7
Just before noon the following day, Matt walked into the pub owned by his old school buddy, Brady O’Donnell.
Brady’s parents started the pub, naming it Brady Pub after their firstborn, and when they retired to Arizona, they turned the restaurant/bar over to him. He initially hated that the place was named after him, but it was a popular spot, and was mentioned in several guidebooks, travel websites, and magazines so, he decided not to change it.
Matt spotted his friend immediately. The door to the kitchen was open, and Matt could see Brady busy at work, preparing for the lunch crowd.
One thing about Brady was clear, the guy loved to cook. Even when they were in high school, Brady was always playing with his food. It was in a way that made him the center of attention and the target of ridicule from some of the school badasses. But Brady never cared, and never listened to those who called him “sissy” and “cheffie,”. Even if the names were delivered with a very female flick of the wrist, the gay inferences never bothered him. All he wanted to do was cook.
When he spotted Matt, he blinked, his head jerked back, and he said, “Matt? Seriously, you’re here?” Brady yanked him into a back-thumping man-hug. He was wearing his white chef’s attire which, this early in the day, was still white.
“Yep, got in just a few days ago.”
Brady narrowed his eyes, “And I’m just now seeing you? What the hell?” He flung his arms out to the side with a grin.
“My brother got married.” Matt said, leaning up against the smooth chrome counter and folding his arms.
Brady let out a breath. “Wow. That is news. I guess since he moved away after he left Jessica at the altar, we all sort of lost track of him. But, man, he sure kept this wedding on the down-low.” Brady turned back to the stack of carrots that needed chopping.
“How’d Jessica take it?” Brady asked, picking up a very sharp-looking knife. “I assume you told her.”
As ever, Brady knew him well. “She seemed fine with it, oddly enough.”
“Not surprising, considering it’s been five years. I mean, she’s a successful wedding dress designer. Pretty in demand from what I hear, so why wouldn’t she have moved on?”
Matt shrugged. “Anyway,” he began, changing the subject, “how are you doing? Business good?”
Brady looked at him and stopped chopping for a moment. “Stop changing the subject.”
“I didn’t.” Matt offered, but he knew what Brady meant.
“You seen her?”
Fuck. He really wasn’t interested in talking about Jessica. He only nodded.
“And?”
“What is this? An interrogation? She seems fine. As I said, she’s over Will, so that’s good.”
Brady didn’t even look up from his rapid-fire carrot-chopping. “Not what I meant. As I recall, you had a pretty powerful ‘thing’ for her when you left town.”
“It wasn’t a thing. I mean we were friends…”
“You gonna tell her?” The chopping continued, and Matt found himself mesmerized by Brady’s swift, deft movements.
“There’s nothing to tell.” Matt’s voice was low.
Brady stopped chopping and pointed the knife at him, “You know there is. Look, it’s your life, but you’ve had a thing for Jessica ever since the day you met her, which was…what? When she was twelve, and you were a horny sixteen-year-old?”
Then he gave a chuckle and started chopping again. “I’d say it’s past time to do something about it,” he added.
Matt shrugged, “Whatever. I have to leave soon anyway, so what’s the point?”
“The point, my old friend, is that you have spent too much of your life taking a back seat to your brother. Who, might I add, is an ass.”
“He’s a big-time lawyer now.”
“So?” Brady finished the carrots and set aside his knife, then grabbed two handfuls and dropped them in a pot. He turned the heat up and faced his friend again. “You’re a fucking badass Army guy who’s been risking his life every day in the Middle East. That fancy-pants lawyer has nothing on you. It’s time you stopped being a second fiddle sibling to the kind of guy who could leave an amazing woman on their wedding day.”
Brady had never been one to hold back when it came to delivering a hefty dose of reality.
“We’ll see,” was all Matt could say.
“Now, none of that wishy-washy BS. I expect to hear about how you swept her off her feet next time I see you.” His friend winked at him. “Now, are you going to just stand there, or you want help me get ready for the lunch crowd? Apron?” He grinned, holding up a white waist apron.
“Hell, no, I’m not wearing that, but I’m happy to help. What do you need?”
Brady pointed to a bag of potatoes. “Can you peel those?”
“You bet.” Matt grabbed a peeling knife, dumped the potatoes on the counter, and set to work. “Is your apartment upstairs still vacant?”
“Sure, Why? You need a place to crash?”
“I’ve been staying with my folks, but since they moved into that cottage, there isn’t a lot of room. I want to pay you, though.”
Brady shrugged, “I bought a house, and the apartment’s empty anyway, so no charge.” He gave his friend a stare. “And no arguments.”
As Matt and Brady worked, they caught up on his time in Afghanistan, though Matt, wanting to keep the conversation light, was careful to skirt some of the horror he’d seen.
But while they talked, he also struggled with an internal tug-of-war.
Maybe his friend was right, maybe it was time to come clean. But if he did, then what? If Jessica rejected him, which she most certainly would, he’d have nothing but a wrecked friendship, and the conviction that he should have kept his mouth shut.