Chapter Fourteen
“It’s wedding weekend,” Kinsey says, licking the side of her ice cream cone. “Has he called?”
“No,” I say. We’re sitting on the curb in front of the ice cream shop on Main Street, and I poke at my ice cream with a spoon, still unable to eat.
It’s been four days since I told Isaac we wouldn’t work out. We’ve had no contact, and I’ve avoided all mentions of him up until this moment. I haven’t even checked his social media pages. But I miss him. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to crying myself to sleep at least once.
“The wedding’s tomorrow?” she asks, her tone careful. A little worried.
“Today,” I tell her. “Probably right about now.”
“You should have gone,” she says and takes a long lick of her cone. I look sideways at her, hurt. “I’m sorry,” she continues. “But you should have. You still haven’t even told me what happened. Why did you break up with him, Phoebe? He made you happy.”
“Because I was turning into Maxwell,” I say. “I’d end up being the one who’d cut him off from his family, his future. I can’t be that person.”
“Is that seriously what you think?” Kinsey asks, her entire face sagging. “Maxwell was an abusive prick. He purposely isolated you from your friends and family. He manipulated you. That is not what you’re doing to Isaac. Sure, his sister came off as an asshole, but that’s all it was. He would have stood up for you. You could have stood up for you also. And from what I hear, he’d been applying for jobs out here before he knew you. You’re not his reason for staying in town, Phoebe. Although you might be his reason for leaving.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my heart jumping.
She sighs, apologetic. “He pulled back his application at the Shaw and Regal Law Firm where he’s been working. I heard someone mentioned it at the groomer—one of the partner’s kids. Said his mom had been disappointed by the decision.”
“So Isaac’s leaving after all,” I say, out of breath.
“Seems like it,” Kinsey says.
“That’s probably best,” I say, although my face stings like I might cry. It’s one thing to break up with someone. It’s another to admit you might never see them again.
“You’re an idiot.”
I look at Kinsey, surprised to find her glaring at me.
“What?” I ask.
“He pulled his application like two days ago, after you broke up with him, and you think it’s for the best?” she asks. “That’s so selfish.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He deserves—”
“He deserves to do what he wants, Phoebe. And that was to work in this town. You know what,” she stood up, brushing off the back of her black pants, “I have to get back to work. But you should consider calling him. There’s no point in both of you being miserable.”
She tosses her unfinished cone in the trash, and as she walks away, I feel the sting of scolding. “I thought you didn’t like him,” I call after her.
Kinsey looks back over her shoulder at me. “Of course I liked him,” she says. “I wouldn’t have let you keep banging him otherwise.”
We’re both still, and then there’s a crack of a smile on her lips and we both bust up laughing.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I tell her, and she waves goodbye and crosses the street.
I sit a moment longer, staring down at my melting ice cream. I understand Kinsey’s point, and I’m starting to see the logic flaws in my behavior.
I thought I was controlling Isaac by wanting him to stay around. I thought I knew better for him. And that was selfish of me. He has the right to his own plans. His own decisions.
I’d sabotaged us from the start. Refusing dinner even after a romp in the back room. My constant hesitation to every nice gesture, my denying my feelings. And of course, breaking up with him when he was trying to make us work.
“I’ve been an idiot,” I murmur to myself, and stab my spoon into my ice cream. I get up, and dump it into the trash, and head back to the bar. I take out my phone to check the time, seeing it’s barely after two. The wedding is just ending.
With my heart in my throat, I go inside my empty bar and lock the door. I lean my back against the heavy wood, and I open up a new text to Isaac.
I debate what to say. Are there words that can fix the damage? Has he already applied to a place in Scottsdale—a new job in his old life? Am I already too late?
I take a breath, staring at his name and the blank message. I have no idea what to say, so I write the only thing that comes to mind.
I miss you.
I stare at the words, but can’t bring myself to send them. I erase the sentence, and put the phone back in my pocket. I’m afraid it’s too late, but I’m also afraid it’s not.
