That thought was what kept him going through the long and lonely nights, when he was alone in the carriage house, with his friends and his former life hours away. Sure, Mack hadn’t wanted to be left, but that was different from not wanting to be left by him. Once she got over having to deal with the change, she’d be happy.
Even if he no longer was.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mack sat with Sam on the brand-new patio and looked up at the trees. Billy’s never had a backyard, but there’d been an alleyway people jokingly called the garden, where they used to gather to smoke. Now Mack had a real garden, with a retractable umbrella, heat lamps, and landscaping to decorate the space year-round. She could already tell it was going to be her favorite spot at the new Mackenzie’s, especially on clear nights when people could sip their drinks under a starry sky.
Mackenzie’s. She still had to get used to calling the restaurant that without any qualifiers. No more worrying if it was going to happen or whether Connor could be convinced. No waiting for him to shoot her down and tell her it was never going to be. Now she had exactly what she wanted.
And yet every time she heard the name, something inside her cringed. Was this truly what she’d hoped for? Had it been worth so high a price?
Any time she peeked in the kitchen to check out what the construction crew was doing, she half expected Connor to be there. Wasn’t this his restaurant, too?
But it wasn’t—not anymore. She had to remind herself that every time someone came to her with a question about the design or needed her to sign off on a change. She’d made more decisions in the last month than she could ever remember. And had more stress to deal with from managing this alone.
Sam was helping her interview candidates for the head chef position, but they still hadn’t found the right person to fill the vacant spot. Even after they hired someone, the decisions would still be up to Mack. Somebody new to the restaurant and the area didn’t have the same kind of say as she did. She was realizing so much responsibility was a blessing and a curse.
Take the kitchen. There were a million ways to set it up, and since she didn’t work in there, she didn’t know exactly what was best. She thought about keeping it the way it had been, updated but essentially the same. But then she imagined going into work every day and seeing the same space Connor had used and she immediately wanted it changed. The memories she had there weren’t the kind she wanted to hold on to.
She knew she didn’t want a five-star restaurant like Connor had pushed for. But she remembered how he’d described his sharing plates, and what he’d said the morning she’d heard him on the phone with his dad. He’d mentioned communal tables, a shared experience. It made her think not of upscale white linen but of something completely different—an open kitchen where diners could see into the action, and seating along the prep line so chefs could talk to patrons about what they were eating and give recommendations.
The end result wasn’t going to be anything like Mack Daddy’s, or Billy’s, or the imaginary places Mack had pictured in her mind.
But that was okay. Mackenzie’s was its own space now.
The worst part about Connor’s leaving turned out to be finding someone to replace him. They’d attracted a good roster of candidates, but interview after interview fell short. Some people were great on paper, but none of them were the right fit. Connor may not have been much for commitment, but now Mack could appreciate that at least he had the ambition, creativity, and ability to try new things. He could brainstorm, and work and work at a problem until he got it right.
She’d have given anything to be around his enthusiasm again, no matter how messy or imperfect it could be.
She read over Sam’s shoulder as they reviewed the résumé for the next candidate they were interviewing. This one had worked in a popular restaurant at a ski resort in California, so he was familiar with the ebbs and flows of the seasons. Plus he was twenty years older than Mack and married, so unlikely she’d make the mistake of sleeping with him. When he left after the interview, she turned to Sam hopefully.
“I didn’t think he was so bad. Invite him back for a demo?”
Sam looked at her with the same expression she’d worn after almost every interview. “Did you see the panic in his eyes when you said ‘rotating menu’?”
Mack sighed and dropped her pen on the table, closing the folder on one more chef who wasn’t Connor. “You’d think people would be jumping for this opportunity. Instead they all want to be told what to do.”
“I think they’re afraid of messing up,” Sam observed, and Mack had to admit, she knew how true that was. Why had she been so scared of mixing things up before? Now she saw these candidates look to her and Sam for approval and all she wanted was for them to try something. Anything. Take a risk, she wanted to shout. Show us what you can do.
She flipped through the stack of résumés and pulled one from the bottom. “What about this one?” she asked, sliding the paper toward Sam. “She seemed eager to learn. And you can teach people a new recipe. You can’t teach them to be excited.”
“Who’s going to come up with the recipe?” Sam countered. “We need a head chef who can take on that role.”
The unspoken words hung between them. We need Connor.
“We can do this,” Mack insisted. “There’s more than one chef in Washington who can lead this restaurant. We’ll get there.”
Sam sighed. “I know. You’re right. I just have so much on my plate. I never thought I’d have to deal with this, too.”
Mack shook her head. “You shouldn’t have to deal with it, Sam. I can’t believe you’re so calm.”
“You’re the one who’s handling this so well. It’s okay for you to be upset, you know.”
Mack shrugged to show she wasn’t bothered. “It’s annoying that we haven’t found someone, but we’ll get there.”
“I mean that Connor left,” Sam said gently. “I know we can do this, and I’m relieved you agree. But it’s allowed to hurt, too.”
“I’m not hurt. I promise.” She forced a smile. “I’m fine.”
