Page 11 of If It Can't Be Us

I leave for London tomorrow on business, so figuring out if she’s worth the trouble is a future problem for when I get back on Thursday.

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Friday, August 25, 6:30 PM

1 Week Later

I gather my laptop and other belongings, placing them into my backpack, then I survey the room one last time, ensuring everything is prepared for Tuesday. Satisfied, I text Noah.

Leo:Hey mate, I’ll be there in about 40 minutes.

Noah:I got you. The usual?

Leo:Make it an old fashioned tonight.

Noah:Consider it done.

I arrived home from London late last night. Exhausted and jet-lagged from the quick trip, I’m going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than a bloody beer. I tuck my phone into my pocket, loop my arms into my backpack and walk to my car. It’ll be a fifteen to twenty-minute drive home from the university on a Friday night, followed by a ten-minute walk to Craft’s Pub and Kitchen. I can practically taste the mouth-watering steak I’m planning to order.

My trip to London had been a last-minute decision. With it being my last week off before fall semester, I almost didn’t go. It had proven to be time well spent. Not only was I able to wrap up some important businessdeals with my father, I spent some much-needed time with my brother Andrew.

“Ah fuck,” I groan to myself. Sirens flash, indicating an accident up ahead. The traffic is horrendous. I check for new routes on my maps, searching for a shorter ETA. If I turn on to Lake Street up ahead, I can avoid the majority of the traffic.

It takes me twenty-five minutes to get home. Leaving me fifteen minutes to shower, get presentable and walk to Craft’s. I’ll be a few minutes late, give or take.

I rush inside, shower, and dress quickly. It’s too warm for a jacket, so I throw on a fitted white tee under a blue shirt-jacket and pair it with grey denim. I quickly style my hair, throw some shoes on and run out the door.

I go to Craft’s Kitchen almost every Friday after my last lecture of the day. A few years ago, I partnered with my friend Michael to open the restaurant. He’s a well-known chef and his cooking style is farm-to-table. All the food is fresh, local, and delicious. He didn’t have the funds to open the restaurant by himself, so I offered to help him out by becoming a silent partner. I didn’t—and still don’t—know shit about cooking or restaurants, but I had the capital and his best interest at heart. Four years later and Craft’s Pub and Kitchen is thriving, and remains one of the hottest restaurants in Chicago for the second year in a row.

I arrive at Craft’s at 7:20. There are loads of people waiting outside. I maneuver my way through the throng to where a young, cheerful hostess greets me.

“Good evening, Mr. Weston,” she says. Noah has a seat reserved for you at the bar.” With a smile, she gestures toward the far end of the restaurant.

“Thanks Lilly.” I wink at her while beelining toward the bar, where I can see my drink waiting for me, as well as a petite, dark-haired woman occupying the seat next to mine. There is a vacant seat next to her. I assume her date will be joining her soon or has gone to the restroom.

Approaching the bar, I catch Noah’s eye. He sets down the drink he is making and shouts out, “Leo!”

“Noah!” I bellow and reach my arm across the bar to meet his in a firm handshake.

“How are you, man?” He grips my hand and slaps me on the shoulder.

“I’m good, mate. Thanks for snagging a seat for me.”

“No problem. Let me know when you need me.” He pounds the countertop twice with his fist, picks up a drink shaker and starts rattling it.

Chapter 3

VIVIAN

Friday, August 25, 6:00 PM

I’ve been unpacking and organizing all week, with online orders and furniture deliveries arriving non-stop. My hair, a messy ponytail on top of my head, has pieces falling down at the nape and stragglers hanging in my face. I’m sweaty, gross, and covered in box residue. I walk over to the thermostat and crank up the AC, wondering why I didn’t do that hours ago.

I take a moment to look around my new place. Things are coming together. My new home is gorgeous, freshly remodeled, and right on the river. It’s a four-story townhouse with a rooftop deck to die for. The sunrise over the river is spectacular! My front door faces south toward the water, and my morning runs are incredibly convenient—I’m just steps away from the Riverwalk.

The move happened quickly. I barely had time to order the essentials before I arrived. I stayed in a hotel for the first few days until I had bedroom furniture and basic kitchenware. Most of the gym equipment arrived today, and I’ve hired people to assemble it early next week.

The Parade of Homes went better than I could have imagined. It was a huge success, and my father-in-law mentioned he might even buy the house Melissa and I worked on together as another investment property.

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