With a deep sigh, I head behind the bar and start cutting up limes.
+++
I open the bar a little early, and try to work myself to death. I’m surprised when well into the night, the door opens and my brothers Ryerson, Porter, Emerson, and Jude all walk in.
Porter nods to me, the only one to acknowledge me, as the four of them go grab a table near the back. I can’t help but smile, seeing my family there together. I fill a pitcher of beer, grab a few glasses, and head to their table.
Emerson glances up as I approach, while the others look around the establishment, checking it out.
“Hello, Phoebe,” Emerson says as if he’s surprised to find me there. “Do we really need the owner to take our order?”
“She doesn’t have any staff,” Ryerson says, taking a glass from my hand.
“I do,” I say. “But I don’t need to over-hire just to fluff my ego, like some people who own a construction company might.”
Porter purses his lips like I just got a good burn on Ryerson. I set out the rest of the glasses and start filling them, hanging out at the table to answer their questions about the bar. Claire is at the taps, and when a couple walks in, she motions that she’s got it.
Emerson looks up at me again. “By the way,” he says. “I think Isaac’s really going to work out.”
I furrow my brow, and glance at Ryerson who I assume knows about the break up from Cheyenne. I’m hurt he’d tell Emerson, but Ry quickly looks at me as if to say he has nothing to do with the comment.
“What are you talking about?” I ask Emerson, my voice hostile. He’s completely taken aback by my tone.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asks.
“Yes,” I tell him.
Confused, he blinks and glances around at the table. “I just meant he’s a good kid.”
“That’s what I told her,” Porter says under his breath.
My blood begins to boil. “Do you all know?” I demand, earning several confused looks.
“Know what?” Emerson asks, his own voice taking on an edge. “You’re acting like a maniac. Have you been drinking? I was just letting you know your boyfriend is going to work out great at my law firm. Thank you for not making it weird.” He pauses, a slight smile on his lips. “But now I guess I take the last part back.”
“Your law firm?” I ask. “What… what do you mean?”
“After I met Isaac at the party, I looked into him. His former bosses love him, so I called him for an interview a few days ago. Hired him on the spot. He’s going to start in the research department, but he said in a few years, he plans to get his law degree. He’s fucking fantastic, if I’m honest,” Emerson adds with a laugh. “Good head on his shoulders.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he applied?” I ask, my cheeks warm with embarrassment, but my heart dipping with realization. He didn’t pull his application to leave town. He pulled it because he found another job. With my brother.
“Uh…” Emerson shrugs. “I assumed he told you. But otherwise, it would have been inappropriate for me to discuss it with you. So…” he glances sideways at Ryerson, “maybe you want to tell us why you just super over-reacted?”
“They broke up,” Ryerson says for me.
“What?” Porter says, sitting up straighter. “What happened? Did he—?”
“He didn’t break up with me,” I say, slipping my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “I broke up with him.”
“Why?” Jude asks, although he’s the least invested in this outcome. He barely got to town, and he’ll probably be gone by the next weekend.
“Because,” I say exasperated. “His sister didn’t want me at the wedding, and I realized I was holding him back.” I pause when Ryerson shakes his head, annoyed. “I thought I was holding him back,” I correct.
“But instead,” Emerson begins like he’s putting together a case, “he’d gotten a job at my company, and was going to take you to his sister’s wedding anyway, and…” He rubs his chin. “Sorry, Phoebe. I’m not understanding your defense here.”
“Sabotage,” Ryerson fake coughs.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Emerson says, his lower lip pouting. “Tell him you’re sorry. I mean, if you want him still. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think he was crazy about you.”
“How do you know?” I ask, sincerely. “How do you know he’s actually that—?”
The door to the bar swings open again, and I realize I’ve been ignoring my customers. I’m about to walk back behind the bar, when I realize who’s standing in the doorway, wearing a very expensive black suit and his lucky hat.