But I was going crazy. I needed to freaking know how far off schedule he was. Surely he wouldn’t keep putting me off unless that was the case. Guys n
eeded that ego stroke. He’d want to show it off.
Then again, Gideon never quite reacted how I expected. I knew from experience his work was beyond compare. He’d remodeled the café exactly how I wanted it with a few detours I hadn’t known I needed. I trusted him. At least when it came to the things in his tool belt.
Under the belt? Well, that was debatable.
I mean, how many times had we almost kissed in two years? A damn fuckton, that was how many. And he never sealed the deal. So, either he wasn’t that into me or…
I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to figure out the or.
Vee turned around just as I towed her through the door. “I’ll just sit down in the corner. I won’t make a sound.”
“Creampuff, you don’t know the definition of not making a sound.”
She huffed out a breath, blowing a blond curl out of her softly rounded face. “Text me when you’re done.”
“I never leave, remember? My apartment is literally upstairs. I’ll be fine. I’ll even lock the door right after you.”
Her huge blue eyes were about three minutes from full-blown tears. Preggo hormones must be wreaking havoc today. I so could not deal with that. I pushed the door open and unclipped her keys from the bag of death. “Take these,” I handed them to her, “and go home to your husband.”
“But—”
“Goodnight. Go cuddle your men.” I closed the door and dug out my own keys and jangled them in the window. “Go.”
She finally turned toward her car. Her dejected eyes almost made me waver. Almost. Finally, she waved and I saw just how tired she was when she sighed and got in her car.
I snicked the lock and even typed my code into the security panel. I was from Chicago. Security was automatic for me, regardless of the ultra-safe small town I’d ended up in. I’d needed a change after…well, just after everything.
I’d literally thrown a dart at the state of New York and ended up moving my entire life to Crescent Cove. That was after I’d played a drunken game of pin the tail on my future. A bastardized version of the childhood game with a map of the United States instead of a cartoon donkey.
The map had been pinned to the ectoplasm green wall in my old house. A color I would never have chosen, but had happily painted to make Malcolm happy. Hey, he was a kid. Made sense. But me? I might as well have been one too.
Back then, I’d been young, eager, and stupid. Back then, I’d thought I was building toward a future.
Then I’d learned the truth and there had been much Jack Daniels. I’d needed a fresh start.
While I was drunk, I found New York.
When I sobered up and stopped crying about shit that would never change, I got angry. And that was when I’d gone into research mode. I sold my house and my coffee truck for a sizable figure and started over.
And here I was, taking another gamble with my savings. This time, my emotions were in check. This time, I’d created a business plan and had taken steps to correctly position myself for success. Not the blind luck I’d backed into with the café. I’d grown quickly and invested wisely, but it was still insane to open a restaurant. I was gambling on the small town’s upward climb. More people were moving in and Crescent Cove was ever expanding with its epic baby boom.
Maybe I should have gone with baby-centric themes instead of the life-sized animatronic Michael Myers I’d sunk an absurd amount of money in. Whatever. It was too late now.
I was banking on my style.
It had worked for Brewed Awakening. The coffee shop was full of pieces straight from horror movie culture. Rylee had been right about pushing forward with the movie idea with viewing parties and specialized popcorn and treats. Money was pouring into the bank. Enough that I’d added a banquet room to The Haunt for gatherings and bigger viewing parties.
There just wasn’t much to do for people in this town. They were starving for fun.
And I was going to give it to them. If John Gideon and his crew actually ever finished the damn restaurant.
Maybe I’d just take a little peek. It was my place, after all.
I scrubbed my palm down my jeans as I made my way to the connecting doors. A huge eyesore in the form of a piece of plywood had been taped over the double doors. Not only was it taped, but Gideon’s crew had added a few nailed pieces of wood to keep me out.
I pried my fingers under one of the planks until the nail wiggled enough for me to pull it free. The nail at the top of the two-by-four allowed me to swing it down to rest against the wall. I winced at the scratch I made in the toffee-colored paint. That was what touch-up paint was for, right?