Page 61 of Sweet Escape

Today is a direct example of the fact he doesn’t know how to listen when someone gives him an answer he doesn’t like. In the early days, I said he was tenacious, like me.

In truth, he’s just a child who didn’t know how to accept when things didn’t go his way.

“I can’t believe he actually came here,” I say, shaking my head. “That he tracked my phone and flew here after I’d already told him we were done.”

Memphis is silent, his jaw flexing as he stares out in the distance.

“I’m sorry he came,” I say.

His head turns to me quickly, his eyes widening. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“You looked ... upset, though. Before.”

Memphis rubs his hand over the stubble on his face, then chuckles.

“I’ll be honest, I was surprised when he said he was your boyfriend. But I believed you the minute you said he wasn’t. Most of my anger had to do with the way he talked to you.”

I feel a little bit of disappointment at that, but I try to tamp it down.

I shouldn’t feel anything but relief at Memphis’s explanation for why he reacted so strongly to Theo. Especially considering my own visceral reaction to how I felt yesterday in the tasting room.

I should be glad he wasn’t jealous.

I should be happy that he was defending me out of common decency.

I should be thankful that his reaction wasn’t a revelation that his feelings for me are rooted deeper than he originally planned for.

I should be all those things.

Too bad I’m not.

Chapter Thirteen

Memphis

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since my drive with Vivian, and she’s been on my mind ever since. Her hair blowing in the breeze as we drove back to the Firehouse with the windows down, the soft way she smiled at me as we pulled up out front, the raspy sound of her voice when she thanked me for taking her on a drive.

A part of me wondered when I’d finally be able to fully focus on work again. But now that my father is standing in front of me, my time with Vivian has firmly taken a back seat in my mind.

“You wanted to talk?” he asks, taking a seat on the opposite side of my desk.

“Yeah. Thanks for coming by,” I reply, leaning back in my chair.

It’s like I’ve called him in to talk to the principal ... and I’m the principal. An odd feeling as a son looking to speak with his father, but it is what it is.

“Look, I wanted to talk to you about the announcement at Harvest-Eve.”

He shrugs. “What about it?”

“I appreciate what you were trying to do by giving me a vote of confidence and sharing it with everyone, but ... don’t you think it’s something we should have talked about first?” My tone makes it clear thatwe absolutely should have talked about it first. “I mean, you dropped that bomb on everyone right before one of the busiest times of the year.”

My dad shakes his head. “It’s not dropping a bomb, Memphis. Everyone knew this was coming.”

“I didn’t know,” I reply, frustration growing at his indifference to something that, to me, is a big deal. “You’ve been handing things over to me, but I had no idea this was coming my way so soon. Did you ever think to talk to me about it first? Make sure I felt prepared? Maybe ask me if this is what I wanted?”

The surprise on his face is enough for me to know that he never considered any of those things.

“I assumed that, with everything moving the way it has been, that you understood this was the ultimate goal. To pass everything over to you.”

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