Maybe We Will (Silver Harbor)

by Melissa Foster

“I didn’t rent it. I bought it.” He looked at the overgrown bushes and fencing a few feet away, making a mental note to put landscaping into her budget.

  “You said you hadn’t ridden since you were a kid. Do you plan on riding it after you leave the island?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. You seemed to enjoy biking to work. I thought I should give it a try.”

  “I love riding my bike here. I tried biking when I first moved to the city, but it was terrifying trying to navigate the busy streets. Luckily, I love walking, and the subway was easy to use. You’ll probably find this hard to believe, but I’ve never owned a car. I have my mom’s car now, assuming Cait doesn’t want it. I guess we can share it. I need to remember to talk to her and Deirdra about the car and the house, although I know Deirdra won’t want either.” She rested her head on his shoulder and said, “I’m rambling again. Sorry. How will you get your bike home? You said you’re going overseas when you leave.”

  “I like your rambling, and I am going overseas. I was hoping my hot new girlfriend would let me keep my bike in her garage. It would give me a reason to come back to the island.”

  “A reason, huh? It’s nice to know where I rank on your priority scale.”

  He took her chin between his finger and thumb, moving her face so he could see her eyes, and said, “You have no idea how far you’ve tipped my scale, Abigail de Messiéres.” He kissed her, slow and sweet, and said, “But if you’d rather I take my bike with me . . .”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just not sure you can afford my high storage fees,” she said flirtatiously.

  Man, he liked her style. “Maybe we can work something out.”

  “If this morning was any indication, I’d say the chances are pretty high that we can. Although, bikes often need maintenance, which might mean more visits, especially in the winter, when days are shorter and nights are longer. I might have to charge double for those months.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “Thanks to this new guy in my life, I’m learning to bargain to my advantage, and a hard bargain sounds like it might be worth looking into. But first we have a budget to tackle.”

  “I’d rather tackle you.” He brushed his lips over hers and said, “Here in the sand. Naked.”

  After a few steamy kisses and more sexy banter, they finally went inside and headed into the small, paneled office. Pictures of Abby and Deirdra as little girls were thumbtacked to a corkboard on the wall beside an old metal desk. Abby was adorable, with lanky limbs and thick, messy hair that hung nearly to her waist. Her eyes looked even bigger and greener in her tiny face, and her effervescent smile was just as beautiful as it was now. Deirdra looked happier then, too, before the situation with their mother had stolen her childhood. There were several pictures of their mother when she was young. She was tall, painfully thin, and unconventionally pretty, with sandy hair and a gap between her two front teeth. He saw hints of Abby in her cheeks and nose. On the desk was a framed picture of their family. Her mother wore a denim miniskirt and a white shirt. She had one arm around Deirdra, who held a fistful of flowers. Her mother’s other arm was around their father, who looked nothing like Aiden had pictured. He had long white hair tied back in a ponytail and an unkempt beard to match. He wore sandals, his clothes were rumpled, and he had a bit of a belly. But his eyes danced with the same light Aiden saw in Abby’s. Her father had one arm around his wife, and he was holding Abby in his other. Abby’s hair was in long pigtails, and she wore red shorts and a white top. One arm was draped around her daddy’s neck, and the other held the fingers of his hand wrapping around her knee, like she wanted to touch as much of him as she could. Aiden’s heart felt full and sad at once. He longed for her to have her family back, and in that moment, he longed for his, too.

  “Those were my dad’s pictures,” Abby said. “My mom never changed anything in here after he died. See how my mom was looking at my dad in that picture?” She pointed to the family picture on the desk. “That’s what true love looks like.”

  Aiden was wrong. His heart hadn’t been quite full before, because it just got fuller.

  “Do you have more of these pictures of your family?” he asked.

  “Yes, at my apartment in New York—which reminds me, I need to talk to my landlord. My lease is up in the fall, and I need to make arrangements to move my stuff here now that I’ve decided to stay. Just a few more things to put on my long to-do list.”

  “I’m happy to help if I can. You should get those pictures sooner rather than later and put them up at the house if that’s where you’re going to be. Keep those memories close.”

  “I like the way you think, AA. Do you have pictures of your family in your house?”

  “Yes, several. I kept them up so Remi would always be surrounded by family.”

  She tugged at the hem of his T-shirt. “And so you would be surrounded by them, too, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “At some point, we need to get you to think of yourself as being as important as your sister.”

  “You think so, huh?”

  She stepped closer and kissed him. “I know so.”

  He gathered her in his arms for the millionth time, knowing he’d do it a million more. “You said you weren’t used to having someone look out for you. Well, Abs, neither am I.” He kissed her softly and said, “I think I like it.”

  While Abby spent the afternoon sorting through the Bistro’s invoices to see which distributors her mother had maintained relationships with over the years, Aiden analyzed the financials. They were even bleaker than he’d expected when he’d put in the offer on the property. He didn’t know Abby’s financial situation, but unless her parents had had enormous life insurance policies, there was no way she’d be able to turn the property around without some help. His gut twisted thinking about breaking the news to her, but he couldn’t let her continue to put her efforts into a business that would surely fail without proper funding.

