaces before letting out a deep, throaty chuckle. “Well, that teaches me to make fudge while drinking beer. Let’s just chuck that slab, huh?”

  “Good idea.”

  While I’m clearing the sherbet fudge from the counter, Dad says, “You know, I’m glad I have you for a second. I wanted to talk to you privately.”

  “Is it about bombarding me yesterday?”

  “Maybe.” He smiles and leans against one of the stainless steel countertops that stretch along the side of the kitchen. “I could read it all over your face that you were shocked, to say the least. I was, too, when Eric and Eve approached me without you, but I had to admire them. Eric insisted that I’d either take on him and Eve together or neither of them. He stepped up for his sister, told me why she would be perfect for the job and why all three of you would be perfect for the job. His parents would have been proud.”

  “He said all three of us?”

  He nods. “And he said that Bar 79’s success didn’t come from either one of you but from the chemistry you two had in the kitchen. I couldn’t agree more. With Eve at the helm managing everything, I know that this is going to be successful. I did mention to Eve that while you two are working out the details of the menu, I’d want to put her through some vigorous training during the little spare time she has. She said she was ready for it and will do anything to make this a success. Those are the kinds of things I want to hear.”

  “This means a lot to her,” I admit. “It means a lot to us, Dad. I don’t really know what to say about the chance you’ve given all three of us, but I feel like I’ll forever be repaying you.”

  He shakes his head and pushes off the counter, stepping closer and placing his large hand on my shoulder. “Don’t you realize, Reid, that I’m not doing you a favor? You’re actually helping me out. You’re bringing a dream of mine to reality, and for that, I’ll always be grateful to you, son.”

  Fuck.

  What’s with the emotions I’ve been having lately? You’d think I was a pubescent tween. It’s been getting goddamn annoying.

  But there’s something that happens to you as a man as you get older and watch your parents age, especially your dad. There is this innate need to help him, to impress him, to garner his forever respect, to make sure you turn out to be the man he’s always dreamed you’d be. But after the restaurant crashed and burned, I gave up hope of being much more than an embarrassment.

  Now, though, there’s hope—a whisper in my mind that I’m on my way to becoming the man he raised me to be, and that means more than anything.

  This is the man who put his faith in my talent, who took a chance on a young punk who wanted nothing more than to cook. He invested in me, cheered for me, and stood by my side when the worst happened. He’s picked me up when I’ve been down, he’s lifted me up when no one else would, and he’s trusted me with his dream.

  In this moment, I make a silent promise to myself. I will do everything possible to make sure this restaurant is not only a true success but also a legacy.

  I reach out and pull my dad into a hug, and we take the moment to pat each other on the back, a silent exchange of appreciation passing between us.

  “I’m really excited about this, Dad,” I say as we pull away. “The design meeting is going to be amazing, and I actually cooked something for Eve last night.”

  His brows shoot up. “You did?”

  “Yup.” I decide to leave out the cooking-naked part. “Made spaghetti and meatballs. It felt really fucking good too, like I was breathing again.”

  He breaks out into a grin. “That makes me happier than you could ever imagine. And I think it has to do with the woman you were cooking for.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  “She’s everything to me, Dad.”

  “I can see it in your eyes.” He pauses. “Eric doesn’t know yet, does he?”

  A wave of anxiety hits me, and I shake my head. “Because of Janelle and what she did to us, we thought keeping things quiet right now might be a good idea. We plan on telling him but want to prove to him how well we can work together first. Are you going to be okay with that?”

  He looks to the side and lets out a heavy sigh. “Not really, but I also get why you’re holding back. My suggestion to you, son, is to tell him sooner rather than later. Prove yourself early on—both of you, prove your investment in this, and then tell him. Because the longer you wait, the worse it could be.”

  “I know. We just need a little time. Like you said, prove ourselves and then come out with it. After everything Janelle did to us, after leaving him with our money, I know he’s not going to trust any kind of workplace romance, even if it’s between his best friend and his sister.”

  “There’s history there, but if any two people can do it, I know it’s you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EVE

  Want to know what’s incredibly sexy?

