Page 37 of The Promise Of You

“What are you doing? You can’t post this on social,” Haley says.

“Just doing a before and after for…?” He turns to me.

“Chloe. And you are…?”

“Trevor and Ryan. Grace’s cousins. Currently unemployed because our half-brother, Chris, who hired us for the summer, closed down his bakery until his girlfriend comes back.”

“Long story,” Haley cuts in. “You don’t want to know.”

“Bottom line—” one of the twins start.

“We’re happy to help,” the other finishes.

“You’re in good hands,” Grace tells me as she stands. “I should get back to the spa. Got a massage client in twenty.”

“I need to leave too,” Haley says.

They give me side hugs and leave me with Ryan and Trevor, promising that Justin will come around.

I sure hope that doesn’t happen, seeing as I’m done with him on sooo many levels, but I manage a tight-lipped smile that almost convinces them I’m beyond The Incident. Also, my head is spinning with all their instructions. Thursday Game Night. Back of Cassandra’s boutique. Bring the girls. At least that could be fun.

The boys start by gutting the cooler and then make their way back through the kitchen. They convincingly and politely suggest I’d best be out of their way, so I retreat back to the office, make phone calls to providers, grab a menu from the hostess stand, and start brainstorming ways to spend less and make more.

That right there always brings me joy.

Trevor and Ryan are loud in a happy way—music booming, garbage cans clanking, dishes clattering. At some point we regroup in the kitchen and drink sodas. The surfaces are shiny, the floor is no longer slippery. Whatever is left in the walk-in is not past its due date.

There’s hope.

After our break, they move onto the dining room, which should be a piece of cake after the kitchen situation they dealt with. I insist on doing the windows. They cave, and at five we’re done.

I take cash from my wallet, which they firmly refuse to take. A semi-argument ensues in which I learn that the restaurant having been an eyesore for everyone, they’re thrilled to be part in the Great Revitalization of the King Block, and that is compensation enough for them. I threaten to never hire them again if they refuse my money.

Once they accept, I further threaten to never hire them again if they keep calling it the King Block.

They give me quizzical looks, so I give them the short version of my encounter with King.

We conclude the block shall be known as The Queen Block, and we part best friends.

I haul myself to the cottage, roast some zucchini, whip up an omelet, plop my butt in the plastic chair and my feet on the porch railing, and make a list of things to get done tomorrow.

Then I go to bed early because tomorrow will be a long day.

Tomorrow’s Wednesday.

thirteen

Chloe

Aloud flock of birds wakes me before the sun is up. I try to smother the outside sound with a pillow on my head, but the bitter memory of yesterday twists my stomach.

Not the unkempt restaurant.

Not the concerning financials.

Not the fact that my aunt was either clueless or not entirely forthcoming—or possibly both.

What twists my stomach is his voice. ‘You need to leave.’ The tone he used to speak to me, as unforgiving as the crying birds outside my window.

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