Clay and I did NOT sleep on the island in the kitchen. First of all, I was hungry. For real food, not just Clay based nutrition, no matter how filling he was. And secondly, while the island was an amazing spot for a pounding sexual encounter, it wasn't exactly comfortable. Even with Clay acting as a mattress for me, it was going to make both of us sore in all the wrong ways.
Dinner in my apartment, that I cooked from scratch, followed by a LONG hot bath was on our menu before bed. As I lay with my back against his chest in the warm water, I felt far calmer than I had all day. It's not everyday a woman learns that the business she's managed for years is actually HER business. And the house. That fucking house. I was tempted, heavily, to call a realtor first thing in the morning and list the damn thing.
"You have some decisions to make, Char." Clay's chin was propped on the top of my head and his arms were wrapped around me, holding me against him.
"I do?" I did, but I was curious as to what he thought they were.
He hummed his affirmation. "Now that you're not just the manager of the shop, you could delegate more." I could, and it wasn't something I had even thought about. "I'm not saying you have to, but you could." He was right, I could give someone the dreaded Wednesday inventory and ordering. I could hand off the day to day and focus on baking or find another hobby. Who knew, maybe I could give someone else purpose like managing The Little Drip had given me one.
"What would I do with all that extra time?" I smiled as his fingers slid down my arms and moved lower, giving me ample promise for a new focus for my extra time.
Dried and lying in my bed, an early bedtime for once, I sighed. While I knew Clay's theory about the coffee shop was a good one, I still had to deal with the house. That house. The one that loomed dark in my childhood memories. The one where my parents had lived together with me for the first five years of my life. The one where my father broke my mother's will to live. The one where she killed herself.
"What's wrong?" Clay's voice, the tones of it I was learning intimately, took on the softness that came as he was allowing himself to grow prepared for sleep.
"I'm thinking about the house," I felt his nod, so I went on. "I haven't been back since-" he hummed when I stopped, letting me know he understood. "Knee jerk reaction is to sell it, sight unseen, just call up a realtor tomorrow and get rid of it."
"But?" His voice was still soft, but I knew his training meant he was fully awake.
I tried to explain why the urge was high, but something was holding me back. "I don't think I can explain why I don't do it. Just cut ties and let go." I strained, why was this so difficult for me?
"I'm sure, Char, that you had moments of happiness there. It wasn't all-" he stopped, using his finger to tilt my chin up so our eyes met in the dim light of the streetlamps through my lace curtains. "Before he left, when you and your mom spent time playing together," a memory of a tea party in my playroom, my mom sitting across from me with a smile lighting up her face as we had real tea and sandwiches on the tiny porcelain set at a small table and chairs came to me. "Or when you read together," bedtime, propped up against her side while she read through one of the many books she read to me nightly. "Even when you were older, after he left, didn't you have moments that weren't tinged by it?" My birthdays, with Davey and George pushing my mom from her shell of pain, with Carrie and her mom helping her forget for a tiny speck of time that her pain wasn't everything. Reminding her that she had me, even if I escaped the house and her as often as I could, and how when everyone left, the two of us tried so desperately to keep that feeling going, only to lose the fight as soon as morning dawned.
"They aren't all bad memories, Clay, but the bad are pretty damn miserable." My father looking at my mother and me as though we were beneath him. The fact that I couldn't think of one pleasant memory that included the three of us, not even holidays, since those included Davey and George and they barely counted. Walter would sequester himself in a separate room. He'd open presents, but then slink off on his own. He didn't coddle me, or cuddle me, I wasn't sure I even had a standard fresh from the womb picture of him holding me. I sighed, burying my face in his shoulder and breathing him in because even after a bath using my soap and shampoo, Clay managed to still smell exactly like Clay.
"Will you take me to see it?" I tried hard not to tense up at the thought of going back inside the house. "We can drive past if you want, we don't have to go inside." I considered it, realizing that tucking it all the way out of my mind didn't appear to solve anything.
"We can go, inside too, if you want to." My voice muffled against his skin, but I knew he heard me. I kissed his shoulder, smiling against his skin. "I think I can face anything with you beside me."
Geroge was waiting for us the next morning in the kitchen, eyes twinkling at our appearance and our linked fingers. Clay had his breakfast upstairs and would probably last through the day without needing a repeat on the island, but he did beg off from gopher duties. Kissing me as if we didn't have an avid audience, he said his goodbyes, and George offered to walk him to the door so he could grab us drinks and I could get started.
As we baked, George asked me how I was handling what Davey and he had told me about the day before. I'd always been honest with my uncles, talking to them about any concerns I had or any questions that came to me about things in my life was natural somehow. This was no different, with the tiny exception of who Clay and his associates were. I wasn't entirely sure how to broach the subject of my being involved with a man who was, at least on paperwork, dead.
"Clay wants to see the house," I told him after I explained my conundrum over what to do with the property. "He told me we could just drive past, if I didn't want to go in."