  Watching Reid in his element, speaking with such confidence and conviction. It’s taking every last ounce of strength to not reach out to hold his hand or cup his junk. Yeah, I have an urge to reach out and just cup him through his pants, make my hand a penis hammock. It’s an odd urge, one that I’m not entirely proud of, though it’s there. But in front of Mr. Knightly, Eric, and the architect—my little fantasy is wildly inappropriate.

  “So you don’t want to expand into the harbor?” Giselle, the architect, asks as we all study the wall that runs parallel to the water, charted out on the blueprints spread out atop the table we’re hovering around.

  “No.” Reid shakes his head. “Not if it’s going to take five months. We can still have an indoor-outdoor space using the square footage we have.” He waves his hand through the air. “We could bring the warehouse wall back six feet, which would give enough room for a small patio. Then line the entire wall with pocket doors so they can slide open on a nice day. Line the ceiling with heaters that point inward for those chilly nights so patrons can still feel like they’re outside but not freeze their asses off. And on the outside, silent fans to deter flies and insects from coming inside the restaurant.”

  Huh, who knew fans could do that?

  “Good idea,” Eric says, his eyes lighting up. “The safety rail can be glass so when you’re sitting, the view isn’t obstructed, and if people want to take pictures, they can.”

  “Exactly. But have all the seats under the roof, nothing actually on the patio.”

  Eric nods. “And with the color motif from the Landing as inspiration, it’s going to be perfect.”

  Reid came to the meeting with a palette of colors and a layout of all fixtures, floorings, and woodwork he wants to see. How he did it all in one night is beyond me, but then again, he did have the Lobster Landing to model everything after. The goal is to create a sense of cohesion between the two buildings, meaning the walls will be covered in white shiplap with natural wood accents in the tables, flooring, exposed beams, and countertops. The chairs will all be teal with basket-wrapped bottoms for extra texture. Iron details will be worked into the light fixtures, pocket doors, window frames, and fans, as well as in the exposed kitchen. They want it out in the open so patrons can watch their food as it’s made. Red accents will be added with the logo, just like the Lobster Landing, and the plating will be red while the glassware will be tinted teal.

  I’m beside myself with excitement. I can see it all: the industrial yet beachy theme, the bright reds, teals, and whites, the enhanced loft where the office will be, the subtle hints of rope, the ironwork, the long wall of pocket sliding doors for the view. It will be absolutely breath
taking.

  The boys both pause and turn to Mr. Knightly. His arms are crossed, and one hand cups his chin as he stares down at the plans.

  “What do you think, Dad?” Reid asks quietly.

  He doesn’t answer right away. Instead he pushes a few visuals from the design board around and then looks up at his son, a tear rolling down his cheek. “It’s absolutely everything I could have dreamed of.” He pulls Reid into a hug. “It’s perfect.”

  He did good.

  He really did, and all in a short time frame. This is how good Reid is, how amazing his visions can be. He’s spent enough time at the Lobster Landing to know how to bring the atmosphere into a restaurant setting while still embracing the industrial look.

  When Mr. Knightly pulls away, Reid says, “And the outside, red corrugated panels, the logo ten by ten and painted directly on the wall with white paint. It will go perfectly with the Landing but also stand out as a separate building.”

  “I love it,” Mr. Knightly says, his arm still wrapped around Reid’s shoulders. “I absolutely love it. I couldn’t have thought of anything better. And using the loft space for offices—you’ve really thought of it all.”

  “I have to agree,” Eric says, amazement in his eyes. “If I wasn’t a part of this, I would be incredibly jealous because this is everything Port Snow’s been missing. Casual family dining that feels modern but still has a hint of nostalgia. I’m really impressed, Reid.”

  The smile—the pride—that crosses over Reid in a matter of seconds almost brings me to my knees. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy, so in his element. It might have taken a lot for him to get to this point, but I can see the life start to spark back in his eyes.

  He’s finally found his purpose.

  Giselle looks over everything again. “Well, let’s get started, boys. I can have the men start tearing down walls tomorrow and demoing anything that needs to be taken out.” She hands Reid some red tape. “X everything you want gone. And if you want to help to move along the process, please feel free to show up at seven tomorrow morning.”