17. Nate

SEVENTEEN

NATE

I n the weeks since I’d delivered the news to my mother, she’d remained chill. Mostly. She still called weekly to check in and added links to stores with baby items, including notes about what she thought we would need or what would be better. I was actually quite impressed with her level of restraint. Though I feared it would be like Mount Vesuvius one day, and she’d explode, randomly showing up at our door with bags of baby wipes, throwing bottles at me, demanding I let her move in so she could babysit.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, I texted my dad to let him know I needed to talk to him. When he finally responded the next day, he said I could call him around noon, and when I did explain the situation, he reacted exactly how I expected. “That’s good. I hope you’re taking care of yourself and her.”

And that was about it. No follow-up questions. Mostly some muttered nonsense about being happy for me and to let him know if I needed anything.

Sure, my mom was all drama, but goddamn, would it kill him to act like he had any love for me? More than some acquaintance?

That’s what it felt like.

I would rather have my mother be over the top than have my father give me less than the bare minimum.

Sometimes a person just needed to hear “I love you.”

But things between Tabby and me were remarkably wonderful. She was still “working” but mostly to make herself feel better about Bran taking over for her. She had a few more weeks left in the semester, and we had started discussing painting the nursery, although we had yet to open the envelope stuck to the fridge with the sex of the baby in it. Little did she know, I had two online carts full of stuff, waiting for me to pull the trigger, one for a girl and one for a boy. Sure, it was all stereotypical and meant absolutely nothing, but how could I not buy the ginormous bows for a girl or the tiny blue bow tie for a boy. I mean, come on .

Pushing those thoughts aside, I focused on the task at hand. I was set to meet Collin at the restaurant. He’d been in town since yesterday, staying at Liam’s house, and after we’d met in person at Walt’s, we hit it off immediately. I knew we would. We’d been corresponding via texts and emails, and it was all but a done deal. He’d told me how he was tired of moving and taking orders, though I suspected it was a little more than that.

Sometimes a guy exhausted himself by pretending he didn’t want to put down some roots. It got tiresome, the meaningless sex and avoidance.

I would know.

We’d made plans to meet downtown at the space, and as I pulled up to the building, I saw Collin already waiting outside, his tall frame leaning against the brick wall.

He straightened up as I approached, a grin spreading across his face. He had the look of a chef, lean and scraggly with tattoos and a cigarette in his hand. He stubbed it out to shake my hand.

“Perfect location,” he said by way of greeting.

I agreed, tilting my head back to take in the corner lot on Aster Street. All the buildings were connected here, the architecture from the nineteenth century with cobblestone sidewalks and wide streets sometimes closed down for festivals or street fairs. It was both quaint and kitschy, a small-town vibe in the middle of a suburb outside of Philly. We’d make bank .

Especially being next to these small businesses. Right next door to an art gallery. Across the street from a bakery. We’d fit right in.

Exactly what Tabby wanted.

“You ready to check out our future empire?” I asked, unlocking the door. Collin merely smirked, following me inside, our footsteps echoing off the bare walls. The potential was palpable.

I brought him over to a folding table, where I laid out the construction plans. I had the contractor lined up. All I needed was for Collin to sign on the dotted line with me. Co-owners.

“So,” Collin began, his eyes scanning the room, “talk me through it. Where’s the bar? The kitchen?”

I pointed toward the far end. “We’ll put the bar along that wall. It’ll be the first thing people see when they walk in. We can do some low lighting, maybe some hanging plants to give it a cozy vibe.”

Collin nodded, stroking his chin. “Mm-hmm. You said you almost want it to feel like someone’s living room, right? You need the right seating, especially at the bar. Some stools with cushions. You want people hanging out for a long time, ordering a bottle. At the tables, it’ll be easy, but since the customers sitting at the bar will be the first thing people see, you want to set the precedent. Upscale yet still approachable. Walt’s, but make it their rich cousin.”

“ Exactly .” My stomach flipped. We were of one mind, and I could already feel this would go well.

Collin turned. “And the kitchen?”

“Back there.” I gestured to the right. “We’ll need to do some major renovations, get all the proper ventilation and equipment installed. But I think we’ve got enough space to create an efficient workflow.”

Collin paced the area, checking out every nook and cranny. “We’ll need to factor in storage space too. Both dry goods and refrigeration.”

I pulled out my phone, making notes, biting back a smile at his use of we . “Definitely. Whatever you want to make sure we’re maximizing the space.”

He glanced over his shoulder to me. “What about licenses? For the bar and the health department approvals.”

“Already on it,” I assured him. “I’ve got a meeting with the city next week to start the paperwork. It’ll take some time, but we should have everything in order before we’re ready to open.”

He nodded approvingly, casting his gaze out the big front windows, to the view across the street. “And staffing? I know you’ve got experience with that from Walt’s, but this is a different ball game.”

“I figured you would want a hand in the hiring. Front of house won’t be a problem. There are always people around looking for hospitality jobs.”

We continued to discuss logistics and plans for the next hour or so, solidifying our combined vision. We made a good team, and I felt in my bones that this was the right move. I could already imagine opening night, the success that would come. We talked about possible menu options, décor, and how soon he’d be able to make it official here.

“I honestly don’t have much,” he said as I locked up. “I’ve basically been living out of a suitcase since culinary school.”

“Real estate is tight around here, but they put up new condos a year or two ago.” I pointed to the building a few blocks away, the top visible among the low-rise of the other structures. “Heard they’re pretty nice. Also, pretty pricey.”

He nodded absently, sweeping his gaze up and down the street from the coffeehouse and record store to the lingerie boutique and pet shop then settled his attention on the storefronts directly across from us, Sweet Cheeks, the bright-pink bakery known for its cinnamon rolls, the tattoo parlor where I’d gotten all my ink done, and the bookstore with twinkle lights in the window.

“Got a small-town feel, you know?” I said, working the angle. “It’s a nice place to live. Start a family.”

He scoffed at the idea but stuck his hand out anyway, shaking on it.