Gigi refused to say she was hiding in her office. Between the party the next night and her desire to join her employees in a much-deserved post-party day off, she had plenty of paperwork to keep her behind her desk. Her printer whirred and clicked one order form on top of another, and soon she'd be ready to move on to a couple of recommendation letters for the more promising members of her summer staff.

She wasn't hiding. She had to be here.

If she had been trying to hide from Noah, which she denied, Inn Too Deep did not provide any suitable hiding places. He was out there on the floor right now, moving smoothly and gracefully from kitchen to the bar. The storage room downstairs, once a cool refuge from the madness upstairs, haunted her now. She couldn't look at a box of Stoli without remembering the conversation that had started her and Noah on their journey toward each other. The back patio was definitely off limits. Noah's determination to fix the lights up there meant he spent most of his unoccupied time up there. On the one night she'd managed to get up there alone, she found that everything reminded her of him and of all the things they'd done together.

Her office was no better. She'd been behind this desk when their relationship had died. Even now, the photo of her father handing over the keys tried to remind her that she had done the right thing.

Don't throw it all away.

Gigi sat up enough to reach the frame and pushed it face down onto her desk. The little bubble of familial disloyalty that arose with the gesture died quickly.

The sound of rapidly advancing footsteps made Gigi look up to see Heather sweep through the doorway.

"Aren't you going to stop him?"

Gigi frowned. She'd seen him out there with Heather. Everything seemed normal between them. Heather stayed out of his way as he poured ice and carried dishes. "Stop him from what?"

"From leaving, dammit."

She tried to use her dad's de-escalation techniques again, folding her hands and taking a deep breath before speaking. "Well, we knew he was—"

"Don't. Don't you say that."

"It's only a little early," Gigi said. "His boss needs him down there."

Heather strode to the front of her desk and put her hands on its worn surface, very near the photo Gigi had just turned over. "Don't you dare bullshit me," Heather said, her voice a ribbon of steel in the stillness of the office. "We had a long talk, Noah and I. That's why I'm only just hearing about it. He wanted to make sure he had time to tell me everything."

Gigi pushed her chair back from the desk. "What did he say, exactly?"

"You don't need to know it all. But he told me he was leaving because he's done here. He said we didn't need him anymore."

Was that what he thought? "He made that out of this?" Suddenly unable to face her friend, Gigi looked into the corner of her office, the shadow beneath the edge of the couch. "I never said anything like that."

Following Gigi's gaze, Heather dropped heavily onto the venerable couch. "Your dad said something to me once. It changed the way I work." She flattened her palms on her denim-clad thighs. "He said that no customer is impossible to please. He told me he had a guy who insisted his martini was too sweet. No matter what your dad did. Too sweet, too sweet."

Gigi swallowed hard. She hadn't heard this story before. "What did he do?"

Heather sighed. "He told me that, whether or not it was actually too sweet wasn't the point. The real question was simpler: why did this guy think it was too sweet?"

Suddenly restless, Gigi stood and went to the doorway. The friendly noise and loud music grounded her as she let her mind gently gather up this memory of her dad.

"So I'm looking around," Heather continued, "and I'm wondering… why does Noah think we don't need him? He's not done at all. Those lights upstairs will still burn the building down. The left-side sink is acting weird. And then there's you."

Gigi leaned against the doorway and met Heather's eyes. "I'm not done?"

Heather shook her head. "No. You're not. I can tell to look at the two of you that there's some kind of weird unfinished business between you." She stretched her arm out along the back of the couch. "So what is it? What did you do?"

Gigi slowly pushed her office door shut, something she did so infrequently that the hinges creaked and protested with her effort. The miserable springs in the couch squeaked as she joined Heather there.

"He came in here like you," Gigi said. "Pissed off."

"Okay." Heather's level expression reminded her of her father's list of de-escalation techniques, part of the amateur therapist aspect of bartender work. "Pissed off about what?"

Gigi squeezed her hands together between her knees. "That I called you that morning. Like you said. He didn't tell you this?"

"No. He has some A Few Good Men, Full Metal Jacket shit going on. I'm surprised he told me anything."

Gigi frowned. "Aren't those the Marines?"

"I'm glad you think this is the point." Heather beckoned impatiently. "Finish this story. What did you tell him?"

"I said… I told him what I told you. I said we weren't a thing. I told him he was just passing through, like he said from the beginning."

Heather pressed her hands to her temples and gazed up at the ceiling. "Oh, my God. See, this is some stupid-ass bullshit like I would have pulled before I was married."

"The fuck?"

"You called him unnecessary. It's the worst thing you could do to him." She pressed her palms together in her lap. "Shit, I only have him the last few minutes of the shift, and even I know better. He needs to be needed."

"By whom? Us?"

"Yes!" Heather gestured at the door. "You should see these guys when he comes in, looking like he's planning a direct frontal assault on happy hour. Checking the doors. Checking out the corners of the room. I swear he counts us to make sure we're all here. And they are relieved. Like, thank God Noah's here. That day he was late, they were all looking at the hallway every couple of minutes." She opened her hands. "They need him. I definitely need him. You want to know something else? You need him."

"No." Gigi got off the couch and returned to her desk. "No, no, no. You want to talk about stuff my dad said? Here's what he told me. He said not to throw all this away over a man."

Heather shrugged. "So don't. That's not what this is, anyway."

"You don't know what he meant. He hired you because you were married."

"That is not true." Heather's tone was measured. "Bruce helped, but I got the job on shandies and micheladas. Your dad just knew Bruce wouldn't get in the way. That's what he was trying to tell you."

Gigi glanced at the photo, still face down on the corner of her desk.

"He didn't want you to end up with someone who would come between you and the job," Heather said. "Some lowlife with one hand in your pocket and the other on your ass. That's not this." She spread her arms wide. "All this is Noah's now. His back patio. His bathroom. His family. He needs this. He needs all of us, and as much as the both of you want to make this hard, he needs you. He loves this place. He loves you, even though he is never going to tell you that."

Gigi rocked back in her chair. He loves you.

Now that the words had been said—even by someone else—the atmosphere of the room had changed.

He loves you.

Gigi dropped her head into her hands. "What am I going to do about it now?"

"I don't know." Heather's voice was firm, as if she were dealing with a problem employee. "But you are not getting out of this that easily. You are going to tell him you didn't mean all this. And you are going to tell him we do need him even if he is leaving."

Gigi lifted her head to face her friend. "He's still leaving, Heather."

"I almost hope he does. You deserve that after what you did." Heather got up and opened the door. "But damn if you're not going to be honest with him after all he's done."

Heather pushed the door to its usual position and left to gather her things. Happy hour had come to an end outside, where Neil Young sang about the long history of Southern injustice. Gigi leaned forward in her chair to set her photo upright again. This time, instead of her father's voice, Heather's resounded in her mind.

He loves you.

Heather was right—she'd have to be honest about this. She just hoped she could find the strength to do it.