She wanted to crawl under a rock and hide whenever anyone asked how she was. Wasn’t she kicking ass putting together this restaurant? How could that not be enough?
“You know”—Sam cocked her head—“you’re not as good a liar as you think you are.”
Mack laughed. “I feel like I’m supposed to be offended by that.”
“I hope not,” Sam said with a smile. “Feel free to ignore me. I’m just telling you what I think.” She sighed. “Anyway, I guess you’re glad you don’t have to compromise anymore. The design team has the specs for the sign for Mackenzie’s, right?” Sam consulted the running to-do list on her phone.
“They’re doing the final mock-up, and then it’s done.”
“Your name in lights,” Sam teased.
Mack knew she was joking, but there was something in the way Sam said it—unquestioningly parroting what Connor once told her—that stung. Connor wasn’t here. She shouldn’t have to listen to his lines anymore.
“It’s not about that,” she said. “It’s not some egomaniacal trip like Connor thought.”
Sam turned in her chair, obviously surprised. “I wasn’t trying to call you egotistical. But since we’re on the subject… Why have you always wanted to call it Mackenzie’s? I don’t think it’s a bad idea, but I guess I never got why it mattered so much.”
Mack picked up her pen. Tapped it on the table. Put it down again and sighed. If Connor were here, she wondered what she would answer. If she would tell the truth or make up some explanation that would keep him thinking whatever he’d already assumed.
But Connor wasn’t here. And he’d never actually asked her why. Not directly, and not the way Sam was now, as though the answer were important. As though she genuinely wanted to know.
Connor’s opinions were no longer relevant here—a fact Mack kept reminding herself was supposed to be a good thing. But it was harder to hol
d on to that feeling she used to have, of why it was so important no one ever see where she was tender and easily bruised. Maybe it was because now everything in her felt soft, as though a thumb had pressed down on the most vulnerable parts of her and wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was because putting up that hard exterior hadn’t wound up protecting her anyway.
Either way, she started talking. And once the words began, it was hard to make them stop.
“Back when I worked in Portland,” she began, “it was at a bar called Billy’s. I was underage but I got a job under the table washing dishes, cleaning up after hours, that sort of thing. The guy who ran it, Billy, had grown up in the foster care system in Oregon. Just like I did.”
She saw Sam’s eyes widen, the same way Connor’s had. She supposed it was kind of a big thing to drop on people who’d known you for a while. Who were supposed to be your friends. Maybe even people you loved.
But unlike Connor, Sam masked her reaction quickly. Mack appreciated that. She would have expected nothing less from Sam, who was as level as could be.
Mack looked away, at the trees rustling overhead, a blackbird cutting across the sky. When she looked back at Sam she said pointedly, “This isn’t something I typically share. I told Connor a little right before he walked out. We didn’t exactly sit down and discuss it. In case you’re wondering who you can tell, though, it’s not a secret. As of right now, I think. I’m done feeling like I need to hide that I’m human—that I have a past and not all of it’s pretty.”
Sam nodded. Mack got the feeling she understood—maybe even more than Mack would have given her credit for. She made a mental note to sit down with Claire and Abbi, too. They were her friends, and they deserved to be let into her life.
“I worked my way up at Billy’s, and he became family to me,” Mack continued. “The most consistent family I’ve ever had. He and his partner Todd were like my fathers. I loved them, and they took care of me. They were the ones who got me behind the bar, and while this was a total dive, they let me experiment with cocktails, too. It was a rocky start—nobody wanted me to mess with the things they knew. But after a while people started talking about it, coming there because they liked how you could get a fancy drink in a total shit setting.” She laughed, remembering it. “It was fun. That was where I started the drink they named the Mack Daddy, by the way. The basic idea was gin and different kinds of beer, with a twist. Packed a powerful punch.”
“Sounds pretty good,” Sam said.
Mack smiled. “I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“So what happened to Billy’s?” Sam asked. “How come you aren’t working there?”
“Billy died,” Mack said flatly, not wanting to dwell on the details. “The rent went up, Todd couldn’t run it himself, and it fell apart. I stayed on for a while and tried to keep it open, but Portland was changing and I guess we didn’t change fast enough. Or changed too much, I don’t know. For a long time I wanted things to go back to the way they used to be, but people tell me that’s impossible. Or something.” She gave an apologetic shrug. “Todd decided to sell, and I felt like if I wasn’t going to be in the Portland I used to know, I couldn’t be there at all. I took the money I had left and decided to move.”
She couldn’t believe she was spilling her deepest fears, her most private thoughts. But Sam listened and nodded, didn’t give her any fake pity bullshit, and Mack kept talking. Because it felt good to let this out. And because all of it was behind her now.
She was beginning to realize nothing stayed the same and no one stayed put, no matter what they’d promised.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be okay.
“The regulars used to rag on Billy, tell him he wasn’t going to be able to keep me, that I was going to go off and open my own place across the street, be competition for poor old Bill.” She laughed. “Not like I ever would, but you can picture it.” She shook her head, smiling. “They loved to give him shit.”
