Page 37 of Just One Summer with the Grumpy

His nodded approvingly. “No wonder you like the island. You already eat like a local.”

It felt odd eating while standing, but somehow also appropriate. I loved how active everyone was here, full of color and spirit and everything that made life fun. Their food matched their lifestyle—peppered in layers of spicy depth that made my very veins sweat. I tried not to eat too quickly, which was hard considering the delicious food. A couple of times, I caught Chase watching me with that thoughtful look again.

Each time, I looked away. I couldn’t let him find what he was searching for now.

When we’d both finished, I noticed our “table” was far from the others. The guy truly did like his solitude. “It seems like everyone knows you here. You didn’t need to distance us on my account.”

He paused. “That has nothing to do with you. Actually…it wasn’t the food I wanted to show you. It was this table.”

Confused, I looked it up and down. Identical to the others, as far as I could tell. “Why?”

“You asked me why the business means so much to me. The answer to that starts right here. This is where my uncle once told me something that would change my life. I’d be honored if you would allow me to share.”

I nodded, feeling a little touched. Something told me this wasn’t a story he shared often. “Of course.”

“You probably know about my parents.” He looked to me for confirmation, and I nodded. “Suddenly I was a seven-year-old orphan whose world had just dropped from beneath his feet. You probably understand how that felt better than anyone.”

“I don’t remember much about my mom,” I admitted, “but I do remember the fear of going to a new home, being told I had a new family.”

Chase nodded. “I hope your experience was better than mine. From day one, my uncle made it clear he didn’t want to be my caretaker. He provided shelter, a nanny, and an allowance. That was about it.” He glanced my direction. “I don’t mean for this to be depressing. It’s just that you need the backstory for everything to make sense.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Please, share whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m here for all of it.”

“You are,” he said softly. “Aren’t you?”

“Truly.”

A few more seconds passed that could have been years for all I knew. My heart pumped so loudly, I could swear he heard it.

He wore a strange look now, as if realizing something that surprised him. “Thank you.”

In that moment, I felt an odd ache in my chest. Did this man not have anyone in his life that he could talk to openly? Even more importantly, why had he singled me out as someone he could trust?

That second question bothered me more than anything…because out of everyone he knew, I was the most likely to betray that trust.

He stared at his hands. “My uncle wanted me to go to NYU since campus wasn’t far from where we lived, so I chose to travel to the furthest place away I could imagine. I recruited my friend Tanner to come with me and we moved here. Spent an entire summer learning Spanish and getting to know the people. I’d intended to go back by September, but by November I still hadn’t come home, so my uncle decided to join me here for Thanksgiving.” He chuckled bitterly. “I spent a fortune getting the food ready. Called in favors from friends, told the entire town. Everyone showed up to greet him when he arrived. We treated him like a king. Yet through the entire dinner, all he did was complain. Said he wanted to get some real food and left to go in search of some.”

I gritted my teeth. How humiliating and disrespectful.

“I followed and caught up with him here at the taco stand. He stood at this barrel, staring at a tray of tacos like he thought it would reach out and swallow him whole. I’m ashamed of how I acted now, but I still steamed from how he’d treated my friends. So I yelled at him. Called him selfish and spoiled and a few other words I won’t repeat.”

All understandable reactions, I wanted to say.

“He watched me with this sad look on his face. When I’d finished, he told me he hadn’t come for Thanksgiving Dinner at all. He’d just been diagnosed with stage-four cancer and wanted to see what I’d made of myself in this world, to decide whether to make me his heir despite my lack of interest in his business dealings.”

My head snapped up. “He was dying and yet still trying to decide what you meant to him? His only family?”

“Apparently. He meant far more to me than I ever did to him, it seems. Yet I felt horrified at the thought of losing him too. Deep down, I sensed that he was still mourning the loss of his sister and bonding with her son, with me, would be acknowledging that loss.” He traced the top of the barrel absently with his finger. “It’s taken me over a decade to realize why. When you love someone, you risk more than losing them. You risk losing the part of yourself that belongs to them.”

An image immediately came to mind—of my Dad, sitting in his bed. Pale and groaning with that stupid ball cap covering his balding head. Mom, looking a little green and very tired. Both trying to shield me from the truth and cutting me out instead. In the end, that part had hurt the most—that they hadn’t given me the option of suffering with them. That they hadn’t acknowledged the fact that potentially losing Dad meant potentially losing some of myself too.

Chase saw my face and frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No. It’s just that I’m . . . remembering someone.”

“Let’s talk about something else, then.”

“Not a chance,” I said quickly. “I want to hear the rest.”

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