I held out my hands. "The beauty of international markets is that one is always open."
JJ rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. "Come get some scrambled eggs."
I followed him into the kitchen, calling, "I didn't come here for the breakfast buffet."
He held his hand over a cast iron skillet on the stove, nodded, and poured the contents of a glass measuring cup into the pan. Over the sizzle of the eggs, JJ said, "We've established that, sweetheart, but it seemed like you needed some rest." He jerked a shoulder up. "A good breakfast wouldn't kill you either."
Hipshot and arms crossed, I said, "It's not your place to tell me when I need to sleep or eat. Having sex with me a handful of times doesn't entitle you to make my decisions."
"How do you feel about marble rye?"
I blinked at him. "What are you asking me?"
He stepped away from the stove to retrieve two wax paper-wrapped loaves of bread. He lifted one of them. "I have a fresh loaf of marble rye from a husband and wife bakery over in Charlotte, Vermont." Lifting the other, he said, "They also sent a whole grain raisin walnut with my order, but I don't get the impression you're a fan of raisin bread."
I took the raisin bread from him and unwrapped the paper. "What? Just because I want you to wake me up and fuck me into a mild concussion, I can't like raisins?" I sniffed the bread. "That seems ruder and more judgmental than your usual."
He snatched the loaf out of my hands and set it on the countertop beside the stove. "I'm sorry that, rather than leaving you to stumble home with a sex-induced brain injury, I allowed you to sleep. It's terrible, I know. Can I make it worse by feeding you breakfast, Brooke?"
"Yes," I replied, surprising us both. "But I want the raisin bread, lightly toasted." I helped myself to his French press coffee and watched while he scooped the eggs onto a plate. "I'd also like a rain check for that dick appointment you missed."
"ThatImissed," he grumbled.
While he sliced the bread, I drifted into the adjoining dining room with my coffee. Binders, boxes, and file folders sat on several chairs. Architectural blueprints covered half the table, but I couldn't make sense of the plans. It seemed too big for a house and I couldn't imagine him tearing down the Galley and starting from scratch. It was a Talbott's Cove institution.
I was surprised I didn't notice any of this last night.
JJ came up behind me and set two plates on the table. "Your raisin toast," he said. "Sit, please."
I gestured to the blueprints. "What is this all about?"
He stared at the documents as he settled into his chair. After a moment, he replied, "I'll explain if you sit down."
Nodding, I dropped into the chair. He shot a pointed glance at the toast and I took a bite to appease him. "This is some quality raisin bread," I said. "Now, tell me what you're building."
He forked up a heap of scrambled eggs, still staring at the plans across the table. Eventually, he replied, "I'm building a distillery with a tasting room, restaurant, and event space."
Shocked, I gazed at him with the toast suspended an inch from my open mouth. "A distillery…and some other things? And where are you doing this? And how, exactly?"
His brows furrowed as he poked at the eggs. "Here in Talbott's Cove, on the site of the old cider mill, the one on the far end of the village. It's set back from the street, but close enough that people who come here for craft gin and vodka will stay for the bookstore, the gift shops, the inn, everything else." He took a bite, but still hadn't managed a glance in my direction. "It's contingent upon a million things. Inspections and feasibility studies and licenses and financing and my incredibly flaky business partner's daily whims."
I tore the toast into small pieces, bobbing my head as I considered this information. "You have a business partner? An accredited investor?"
And now he chooses to look at me.
"Yeah. Is that particularly surprising to you, Bam?"
I popped a piece of toast into my mouth. "It's not surprising, no. But I want to know who it is so I can look up his SEC filings."
He leaned back in his chair, layered his hands over his belly. "Why do you care? You're just here for the sex."
We gazed at each other for a moment that felt as heavy as midnight, and for once I yielded first. "Because this is my world. This is what I do. If you're working with someone who is promising to bring sizable capital investments to the table, I want to confirm whether this person is one of the good ones and he has a record of doing it right."
He tipped his chin up, studied me through narrowed eyes. "Again, why do you care? Why does he need to be one of the good ones, Brooke? As you've said, I'm the worst and this is a hopeless, dead-end town. Why does it matter whether we're doing it right?"
I hunched forward, flattened my hands on the tabletop. "You want me to confess something deep and meaningful, I can tell. Instead of doing that, why don't you run your business plan by me?"
He laughed into his coffee. "Isn't it a little early for a ritual beating?" For a minute, we ate in silence. Then he dropped his fork to the plate and said, "All right. Fine. Here's the quick version. Small-batch gin and vodka crafted entirely from locally sourced ingredients. Grains from nearby family farms, honey from an apiary in Beddington, juniper berries and herbs from growers all over New England. Clean, organic, sustainably produced."
