CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Kyle—

I search Sutton's social media, and message her friends. I make contact with one in Santa Cruz and another in Stockton. Neither have seen her. At least, that's what they tell me. I plead my case, but it falls on deaf ears. When I get nowhere, I ask they pass on a message to please call me, but I don't hold out much hope.

If she doesn't want to be found, her friends aren't going to give her up.

In desperation, I even make a post on the food truck page she started for me. Just four words.

Sutton, please call me.

So far, she hasn't replied, so I do the only other thing I can think to do.

Taking my bike, I ride the hour to Santa Cruz and aimlessly look for her. The wharf is crowded, along with the restaurant where we ate. I stand at the railing for hours, watching people walk past, and all I can think about are all the good times we had together. How she made me laugh, how excited she got helping me with the food truck social media, how we lay on top of Green's RV and watched the stars together, and how I told her about the restaurant I wanted someday, and she told me about the guy blackmailing her.

I long to tell her about Amy Armstrong and the money Channel Five News raised. Sutton was so much a part of everything that occurred to make that happen. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have gotten the attention of the food blogger, the Five Forks award, or the invitation to Tribe. If it wasn't for her picture, I'd never have gotten that check. Hell, if it wasn't for Sutton, I probably would have ruined the chicken chili recipe in the first place, and the whole business would have been a failure before it even got off the ground.

But it's more than working together. I look forward to being around her, and that has nothing to do with social media or any awards. It has to do with how happy she makes my day by just being with me.

The sun beats down, and I grab a beer to cool off. I stay until after the sun sets, then ride home once night falls.

As my bike eats up the miles, my mind keeps turning over ideas. I could hire a private detective, or rent a billboard. I could post on her social media every single day. I could do a lot of things, but I can't make her come back to me, if it's not what she wants.

By the time I reach San Jose, the air has turned chilly, and failure sinks into my bones. I have to accept the fact that maybe a relationship wasn't what she wanted after all.

I can't help feeling like I've failed. If only I had done things differently from the start. If only I had pursued her, pushed Rafe aside… she could be with me.

We could be happy.

If only.

Those two words eat at my soul until I want to punch a hole in the wall.

Days pass, and every single one I spend alone, managing the lunch rush, the dinner rush and then doing it all over the next day, working myself into exhaustion so that I fall into bed at night and don't lie awake and stare at the ceiling and think about Sutton.

A week passes, and then a month, and I realize she may never come back.

I pester her friends until they block me.

I spend every free day driving to Santa Cruz and walking the wharf. In my head, I know it makes no sense. It's such a long shot. But in my heart, I feel closer to her here, where we met. And I need to feel close to her.

I watch another sunset, then climb on my bike and ride home.

When I pull in the drive, my mother's car is parked at the curb, and she's sitting on my porch steps.

I'm really not in the mood to talk. I know Mom's been worried about me. She calls me often. But I just want to go to bed.

As I approach, she stands.

"Hey, Ma." I kiss her cheek. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to talk to you."

"You could have just called." I troop up the stairs, exhaustion weighing me down like my boots are made of lead. Unlocking my door, I let her in ahead of me.

"I wanted to see you. You missed family dinner the other night."

Family dinner. Every Tuesday night. I've missed more than one.

"Sorry. I guess it slipped my mind." I toss my keys on the counter. "You want a beer or something?"

"No, thanks. Can we sit?"

I grab a longneck and join her at the table.

"Did you go to Santa Cruz again?" she asks.

I nod.

"No luck?"

"No luck. I don't think I truly expect to find her anymore. But I feel close to her there, and I need that right now."

She reaches across the table and sets her palm on my forearm. "You need something new to focus on."

"I don't feel it, Ma. I have no interest in anything."

"You have to build the life you'd build if she were here. Maybe the universe will bring her to you."

"The universe, huh? Sure, let's try that," I say sarcastically.

"Have you decided what you want to do with that money you received?"

I shake my head. I haven't touched it. I haven't wanted to do anything with it until I could share the news with Sutton, and I stubbornly don't want to give up on that.

"There's a vacant place in San Pedro Square. It's small, but there's a little outdoor patio. I think it would make a wonderful place for your restaurant."

"San Pedro Square? That's got to be a fortune."

"Cole knows the owner of the building. He made a call for you."

"Ma, you shouldn't have asked him to do that."

"I didn't. Your father did."

"Dad? Why?"

"Because he loves you. He got word the guy was looking for a new tenant. The last guy's place went under last month and had to close the doors. Cole got his price down a good bit."

"I don't know."

"It already has a full kitchen. You'd just have to change the signage and paint. Maybe some new tables and chairs. You know, make it your own."

"It's a lot."

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Yes. But without Sutton, it all feels meaningless." I scrape my thumb nail down the label of my bottle.

"Baby, look at me."

I lift my eyes.

"You have a family to help you. Hell, you have the entire club to help you. Cole made that phone call for you. He also said they'd help with any labor you need to get it cleaned up and ready. You have to make a life a woman would want to be a part of, son. Make that life."

I stare at her, knowing she's right but finding it hard to find the energy or enthusiasm to do any of it. It sounds exhausting, and I realize I may be in the throes of depression.

She stands and puts her hand on my shoulder, then drops a phone number on the table. "Cole pulled in a favor for you. At least go see the place. Okay?"

She presses a kiss to my forehead. Then walks out the front door.

I follow and stare out the window, making sure she gets in the car safely, and I stay until she drives away.

Then I return to the table and plop down. I stare at the phone number for a long time, before I drag in a long breath and decide to just get it over with. Then I can say I did what she asked.