Becca

Friday, Late Morning

Tad left the house at the ungodly hour of six a.m.—and he was whistling this morning. Whistling! I went back to sleep for several glorious hours before straggling in at my scheduled time of eleven.

Okay, okay, 11:20.

“Sorry! Traffic!” I announce when I walk into Grand Lark’s restaurant. “I allowed extra time, I swear. I don’t know where it goes. If minutes were made of marbles instead of thin air, I could keep better track of them.”

To my surprise, one side of Tad’s mouth goes up in an amused half smile. He lifts a plate from a table and wipes it down. I help, clearing a glass and the silverware.

The place is otherwise empty, so I take the opportunity to ask, “You okay?”

“Yeah, Bec. I’m okay. When you have a second, though, we should talk.”

My heart leaps into my throat. Sounds bad already.

Tad tosses the damp towel on the bar top and takes the glass and silverware from my hand. In the office and I attempt to put the “we should talk” phrase out of my mind while I check email and answer a few phone calls. I’m successful, until Tad shows up leaning in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest.

I end the call with the liquor supplier and swivel my chair in Tad’s direction.

“Let’s hear it. What’d I do?”

“It’s not what you did.” Arms still crossed, he pushes off the doorframe and lowers himself to sit on the only clean corner of the desk. “It’s what I did.”

“Knock me over with a feather. This is beginning to sound like an apology.”

He laughs. Actually laughs.

“Or a dream. Did I doze off?” I make a show of pinching my arm. “Nope. Still awake. Unless this is like Inception and I’m in a dream within a dream.”

“No one understands that movie.”

“I know. It’s good, though.”

“The best,” he agrees.

“Leo,” we both say at the same time. My love for Leonardo DiCaprio started with the movie Titanic. Tad was a late bloomer with Scorsese’s The Departed, which didn’t tickle my fancy since Leo’s character— Well, I won’t spoil it for you in case you’re an even later bloomer and haven’t watched it yet. But seriously. Watch it.

“I’m sorry, Bec. I treat you like you’re a kid and you’re not. It’s not right and I’m going to do better.”

I tap my chest just above my heart. “I’m having cardiac arrest. An actual heart attack. Has anyone ever died of shock?”

He ignores my theatrics.

“I paid Dax a visit this morning to kick his ass out of here. A guy doing you wrong has no place in my resort.”

I open my mouth but Tad holds up a finger to shush me.

“But. He told me he’s headed back to Ohio without you. I also believe that you’re in complete control of your faculties. He can stay.”

I was going to yell at him for butting in, but I’m blown away by Tad admitting I’m in control of my faculties. He’s never admitted I owned faculties, let alone believed that I was in charge of them.

“Plus, he wasn’t wrong when he told me I don’t trust my staff enough. I’m a control freak.”

I snort my agreement.

“Believe it or not, Bec, this has nothing to do with how capable you are and everything to do with the fact that I’m worried I can’t keep this place running. With a business, a wife, two kids, and us trying to have a third, it’s a lot of stress.”

“A third?” I repeat, stunned.

Tad stops running his fingers through his hair.

“But Lara drank wine yesterday.”

“We’re not trying at the moment. We’re taking a break. We haven’t been able to . . .” He winces, uncomfortable. “We tried for the last three months but she’s having some trouble. The doctor thinks it’s stress. Too much on her plate. Maybe too much on mine.”

My heart sinks as I consider the stressors in his and Lara’s life. Taking on a sister who has no plans to leave can’t have helped.

“I didn’t know you were trying for another baby,” I tell him, my voice weak with guilt.

“A boy is the goal.” He gives me a soft smile.

“Silly Tad. Lara makes beautiful girls.”

“Exactly why I want at least one boy. Girls date guys and when that happens, I’ll have to worry if they’re being taken advantage of every minute of the day.” He tilts his head and spears me with a look that suggests I’m one of his worries.

Shit. I totally understand where he’s coming from.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’m giving you more responsibility. I’m upping your salary by six thousand dollars a year, giving you a management position and title, and I’d like you to work on the menu here as well, if you’re interested.”