  “Aiden, look what I found.”

  “More recipes?” She’d found her father’s handwritten recipe cards earlier and had been so happy, she’d gone on about them for twenty minutes.

  “No.” Abby handed him the Lifestyle section of an old Boston Herald newspaper from twenty-six years ago with a nearly full-page article on the Bistro. There was a picture of her father standing in front of the restaurant and several more of the interior. As he scanned the feature, she said, “I totally forgot about that article. My father told us that the food critic who wrote it had a son who was vacationing here. Remember how I said my dad used to walk around and talk to all the customers? Well, he hit it off with the guy’s son, and that guy went back and raved to his father about my dad and the food here. When the food critic came out, he didn’t tell my dad why he was there, but the way my father told the story, and from the article, which I probably read a dozen times as a kid, he fell in love with the atmosphere, my dad, and of course the food.” She pointed to the pictures of the interior and said, “Look at the rugs, and see the chandeliers and lights? Those are the lights of love. You can’t tell because the photos are in black-and-white, but all those eclectic-looking lights were different colors.”

  Aiden studied the enormous chandeliers as Abby went on about the lights.

  “Weren’t the chandeliers stunning? I loved how they had a narrow ring of gold at the top and a wider one at the bottom. It’s hard to see them in those pictures, but those things dangling from the top and bottom rings are teardrop-shaped crystals, and those are strings of crystal balls draped between the top and bottom rings. Aren’t they elegant? I loved how the actual lights looked like candles. I used to try to convince my dad to put colored bulbs in them. I loved them as they were, but since we had other colored lights, I always thought they’d be prettier with a dash of color.”

  “They’re gorgeous, Abby,” he said, hating that he had to give her bad news on the heels of her excitement.
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  “What a great surprise that was.” She was positively beaming as she put the article with her father’s recipes.

  He tucked the images of the chandeliers away and forced himself to do what he had to. “That article is great press, Abs, but we need to talk about the financials.”

  “I know we do, but now I have pictures of the lights and the rugs. Do you know how great this is?” She couldn’t stand still and paced the small office. “I won’t be able to afford them for a while because the chandeliers are so expensive. I think my mom got about four thousand dollars for each of them, and that was years ago. I’m sure they’re much more now. I’ll have to put a trip to France on my bucket list. But one day I’ll buy some that look just like these.”

  She planted her hands on her hips and said, “I have a great idea. I’m going to talk to Leni about that article. Maybe if the restaurant does well enough, she can nudge someone important my way and the Bistro will get rediscovered.” She’d texted with Leni about an hour ago, gushing about her and Aiden’s date, how much he was helping her with the restaurant, and how compatible they were. But she’d been careful not to mention Remi. Leni was excited to meet him, and she’d been impressed that he’d signed Abby up for the Best of the Island competition. She’d actually given Abby a hard time for getting on his back about it. “Thank you again for entering me into the competition, which I still have to pay you back for. Don’t let me forget to write you a check when we get home. Or I could send it with PayPal if you’d rather.”

  “Babe—”

  “If I win the competition, it might bring people from the mainland. You’ve got a pretty good business head on your shoulders, AA.”

  “Thanks.” Aiden reached for her hand, drawing her eyes to his, and it took her a second to realize he wasn’t smiling. “I know you’re excited, and I hate to do this now, but there’s never a good time to discuss the financial side of a new business.”

  “An existing business,” she corrected him. “We’re just breathing new life into it.”

  “Right, and if you don’t mind me asking, roughly how much capital do you have to put toward it?”

  “With the money we inherited and my savings, about forty-five thousand.”

  He took both of her hands in his. His serious expression made her uneasy. “Abs, I’m afraid this place needs new lungs, not just new breath.”

  “What do you mean? You think it’s not structurally sound?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. But depending on what you decide, it might be a good idea to get an inspection.”

  “What do you mean, what I decide?”

  “I’ve been trying to stay out of your way when it comes to making business decisions.”

  An incredulous laugh slipped out before she could stop it. She covered her mouth, then said, “Sorry. The furniture store and the competition . . .” She cleared her throat. “Never mind. Go on. I’m listening.”

  “These financials . . .” He shook his head. “Restaurants in general don’t make large profits, so I wasn’t expecting to find much. But, babe, I don’t know how your mother earned enough money to live on, much less kept this place afloat.”

  “Is that what you’re worried about? I’ve worked in restaurants my whole life, Aiden. I know they’re not big moneymakers. It’s not like I’m expecting to become a millionaire. I want to run my family business, and I know it’s possible to make enough to live on. We never had a lot before my dad died, but we never wanted for anything. And after he was gone, we survived on a lot less. There’s no mortgage on the house or the restaurant, and the summer crowd brings in enough to cover the winter months when the restaurant is closed.”

