Page 141 of Every Beautiful Mile

“Maybe not.” He shrugs. “Why booths?”

“Booths are shown to increase average ticket prices. People get cozy, they want to stay longer, they order more drinks.” I lift my shoulder. “If this is higher end, it’s a win, but if you’re trying to turn tables, it might not be your best bet.”

He scrubs a hand over his scruff-covered jaw and looks around the space.

Then, as if I have no control of my mouth, I hear myself ask, “So, you’ve met someone serious? Not that they are serious, but you know, like that you are serious with, in that kind of exclusive sort of way. Not that it’s my business or that I’d expect anything like, you know, you not to be.” I try to look disinterested as I shuffle through papers before I let my eyes flick to his face.

His lips twitch. “I have.”

Two words I don’t want to believe in.

“Good.” I clear my throat. “I mean, that’s great. For you. And her. And you as a duo.” I rub my forehead and scrunch my nose. “You know what I mean.”

I don’t let him respond before I pivot back to business. “So typically, with these consultations, the owner is a little further along in the process. From here, we can talk about menu ideas, but I guess you need to decide what you want this to be and how much you want to spend. Obviously, you can already successfully run a restaurant, so there would just be a few things to consider if you decide you want this one to be more of a bar.”

I try to squeeze by the space he takes up behind the bar to get to some distance, but even barely touching him sends awareness shooting through me.

“Is this going to be another Mainely Local business, or are you thinking about something different?” I ask.

“You look good, Nel.”

The simple compliment makes my heart skip like a pebble thrown across flat water. “Thanks. Same. You look the same. Good.” I laugh through an exhale, adding, “Good enough to still make me babble like an idiot.”

I shake my head and relieve some of the tension that’s been swelling since he walked in and wrecked my ability to think, speak, and see straight.

His eyes meet mine, familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

“There’s a restaurant down the street. Let’s go grab dinner. I’ll tell you what I’m thinking for a menu, and we can go from there.”

No.

This man admitted to being in a serious relationship. I will not be that woman. My body might be a pandemonium of hormones, lighting up with every word he says like there’s a chance in hell this is going any further, but my mind is not. Dinner is the absolute worst idea. From this point forward, I can handle everything over email with my fancy letterhead.

I’ll come see him when he’s up and running, and there’s a staff to train. End of story.

When I open my mouth, I’m adamant I’m going to walk away, but, “Sounds good,” is the only thing that comes out.

My mouth betrays me right along with my body.

Fifty-five

Ethan follows me to the hotel I’m staying at and waits in the lobby while I go up to my room. I just need a few minutes to freak the hell out in peace and quiet before doing whatever stupid thing I’m doing.

Self-destructive behavior, I believe an expert would call it.

He hired me to do a job, albeit sneakily, but no matter what I feel and he doesn’t, I have to figure out how to manage my feelings or refund his money.

No.

In the scheme of everything else I have done in the last two years, this project will be a small blip we can handle over a few phone calls and emails and maybe only two or three more in-person meetings once he hires a staff, which would be months and months away.

Easy.

I’ve seen him, he’s in a relationship, and I will get over my feelings.

This is not a big deal.

Twenty minutes later, I’m in the lobby wearing a fitted green turtleneck sweater—the only one my mom and Marin would let me buy—and black skinny jeans.

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