Page 6 of Those Two Words

“By one inch.” I give him a blunt look.

“Every inch coun?—”

“Booth Sadler!” my mom shouts, voice raised, but there’s zero vehemence behind her words. Booth is an absolute Mommy’s boy, something even he doesn’t deny.

“Sorry, Mom,” Booth says as he settles back in his chair and places a plate of whoopie pies on the table.

“Can I get anyone a tea or coffee before we start?” asks George from behind the bar. George is a mountain of a man, and like my mom, his outward appearance is extremely misleading. Despite being built like an ox, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s been like a father figure to me over the years, helped out so much with Lottie, and has been an amazing friend to my mom since Dad passed away.

We put in our orders, and Booth and I clear the table of papers and menus to make space for the drinks. We chat among ourselves about nothing in particular, until George places our drinks down on the table, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the room.

Once we’re all settled around the table, I open my laptop and clear my throat. My mom and Booth sit opposite George, while I sit at the end, with my back to the door. “Shall we get started?”

“Well…” George hesitates and checks his watch. “Sure. Why don’t you boys go over your proposal for the spring menu and then we can move on to other topics.”

His tone and vagueness have me pausing for a second, but I ignore it, letting Booth talk over the changes he wants to make to the menu—something he’s been pushing since he became head chef, with little success.

When he’s finished, he looks up with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. My brother has worked extremely hard over the years, and to be in his position at only twenty-seven is a great accomplishment. He’s always itching to try new and exciting dishes, but a lot of the people around town are quite happy with keeping the menu as it is, not wanting to move away from the classics we currently serve.

“So what do you think?” he asks eagerly.

From the look my mom’s face, it’s going to be the same response they’ve been giving him for months.She places a hand on top of his before answering. “It sounds fantastic and very modern. Although I’m not sure the town will be on board with this idea.” Sympathy is laced through her words, and I know she hates seeing disappointment cloud his features.

My brother’s shoulders practically drop to the floor with that response. His culinary skills and ideas are way beyond his years, yet when a lot of your regular customers are fishermen or people who have lived in Maine their entire lives, they’d rather see clam chowder on the table than foie gras and anything that sounds remotely French. No offense to the French.

“I get people don’t like changes around here, but we’ve had the same menu for over twenty years, it needs to be spruced up a little bit,” I say, trying to convince them to give this a shot.

“I’m not sure right now is the time for such a drastic change,” George adds, which isn’t the usual excuse they give Booth for denying his proposals.

“What else did you want to talk about?” I ask hesitantly, hoping this is the end of the meeting and they’re not about to tell me the news I’ve been fearing for the past eight months.

“I noticed we haven’t had any applications for the restaurant manager position,” George replies with caution, which makes me shift in my seat. He looks to my mom and back to me before continuing. “You’ve done a great job at spinning all these plates recently, but we’ve found someone who has some great experience and will be a perfect fit.”

“Okay…so who is it?” I ask. Why are they being so cryptic? The air in the room feels like it’s shifting right before an angry storm rolls in without warning.

“Well, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about first,” my mom says, but before she can continue, the sound of the front door opening draws everyone’s attention behind me. Booth must not have locked it and now I’m going to have to politely turn a customer away. Before I turn around, I notice the strange looks around the table: my mom looks apologetic, George looks relieved, and Booth looks like he’s seen a ghost.

The moment a timid, yet familiar voice carries across the room, my head spins, and my heart plummets to my feet. “Sorry I’m a little early.”

It seems one of those memories I’ve tried my best to forget has just walked in.

I collect myself, school my face, and hope that no one can hear my thundering heart. I take a deep breath and turn in my seat toward the owner of the voice.

Honey-golden hair spills down her back. Deep, navy-blue eyes so dark they could hold a galaxy. Flushed pink cheeks to match her full pink mouth. A mouth I have no business knowing is as soft as it looks. And a constellation of freckles across her nose and round cheeks. They’ve been dulled by the lack of sun, however, I know they’ll be back come summer.

It’s strange that something so beautiful can cause such melancholy.

“You’re fine, sweetie. We haven’t gotten to the important stuff yet. Come in and get settled first,” my mom says, and stands to greet her. It’s not just anyone. No. Because standing in front of me is my childhood best friend.

The only woman I’ve ever given my heart to.

And the same woman who walked away and never returned it.

three

JOHANNA

I do my best to avoid the slushy puddles as I hurry down the sidewalk, but when the orangey-red hand flashes above me, I come to a sliding halt. My black tweed coat is covered in long blonde hairs, and I pluck them off as I wait to cross, which is when I notice the tremble in my hands. Shoving both hands in my pockets, I keep my head down and walk down the street. My fingertips rub incessantly together in my pockets, a nervous habit I’ve picked up over the years that helps quell my nerves.

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