Page 98 of Those Two Words

The open doorway Jo just disappeared through feels more like a blackhole, sucking up any energy I have left.

I’m frozen in place. Torn between running after her or giving her the space she pleaded for.

The moment I saw the tearful and desolate look on her face, I knew I fucked up.

I was so blinded by my failure and denial that I let my emotions feed my words, not thinking how they would sound to her. And they couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Should we go after her?” Booth says from where he’s perched on the sofa.

“She needs a moment, she’ll be okay,” George says, but it makes me think about the words he said to me all those years ago when I found out Jo had left Sutton Bay.

She’s fine, she just needs some time.

No.

This isn’t the same thing and I trust her when she says she’s not running. I know she’s putting herself first, and I’m proud of her for doing what she knows is best for her. I just wish I wasn’t what drove her away.

My mom takes hold of my hand. “Sit, sweetheart. I’ll go check on her. She’ll be okay, she’s a strong one.”

“I know.” My agreement echoes down the hallway behind her.

Despite my desperation to go and find her, I take my seat again. I’m embarrassed at how I reacted, pacing around like a toddler having a tantrum, but arguing and trying to negotiate seems pointless now. Not when Jo isn’t beside me.

George gives me a pitiful look and picks up where he left off. “We kept the buyer at bay until this morning. There’s no denying our cash intake has gone up, but the forecasts don’t look good. We might last another six months, but I don’t want to take that risk.”

The disappointment from earlier feels different now. The news about the restaurant is meager in comparison to the anguish I’m feeling over my behavior and thoughtless words. I allowed my own insecurities to take the driver’s seat and in return, I hurt Jo. I could see it in her pained expression, and it made me sick to my stomach, because I put that there.

The indent in the leather sofa taunts me as George continues. “Nothing’s final and we have another meeting lined up in a few weeks to discuss it further. We’ve been clear that we will only sell to them if it’s written into the contract agreement that they don’t change the name of the restaurant and keep on all the staff currently working here.”

My head snaps up. “You can do that?”

“Of course we can. That’s what we were trying to explain to you earlier,” George says pointedly, and I cringe at his subtle scolding.

“For now, we have enough money to keep us going until fall, but we need to come to an agreement with them soon, or we risk losing the offer they’ve put on the table altogether. I’m not sure we’ll get another opportunity like this. We don’t know who the buyer is, because we were contacted by a third party, but they’ve explained the buyer isn’t interested in the operations side of things. They prefer to take a backseat approach with their investments. We didn’t argue with that, it’s all kosher, and we couldn’t ask for a better proposal.”

George is talking to me like it’s a sales pitch, as if I need more persuasion. But I don’t really care what happens to this place if it means Jo won’t be by my side when it happens. I’m not sure we would have lasted this long had she not come back and accepted the job.

She’s the reason we’ve made it this far and she’s the reason I need to go. Now.

“Do it. Do whatever you need to do, but I have to go. I’m sorry for how I reacted, I trust you guys,” I rush out. “I fucked up, and I love this place, but…”

He seems to know what I’m trying to say.

I love her more.

I love her more than this place, because it’s not Our Place without her. It hasn’t been for a long time.

“Go,” Booth urges. “You’ve waited long enough, dickhead.”

With my middle finger raised at my brother, I run out of the office and into the restaurant. I look around the room but don’t see them anywhere.

One of the servers walks by and I stop them. “Sorry, have you seen my mom or Jo?”

“Oh, they left about five minutes ago. Your mom told me to tell you they’ve gone for a coffee at the bakery.”

“Thanks,” I call over my shoulder, my feet already carrying me out the front door.

Dodging people as I race down the street, I head in the direction of Just Brew It. When I stop outside the window of the bakery, I don’t waste time trying to catch my breath.

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