"He seems-" when he paused I looked up from where I was forming dough to see his puzzlement over what he wanted to say. "Nice is a little too tame for a man like Clay, isn't it?"
My smirk answered him and I went back to forming pastries, thinking to myself that nice didn't nearly cover Clay at all.
Once we had the display cases filled, George and I each took a sweet treat and sat at a table near the counter. As we ate, and settled in for the day, he asked me if I was planning on changing anything about The Little Drip now that I had full reign.
"I still want to be here most days," I offered between bites. "But I think I'd like to promote one of the baristas to manager, at least to get inventory and ordering off my chore list." George chuckled, knowing that was the one duty I appreciated least. "Managing this shop, it saved me," my uncle's eyes met mine. "Gave me a purpose, and I think I want to pass that along."
"That's my girl," he said, a smile bright on his face. "We wanted to tell you sooner, we did, but-" he sighed, and looked toward the windows facing the street. "Walter is a snake and a weasel, we had to make sure that you were strong enough to stand up to him."
"And I am?" My head was tilted when he faced me again. His smile told me more than words ever could. "Of course I am, I was raised by two of the strongest men I know." I reached out my hand and he took it easily. "I love you two, you know?"
"We do," he answered, for him and Davey. "We love you so much, Char, so damn much. I always thought-" he stopped, seeming to think better of what he was going to say.
"What?" I squeezed his fingers, wanting to know what he thought. "Tell me, G."
"I always thought, it was almost like you were born to be ours." He looked conflicted, and I understood. He never wanted my mom to die, but having me in their lives, as a daughter as opposed to just a niece felt right. I'd felt it too.
"I always thought I was yours." Blinking back tears, I smiled. "I feel so guilty for what happened to her, George, so fucking guilty that I couldn't be enough, that I ran from her."
He shushed me, standing and pulling me into his arms. "No, Char, that wasn't your fault. You were so young and she was so broken, sweetheart. She needed peace, and she found it in the only way she could." I managed to regain my composure as I listened to my uncle tell me how he saw my mother's suicide. "She knew that we loved you so much, that we took good care of you, and she knew she could go and you'd be safe and loved." And she'd been right, if that was her goal, it had worked. "Are you sure you want to go to the house? Even with Clay-"
"With Clay I can face anything," my conviction was growing in that belief, firmer and surer by the moment. "He'll know if it's too much, or he'll listen when I tell him it is at least."
George left after Keli showed up. She was far more mellow than she had been, the snark still alive and well, but she seemed to know that I'd listened to her and HEARD her. She and George exchanged pleasantries and it came to me. If Keli was doing paperwork, inventory, and ordering, she wouldn't be in close contact with the customers. If Keli wasn't in close contact with the customers, maybe the rates of my insurance wouldn't skyrocket because I felt pretty certain that she might end up biting someone. Matt or Alex Xavier were at the top of the list for potential victims.
As we worked to get the shop ready to truly open, I broached the subject with her by first breaking the news that I was the owner.
"Of course you are," she rolled her eyes. "Not even two flaky fairies like George and Davey would just toss someone your age the keys to this place and wander off to frolic in the sand in Florida."
"You couldn't have tossed me a clue?" I asked, mouth quirked. "Damn, Keli, now I'm wondering if offering you the management position is really a good idea? I mean I'd want a manager that keeps my dumb ass in the loop."
She'd gone completely still with her back to me. "Manager?" Her voice was barely a breath and I almost took it back and said I was joking in case she was pissed that I'd offer it to her, with her family's plans to relocate and all.
Before I could she turned to face me and I was shocked to see a smile on her face. I'd seen many expressions grace Keli's face since I hired her, a smile was not one of them. Yes, I do realize that hiring a woman who didn't smile often for a customer service job didn't sound smart, but she was capable, had a memory like a fucking steel trap, and she was efficient as hell.
"It would come with a raise in pay," I continued, confident she wouldn't throw a bag of coffee beans at my head now. "Of course it would also come with more duties."
"Such as?" As we finished up the opening prep work, I went over what duties I planned on turning over to her. "Done." And with that, Keli became The Little Drip's manager. Or would once I had an employee meeting to make it official.
"I'll tell everyone as they come in, but I think we should have a meeting to make it official." She nodded, walking to the door to flip the sign. "Not here though. Let's do it at Enzo's. Make it a celebration and a meeting. You can bring Stacy and Jason, the others can bring their significant others and family."
"You gonna bring Clay?" I felt my mouth drop open at her use of his fucking name. "What? Just because I don't use their names, doesn't mean I don't KNOW their names." She rolled her eyes, but her smile held. "I like the idea. We don't really social much outside of the shop, why not?"
And that's how, in the course of two days, I became the recognized owner of The Little Drip and Keli was promoted to manager. And somehow that was the normal part of my week...
