That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(44)

“You want me to consult on the space?”

Lowering his head, he chuckles. “I want you to run the restaurant, Reid. Cook, design, plan. I want to be a silent partner and eventually have you take over the entire thing.”

Holy.

Shit.

I lean back in my chair, stunned.

This was not the direction I thought this conversation was going to take.

Never in a lifetime would I have thought my dad was going to want to open a restaurant . . . with me.

“But I don’t cook anymore.”

“Yeah, and it’s about damn time you stop with that bullshit.” He clenches his fist and then pounds his thick finger into the table as he enunciates every word. “I didn’t let you get your GED at seventeen and then work my rear end off to put you through culinary school just so you could tell me that the best chef I know doesn’t cook anymore. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Dad—”

“No.” He slams his fist on the table, anger quickly taking over. “I refuse, as your father, to sit back and watch you waste your life doing something that doesn’t feed your soul. This is your life, Reid, and you only get one. And sure, you failed once. Doesn’t mean it won’t happen again, but it sure as hell doesn’t mean you quit your passion. Failure should not define you, but it sure as hell should motivate you.”

“I gave that up,” I reply. The words fall past my lips, though I don’t know if I really believe them. I gave up cooking, but that doesn’t mean the urge to pick up my knives doesn’t still burn in my bones.

“You hung up your apron, but you didn’t lose your God-given talent. It’s time you set aside your pride and try again.”

I drag my hand through my hair, my thoughts racing at having another shot at what I thought was supposed to be my calling. “But what if I fuck up this one? This isn’t my money; this is yours. I can’t do that to you and Mom. You’re both retiring soon.”

“First of all, we’re fine with our retirement, so don’t worry about us. Secondly, you won’t fuck this up because you’re going to hire people I trust, people I know will make this restaurant thrive. And that brings me to this—there’s one condition to my proposal.” I should have known. There’s always a condition when it comes to my dad. “You will not be doing this alone.”

“So are you saying you’ll be the world’s loudest silent partner?”

He shakes his head. “No. The only way you’re going to be putting together this restaurant is with Eric.”

“What?” I ask, sitting a little taller. Eric, as in Eric, my best friend? The guy I’ve barely spoken to in almost three years? The one who helped bring down the first restaurant? “Why?” I ask, thoroughly confused. “Why would you take a chance on two guys who basically let their restaurant go up in flames? Why take those chances?”

He looks me straight in the eye. “Because I believe in you. I believe in the partnership you two created. I believe in your food, and I sure as hell believe in your vision.” He holds my gaze. “You two had the hottest new restaurant in Boston, not just in a small town but in Boston. Your food was brilliant and brought people in from all over. Your talent is incomparable, and I want that for my restaurant.”

“Dad . . .” I sigh as my mind rages with possibility and doubt. “I . . . fuck, I don’t know.”

“What’s keeping you from saying yes?”

I shuffle my fork around the crumbs some more, like it’s a zen garden, but it’s not doing much to calm my nerves. “The possibility of taking a handout, failing again, disappointing you . . . disappointing myself.”

“First of all, this isn’t a handout—this is a serious business opportunity that I’ve been thinking about for a long time, that I’ve dreamed of, and it just so happens that my son is a brilliant, trained chef. Secondly, failure is what makes us stronger. Without failure, we would never succeed. You failed big time in Boston, but instead of quitting, you need to learn from your mistakes and make sure you don’t repeat them. Failure is an opportunity to grow, not a chance to give up.”

I know he’s right, but it still doesn’t stop me from feeling sick to my stomach.

“But I haven’t really talked to Eric in years. He has a job. He’s not going to want to leave it.”

“Looks like you need to plan a trip to Boston then and do some convincing.”

There’s no doubt in my mind that my dad has ulterior motives here. He’s always hated that Eric and I had a falling-out and knew it was like I’d lost a fourth brother.

“I don’t know, Dad.” Emotion wells up inside me. Fear, excitement, the chance for something new—it’s all-consuming, and before I know it, I find my dad sitting right next to me, hand on my shoulder as my throat starts to close and fucking tears well up in my eyes. What the hell is happening to me?

“Talk to me, Reid.”

“I’m . . . I’m scared,” I admit, head turned down, unable to look my father in the eyes. “That restaurant was everything to me; I worked my ass off to open it. I put every last penny I had into that place, and then it was just gone. One night, one person, that was all it took. My dream was stolen, and I had nothing to fall back on. I don’t know if I can go through that again.” A tear falls from my eye. “I don’t think I can put that much hope and love into something again, not when I’m constantly worried we’re going to fail. I can’t do that to you either.”