Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
18
Embry
I could pinpoint the exact moment when the real Embry decided to reappear. I’d forgotten for a while—forgotten how clumsy and embarrassing I was, and how much of an absolute disaster I could be. Somehow, being with Bryson had given me a sense of confidence. It made me think I was changing.
Then, in a single evening, I slipped down some stairs, broke a bunch of champagne flutes, made a huge mess of dinner, and nearly knocked a server off her feet. And it was like, oh, that’s right. This is who I am.
How could I forget?
Bryson was incredibly nice about it, but I knew deep down, he had to be embarrassed. After all, we were with his family at an elegant inn that looked like it was right out of a movie.
I didn’t belong in a place like this.
I made that clear the first night, and then I kept reminding everyone of it all weekend as I messed up one thing after another. The harder I tried not to knock things over, or trip over my own two feet, or break stuff, the clumsier I became.
Sunday evening, we picked up Dusty from the Pink Victorian and got home around eight. I went right to bed, because that way, there was nothing I could break or screw up.
Bryson joined me sometime later. It felt wonderful when he curled up against my back and put an arm around me. He was so kind and gentle. He nuzzled my hair and asked, “Are you okay, Em?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
That wasn’t true. I wasn’t fine at all. I was sad because I was back to being a walking disaster, and because I’d spent all weekend embarrassing him and myself in front of his family. But I couldn’t tell him that. He’d just try to make me feel better by telling me it wasn’t that bad, but I knew the truth.
Bryson left the house bright and early the next morning. He’d contacted a commercial real estate agent over the weekend, and she’d put together a long list of properties to show him. Some were former restaurants, but there were also some warehouses and random buildings, which could be gutted and converted. He invited me to go along, but I told him I’d rather stay home. I didn’t know the first thing about what a fine dining restaurant should look like, and I really didn’t want my opinion to influence him into potentially making the wrong decision.
When he got home around seven that evening, he seemed exhausted and discouraged. “We saw all kinds of properties,” he said, “but none of them felt right. We’re going to try again tomorrow.”
We had Chinese food delivered because he was too tired to cook, and after dinner he brought up a subject I’d known was coming. “I went to the bank today to move around the money my grandfather sent me. While I was there, I asked them to issue a cashier’s check for two hundred grand.” He took an envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it toward me across the kitchen island. “Since the amount I received was double what I’d been expecting, I think your portion should be double, too.”
“I don’t want it. I already told you that.”
“I know you said that. But it would mean a lot to me if you took the money, Em.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You need to let this go.”
“But we had an agreement—”
“You’re right, we did. We even put it in writing. It said I wouldn’t get paid if we failed to fool your grandfather. We failed, Bryson.”
“But that wasn’t your fault. You did everything I asked of you.”
“There’s no way I’d ever accept that huge amount.”
“How about if we go back to the original amount instead of doubling it? Then will you take it?”
I took a step back as tears welled in my eyes. “No! A hundred grand for a month is absurd!”
He seemed surprised. “Why are you getting upset?”
I turned my back to him and wiped away the tears as I admitted, “I don’t know.”
Bryson’s voice was as gentle as always. “I really want you to have that money, Embry.”
I turned to face him and asked, “Why is this so important to you?”
He seemed confused, because to him this didn’t need an explanation. “Because that money can help you. When we started this, you told me how much you wanted to launch a cake business. If it’s not what you want anymore, that’s fine, too. Use it for something else, or stick it in savings.”
“Please let it go, Bryson. I’m never going to agree to take that money, and nothing you say will convince me.”
His shoulders slumped, and he sighed and muttered, “Alright.”
I’d hurt his feelings, which was the last thing I wanted. I knew this was meant to be an act of kindness, and I wished I could explain why it bothered me so much. It was more than feeling like I hadn’t earned it and didn’t deserve it—though that was definitely a big part of it. But it also hit on something deeper, something I couldn’t put words to, because I hadn’t figured it out for myself.