  “Under normal circumstances, reopening a profitable restaurant during high season should earn you a living. But I looked over the last few years, and it appears your mom was living off the good graces of the community. She had a handful of regular customers, most of whom tipped her outrageously, like fifty bucks on an eleven-dollar lunch, and her catering earnings are the same way.” He moved the other chair from the corner of the room over beside his and said, “Come here—take a look.”

  She sat down, scanning the ledgers as he explained.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the restaurant was a poorly managed front for a drug dealer.” He grabbed a file full of old-fashioned, handwritten receipts.

  She gave him a deadpan look.

  “I’m kidding. But take a look. Once a month, like clockwork, she catered for BB, whoever that is.”

  “The Bra Brigade. It’s a group of old ladies that sunbathe in their bras. Shelley’s mom, Lenore, started it when she was young. Most of our friends’ mothers are part of it. But that’s not so strange that they’d have her cater a monthly get-together.”

  “No, but the strange part is that her fee for their luncheons was eighteen dollars a plate, which includes about ten percent profit. That’s normal for catering. But see what they paid?”

  When she saw the receipt, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “That’s more than double the cost.”

  “Exactly. And they added gratuities on top of it. Look at this. Shelley hired your mom to cater what look like pretty big events under the winery’s name. Birthdays, anniversaries, dinners for every holiday, including Saint Patrick’s Day.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. Before this year, when they hired Daphne, the winery didn’t host any events other than Lenore’s birthday party and their regular tastings, which have never been catered.”

  “That’s not the only thing that looks off. Your lip locker, Wells, hired your mom to cater the Christmas party for his restaurant for the last four years, to the tune of twenty thousand dollars a pop. And look at the bottom line for Shelley’s events: an Easter celebration for fifty-seven hundred dollars and a birthday party at a cost of three thousand dollars. That must have been one hell of a party.”

  “What the . . . ?” Abby sat back, trying to figure out what was going on.

  He waved to the other documents and said, “I can’t even find payroll records of staff working here for the last several years.”

  “She hired college kids on and off when she needed them, but the restaurant wasn’t very busy the last few years.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t see any paid staff. There’s a staff schedule—Rosa, Marie, Lenore, Gail . . .”

  “Those are all Bra Brigaders.”

  “Okay, well, it looks like they worked for free.”

  “But none of this makes sense. Shelley took over the books a year or so after I moved away, and she never mentioned any of this.”

  “Like I said, I think your mom was living off the goodwill of the community. Look at the inventory receipts.” He opened another folder and showed her order forms that were made out to the Bistro but paid for by the winery.

  “Oh my God, Aiden.” A lump lodged in Abby’s throat. “When Shelley encouraged me to leave the island, she said the island would take care of my mom. She did this. She did this so I could move on.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

  “Because she loves you, Abs. That’s what love is, doing whatever you need to in order to take care of the people you love.”

  “I have to call her. No. I have to go see her. I need to understand why she’d take on such a burden for so long.”

  He reached for her hand again. “I think that’s a good idea, but there’s more, and I think it would be good for you to hear it before you talk to Shelley, just so you know for sure which way you’re going.”

  She sat back and crossed her arms, bracing herself for Lord knew what. “Okay, give it to me. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

  “The good news is that I still think this restaurant can not only pull a profit but blow every other place out of the water.”

  She grinned, despite knowing there had to be more bad news. “Me too.”

  “The not-so-great news is that while forty-five thousand dollars is an impressive figure, it’s not
nearly enough to cover inventory and staff for a restaurant of your size. Or for advertising, which I think you need now more than ever. You have the capacity to serve, what? Twenty tables?”

  “Twenty-five with the outdoor seating. I’ll borrow some money from Deirdra.”

  “That might be an option, but Deirdra didn’t want to be involved at first, and I know she supports you now, but do you really want to take her hard-earned savings?”

  Abby thought about that and shook her head. “You’re right. This is my dream, not hers. She should keep her savings for herself. But I could take out a home equity loan or something.”

  “You could, but if the business fails, you’d lose the business and the house. Actually, the house is another thing I wanted to talk to you about. You said Deirdra probably wouldn’t mind if you kept the house for yourself. As a finance guy who has seen a lot of bad blood get stirred up between family members when money was involved, I’d suggest that if you want to keep that house for yourself, you come up with a financial agreement with your sisters. Legally, they each own a third, and water-view properties are rare. If you sold the house, you’d probably make close to a million dollars. Split three ways, that’s a good chunk of cash for each of you.”

  “I don’t want to sell the house. Have you heard anything I’ve said about the good memories I have there?”

  “I’ve heard every word, but you misunderstood what I was saying. I think it would be a mistake to sell the house. You love it as much as you love this restaurant, and I’d never suggest you sell either. But that home equity loan you mentioned? If you go that route, the money should rightfully go toward buying out your sisters if keeping the house for yourself is what you end up deciding to do.”

  “I don’t know about Cait, but Deirdra definitely won’t want my money,” she said.

  He arched a brow. “That’s a big assumption. Are you sure? What if she gets married in a few years and wants to stop working but she can’t afford to? What if she wants to buy her own house? Start her own business? You already have her inheritance. Is it fair to keep the equity that’s rightfully hers?”