Page 13 of Standing Still

“Come on, Dawn, it’s me,” I say in exasperation.

“Hmmm.”

“Is that it? Hmmm. How about you give her my number then or ask permission? Either way, I need to speak to her today."

"Is that so?" I hear the grin in her voice. “Well, okay then. I’ll call you right back.” She hangs up.

I can do without anyone thinking this is going to be more than what it is.

We have business to talk about, nothing more.

Chapter Seven

The conversation was short and not so sweet. I’d taken his number because I wasn’t sure I wanted him having mine. Dawn had come to the Inn to tell me about her phone call with Ben. She said it was so he could stew for a while, but that was before she knew what happened at the reading. She felt bad when I filled her in and made me swear I’d call him right away.

He suggested we meet at his friend’s bar, said they served good seafood, and he could kill two birds with one stone. That sure made me feel special.

Kevin was shocked when I called to fill him in, too. When he asked what I’m going to do, I didn’t have an answer. I called Larry earlier to find out the intricacies of the situation.

I like to know everything, and all options when I’m faced with a problem, and we’d both run out of the meeting without doing that. I have a good grasp on what is expected of us now and I’m concerned.

The easy thing would be to refuse, have the business sold to this national company and leave, but something is stopping me from doing that. A few something’s really. The main one being it’swrong. It isn’t up to me to destroy not only my dad’s business, but the lives of all the people who work there. I can’t walk away, go back to New York knowing my decision will leave a trail of devastation behind me. I curse my dad all over again.

The Twisted Barrel looks a lot different from how it did when I was younger. It was a rundown place populated by old drunks that we never tended to go near. It surprised me when Ben suggested it.

But when I pull up outside, I can see it’s had a massive facelift. It’s busy too, which isn’t ideal for the kind of conversation we need to have. I slip my purse over my shoulder and adjust my sweater. My jeans are tight and my sneakers are comfy. I’ve dragged my hair up into a ponytail, even though I have a slight headache.

I don’t want to admit to myself, or anyone else, that I’ve made an effort for this meeting. But I did spend some time perfecting my make-up, and the just thrown together style I’d actually spent an hour agonizing over.

Inside, the place looks nice. It’s modern but still maintains the small-town feel of Mystic. There are a lot of nautical decorations, but it’s not pretentious or too in your face. There is modern lighting, a huge bar, and the restaurant area has booths as well as tables. I glance around but don’t see Ben. I do see Craig Wilder behind the bar, though, and I can’t help but smile when he spots me and waves. I head over.

“Elle George,” he comes out from behind the bar. I’m surprised when he hugs me. I don’t usually do that, but I return it quickly, then step back. “Looking good,” he tells me, eyeing me up and down. He always was a flirt. “Ben’s in a booth near the back,” he points, but I don’t turn around just yet, very much aware I haven’t said a word yet.

“How are you?” I ask cautiously.

“Can’t complain,” he looks around. “I took over this place about eight years ago. It’s damn hard work, but we’re on Trip Advisor as one of the top ten restaurants and bars in Connecticut.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. I’ll be sure to leave a review.”

“You’re gonna love the food. The company?” he squints slightly and holds his hands out.

“We’ll be fine,” I tell him.

“Okay.” He doesn’t look as if he believes that. “Ben has menus on the table, but let me tell you the specials, and what can I get you to drink?”

I order my drink and thank him for his recommendations on the food, then weave my way through the tables. Ben is sitting in a booth near the back. It’s the most private table in here. He has paperwork spread out in front of him and a bottle of beer in one hand. He’s reading something and I’m momentarily stunned to see him wearing glasses. Damn, he looks sexy. My little romance author's heart goesthump.

I gulp, push my shoulders back and tell myself to stop thinking those kinds of thoughts. We have a serious discussion ahead of us. As I step up to the table, my shadow falls across him, cast by the light on the wall behind me. Ben looks up, his lips part slightly, and he removes his glasses, folding them up and slipping them into his shirt pocket.

He gets to his feet and holds his arm out for me to join him. I wasn’t expecting such a gentlemanly gesture, but I appreciate it. I nod my thanks to him and sit down. Then he resettles into his seat and straightens up the paperwork. I catch the George Fishing and Charter logo at the top of some of the pages, but he shuffles them into a folder before I can see anything else. Neither of us has said a word yet and now we’re just sitting here staring at each other.

I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say. “Did you speak to your employees?”

That was the wrong thing to say. He scowls and I lean back in the seat. “Yes, and they’re just as concerned as I am,” he says.

“Well, that’s why we’re here, to figure this out.”

“The way I see it, there is only one way we can save my employees and keep the business running. And it all lies on your shoulders.”

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