That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(45)

He lifts my chin, his finger rough against my skin. “I won’t let you fail, and I won’t let you stop chasing your passion. Cooking, creating, that’s what makes you happy. You’re alive in the kitchen, Reid; it’s where your heart beats, where your mind soars. You belong there, and I’ll be damned if I leave this earth with the knowledge that you aren’t doing what you’re meant to do. You’re a chef, always have been, always will be.”

More tears stream down my face, and I’m grateful it’s just my dad and me. I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a moment like this with him, not even after everything crashed and burned with the restaurant. I pushed everyone away, so this time with him and these tears are long overdue.

“Tell me this—do you miss it?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah, I do. It’s like a piece of me has been lost since I quit, and I’ve been too scared to even go looking for it. Too scared to try again.”

“Then say yes. Take a leap of faith; know your skill and your ability. You know you can do this.”

I wipe the tears from my cheeks and think about it. I could really do this; I know I could. This could be my second act, my chance to do things differently—to be cautious where it counts but daring where it pays off. This could be my chance to bring all the flavors I love back to life.

But will Eric want to work with me again?

“I don’t think Eric will do it,” I say honestly. “We didn’t end things on a happy note. The only time we really talk right now is on each other’s birthdays, and it’s a quick text. Things are strained between us. And then . . . fuck.” My stomach drops.

“What?” Dad asks, his hand gripping my shoulder.

“What about Eve?”

“What about her?”

“Eric doesn’t know. I don’t think he’ll like the fact that I’m seeing his sister. He’s always been protective of her, and when we were young, he made it quite clear where my feelings should stand with her: just friendship. When I wasn’t speaking to him, I didn’t think it would be an issue. But if I have to work with him, then what the hell do I do?”

“Work it out. That’s all I can say—you just need to work it out.”

I look up at my father, feeling dizzy. “You kind of flipped my world upside down.”

He chuckles. “Yes, but in a good way.”

“I don’t know. Give me some time to think about it, okay?”

“You have a week, and then I’m moving on to someone else.”

“You would really hire another chef?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah, I would. Like I said, it’s been a dream of mine to have a restaurant connected to the Landing, and just because I can’t get my son to work with me that doesn’t mean no one else will.”

I nod again. “Ahh, I see what you did there.”

“Good. Now stop being a moron and make the right choice.”



The water is a little more restless than normal on my houseboat, which is only fitting because it matches the churning in the pit of my stomach.

A fucking restaurant.

My dad wants me to open a restaurant with him.

Of course, there have been rumors about a possible Lobster Landing–affiliated restaurant circulating around town for years. But I always thought that was all they were: rumors. In a small town, the gossip tends to be outrageous at best, and I never wanted to even consider the possibility.

But here it is.

My dad wants me to open a restaurant with him, and a huge part of me is screaming yes. It was almost like my dad wafted a huge breath of fresh air into my lungs and awakened me. I didn’t realize how dead I’ve really been over the past few years, until my dad just up and made me this offer.

I want to do it. I can feel the urge to pull out my knives right now simmering in the marrow of my bones. But reconnecting with Eric? Putting everything at risk again? Possibly killing my dad’s dream like I killed mine?

The pressure is already building, and I haven’t even said yes.

I stare down at my phone, needing someone to bounce this off of. My first thought is to dial Eve’s number, to talk to her about my worries and fears but also about the small excitement that’s brewing inside of me—but I don’t want to get her involved. At least, not yet. Not when I have no fucking clue what I really want.

Which leaves the group. Before I can stop myself, I shoot off a text.

Reid: I need to talk about something serious.

It doesn’t take long to get a response.

Griffin: What’s it about?

Rogan: If your pee burns, get it checked.

Brig: Are you proposing?

Yup, I probably should have just texted Griffin.

Reid: Dad had a talk with me.

Brig: Did you ask for mom’s ring?

Rogan: Oh shit, Eve’s pregnant.

Griffin: You idiots, it’s probably about the restaurant.

Rogan: Is it?

Brig: No proposal?

Reid: No proposal. Jesus, Brig. And yes, it’s about the restaurant.

Just as I hit “Send,” there’s a knock on my door. I glance up as all three of my brothers barge in, their arms overflowing with beers and wrapped-up meatball subs from our favorite Italian place in town, Moretti’s. I would know that shape and size anywhere.