Good thing I’m sitting. This is too much to absorb standing up. Almost too much for a sitting position. Maybe I should lie down.

“Will you write a few recipes for the kitchen? You can hire an assistant for the office work or another kitchen guy—whichever would help you more. Anytime I’m not at Grand Lark, you’ll be in charge. But I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”

“Tad, I . . . don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes. You’ll have a respectable full-time job that hopefully you’ll love, now that I’m not breathing down your neck about every minute detail. I trust you, Bec. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”

Plus six grand more a year? It boggles the mind.

“I can afford to get my own place,” I say, the idea taking root.

“You can. It’s a good gig if you’re going to stay. Will you stay?”

I’ve been putting off making that decision for five months. I would’ve continued to put it off longer if Tad hadn’t offered me the sweetest position available at Grand Lark—one I create.

“Are you sure about the raise?” It’s almost too good to be true.

He considers, then shakes his head. My stomach tightens until he says, “Make it a ten-thousand-dollar-a-year raise. I can afford it. You’re going to bring in more business now that I’m giving you more responsibility. Everyone likes you. Maybe we’ll put you in our next TV commercial.”

“I can’t believe this.” I blink quickly as tears pool in my eyes. “Thank you. Can I . . . think about it, though?”

“I want you to think about it.” Tad nods easily, which is as surprising as every other thing he’s said so far today. “Carefully. If you’re not going to stay—if this isn’t where you want to be—let me know and I’ll fill the management position. Maybe Dom wants it, I don’t know.”

“Dominic.” His best friend since childhood would make so much more sense. “Why didn’t you ask Dominic?”

“You’re my sister, Becca. My first choice.”

Oh, my heart.

“I want you here,” Tad continues as my heart swells. “I trust you more than I trust anyone. But I won’t obligate you to stay if it’s time for you to go elsewhere. Like, say, to New York to be a dancer?”

I regard my shoes. “That was silly.”

“No. That was brave. Just because it didn’t work out doesn’t mean it was the wrong thing to do. Lots of things in life are like that. Jobs. College. Relationships.”

“I thought you didn’t like Dax.” We both know that these past few weeks with Dax is the closest I’ve come to a relationship in years.

“I like him now that I know you’ve got him by the balls.” Tad shuts his eyes like he’s trying to disrupt that mental picture. “Not literally.”

I laugh.

“You can handle yourself, can’t you?” His features soften.

“Yes. I just handle myself differently than you handle yourself.”

He leans down and kisses the top of my head. “One of your best qualities is that you’re not me. Don’t ever forget it.”

With a wink, Tad leaves me with a lot to think about.

I’ve struggled for so long to get him to trust me with more, now that he’s offering it’s . . . jarring. I can handle it. Without a doubt. But I don’t want to accept, then change my mind. I’m sort of known for my wild urges to flit away and try something new. Putting down roots—permanent roots—would be a huge change. A good one?

I tap a few figures into the calculator on the desk and jot them down on a Post-it note.

If I stay, the first order of business is to move out of Tad and Lara’s house. They have a family to raise, and while I love helping out, it’s time to give them the space they deserve. If I’ve learned one thing about relationships, it’s that two people involved is plenty. Tad and Lara have their own lives to lead, separate from me.

I consider my path before I moved here. Consider that I’ve tried nearly everything. Being a student and working side jobs. Waitressing and teaching Zumba. But recipe creation—being in on the development part. Being in control of what a kitchen serves . . . Every organ in my body leans forward in anticipation.

I want that. Badly.

And my brother is handing it to me. In a place I already work. Close to my family. Under his tutelage. I’d be helping him out, helping myself out, and it wouldn’t involve the risk of going with Dax to Ohio.

Tad and Grand Lark are the sure thing. Dax isn’t.

I decide to sleep on it, but while I’m waiting . . . it wouldn’t hurt to look around at a few available apartments in town. Biting my lip, I tap another couple of numbers into the calculator.

Or . . .

I could buy a house—another dream I never allowed myself to have.