Page 61 of Just One More Thing

“That was the point.” The kitchen door swings shut.

The front door opens again. Hank’s whole back end wiggles once. Then settles. I look away from the entrance before I can check for myself and start lining up salt shakers that were already lined up.

Charlie pushes his empty glass aside. “What’s going on?”

“I took Mo to check pots today. There was a point she reached for me.”

His eyebrows lift.

“Then she stopped.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, “You still love her.”

“Yes.”

“Then stop acting like loving her is something you need to make up for.”

Charlie watches me for another second. “What else is going on?”

I drag a hand over the back of my neck. “Ryan texted.”

His posture shifts. “And?”

“Starter went down.”

He lets out a low whistle. He knows what that means without my having to explain it. “You’d go back?”

“If they called, I’d hear them out.”

“And Emory?”

I glance at him. “I’m not passing because I’m scared of losing her.” The second I say it, I know it’s only half true. Charlie knows it too.

He turns on his stool to face me fully now, forearm on the bar, expression calm in that way that means he’s not about to let me bullshit either one of us. “When she left, you didn’t fall apart for a month,” he says. “You fell apart for years.”

I stare at the bar top. Ten years ago, I’d have argued that. Now I know better. “I built a whole future around her without asking if she wanted one,” I say. “I said I love you like she’d already agreed to it. That’s on me.”

“And now?”

“Now I know better than to build around a maybe.” I set the last shaker down harder than I mean to. “I’m not dragging her into something she hasn’t chosen. That’s the difference.”

Charlie nods once.

That’s apparently enough.

I toss the rag beneath the sink. “You always this cheerful?”

“Only with you.”

“Lucky me.”

He stands, rolls his neck once and sets a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve gotta go work on next month’s schedule. You good?”

“Yeah.” Charlie’s good at giving a man space without leaving him alone in it. On his way out, he bends and scratches Hank behind the ears. “Keep an eye on him.”

Hank keeps snoring.

The dinner crowd thins. The kitchen goes from full tilt to cleanup. Bethany grabs her boatkin and keys, straightening along her way to the front door. “Lock up,” she says. “And try not to brood. It’s bad for business.”