“And you would have named your bar Mackenzie’s.” Sam filled in the gap without missing a beat.
“It was a joke, you know? It started as a joke. But after a while the guys weren’t joking anymore. Before he died”—Mack choked back a thick feeling rising in her chest—“Billy told me I had to do it. He made me promise I’d open up a place called Mackenzie’s, in honor of him. And me. And what we’d been through. A way to say that we had a place that would always be ours, and where others would always be welcome.”
She gave Sam a long, hard look. “I guess that’s egotistical, naming it after me. But it meant something, what Billy said. He left me some money, and I sank a lot of it into his place before Todd closed it. Not all of it—Todd wouldn’t let me—but enough that I thought it was a pipe dream. I thought I’d always be working for someone else who had their own ideas about how everything was going to go.
“And then you came along, and my cut of the business was just enough that I could make it work. I didn’t want to lose what I had before—Mack Daddy’s, Billy’s, the places I’d been. But this was my chance to start Mackenzie’s. Connor just wanted to prove himself to other people, so maybe that’s why he thought the same of me. But Mackenzie’s has always meant something deeper, and that’s why I wouldn’t let it go.”
“Why didn’t you tell Connor this?” Sam asked, leaning forward intently.
Mack shook her head. “You didn’t know Connor when he came here. I’d been here first, I was the one turning the Dipper into something, but Connor acted like he ran the place. He was kind of flirty, I guess, and he acted like he had the pick of everyone here. I wasn’t about to give him my sob story, poor orphan me, never going to have my dream come true.” She said the last part in a mocking voice, and it made her want to gag.
Sam wrinkled her nose. “You wouldn’t have had to say it like that.”
Mack dropped her voice back to normal. “I didn’t think it was his business. I didn’t think he’d understand. Maybe I was simply hoping he’d ask me, or trust there was a good reason, rather than assuming the only possibility was about ego and pride.” She sighed.
Sam did, too. “If you’re used to people letting you down, isn’t it so much easier not to give them a chance to be better, so you can go on being disappointed?”
Mack tried to laugh, but the sound wouldn’t come.
“What would you honestly have done if Connor said yes, let’s name it Mackenzie’s, and you no longer had something standing in your way?” Sam asked.
“I can name it Mackenzie’s now,” Mack pointed out. “It all worked out.”
“And how are you feeling about that?”
“I think the next chef’s here,” Mack said, standing up and smoothing down the front of her shirt. Perfect timing—she didn’t have to answer.
But she knew she couldn’t run from Sam’s question forever.
“Terrified,” she whispered as the candidate nervously approached. “How I’d feel if everything worked out with Connor is terrified.”
Sam flashed a quick grin. “You, Mack? Since when are you the kind to back away from a challenge?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Connor talked to Austin fairly regularly to catch up, but he was surprised one morning when Sam called. He was afraid something had happened, but that wasn’t it. She said she wanted to talk to him, so he turned off the jointer he’d been using to square a piece of wood and said he had time.
“I don’t want to go behind Mack’s back,” she started, and Connor tried to interrupt her because didn’t everyone understand that no amount of meddling could change who they were, and the fact that some kind of misplaced chemistry didn’t mean they would wind up together?
But then Sam kept talking. And Connor found that he kept listening. When she got off the phone, he went to the carriage house and got on his laptop. A Google search was easier than he’d expected. Billy’s, Sam had mentioned, and Connor didn’t know why he hadn’t put it together before.
He’d seen the picture at Mac
k’s house. The whole reason it stood out was because there were so few other shots from when she was young. He remembered she was standing between two older men, but he’d never bothered to find out who they were, where they were standing, why she kept that one piece of her past high on a shelf.
Now he was kicking himself for never asking about it, for not trying harder to know her when he had the chance.
The obituary for William C. Cutter was short, with no mention of parents, siblings, or descendants, but there was a line about leaving behind his loving husband, Todd Blackmore, and the lasting legacy of Billy’s Bar and Grill in Northwest Portland. The short paragraph on Billy’s life ended with the promise that the bar was staying open, but Connor could guess that hadn’t lasted. He pictured Mack throwing herself behind the project with everything she had, but if she didn’t want to change anything about the bar, for fear of eroding the one stable part of her past, then how could she have hoped to keep up with gentrification and a new generation of Portlanders looking for their favorite dive?
There were plenty of pictures of the bar available online. Now he could see where Mack had gotten every design decision. There was the same dark wood she’d wanted to put in the new restaurant. And the slanted print of the sign, the same way she’d written the name, Mackenzie’s, in her notebook as if she were designing a new sign.
But not a new sign, he realized as he pressed his fingertips to the computer screen, touching a picture of the sign that had been torn down years ago. An old one. Something she’d been thinking about since long before she got the chance to start her own place.
…
He didn’t know what he was doing until he was already doing it. He was used to working that way—mixing something together in the kitchen, tasting, adjusting, not knowing until he got to the end what he’d been making the whole time.
Make Me Beg (The Men of Gold Mountain) Page 16
