Second Epilogue
BRADEN
The back door of Tidal Hops slammed shut behind me, the sound a punctuation mark on my hasty retreat. The cheerful noise of the bonfire—my family’s laughter, the crackle of burning wood—faded, replaced by the familiar, steadying chaos of my kingdom. The brewpub was humming with its usual night energy, but I bypassed the front of the house. My usual charming-host persona was currently locked away somewhere deep and inaccessible.
I pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen, the blast of heat and the sharp scent of onions and sizzling meat a welcome assault. Andy, my best line cook, was bent over the grill, his movements practiced and efficient.
“Hey, boss. Back so soon?” he asked without looking up.
“Had enough of the family bonfire circus for one night. A little bit of Eli goes an extremely long way.” I forced a smile and made my voice soften. “I’ll take overhere. You can get a jump on the prep for the weekend rush.”
Andy straightened, his brow lowered with a question he was too smart to ask. “You got it.”
He moved away and left me at the grill. I grabbed the heavy metal spatula, its familiar weight a comfort in my hand. Order tickets were lined up on the rail, a neat row of demands I could meet. A burger, well-done. Fish tacos, no cilantro. A blackened wahoo sandwich.
Simple.
Solvable.
Unlike the mess I’d just walked away from. The night had started out fine, better than fine. At the bonfire, seeing Iris propped up and laughing with that bulky walking boot on her leg had felt like a win. Austin had his arm slung around her like he’d been doing it his whole life. The rest of us gave them a respectable amount of shit for it, the way Coleridges do when one of us actually looks happy.
Then Eli, with the casual grace of a man dropping a lit match into a puddle of gasoline, had to open his big mouth. Of course it was Eli. Who else?
Tessa.
The name had landed in the middle of our easy family circle and exploded.
I slapped a burger patty onto the hot grill, damn near squishing it to death with the spatula as the hiss of searing meat made a satisfying roar. I focused on the task, on the physical reality of it. The heat on my face. The precise timing needed to get that perfect char without overcooking the center. This was the empire I had built from a half-baked idea and a whole lot of debt. A place where I was in complete control.
Not her. Couldn’t be.The thought was a frantic, repeating loop.
Eli was an idiot. A lovable, sometimes infuriatingly shrewd one, but an idiot nonetheless. He saw a tourist with red hair and made a leap. He didn’t know what he was talking about.
I flipped the burger aggressively, the sound a sharp smack against the metal. Another ticket came up. Two more burgers, one with Swiss, one with cheddar. I worked with a focused fury, my movements almost violent. I was a machine. Toast the buns, melt the cheese, plate it with a side of fries.
Next.
The kitchen door swung open, and a server called out, “Hey, Cade! Can you run another keg out? We’re out of Hopical Storm!”
From the bar, I heard a woman’s laugh. Bright, clear, full-throated. A sound that was nothing and yet everything like Tessa’s laugh.
I faltered for a second. The spatula paused. My breath halted. The sizzle of the grill faded to a distant hum.
Stop it,I commanded myself, my internal voice yelling.You’re imagining things!
But the damage was done. The castle had been breached. The memories came rushing back in.
The hot, greasy air of the kitchen vanished, replaced by the sharp scent rising off the Gulf. I wasn’t thirty anymore. I was eighteen, standing on the north shore beach with Tessa Donovan, the world new and tasting of possibility.
The memory was so potent it was physical. The sand was damp and cool under my bare feet, the humid breeze whipping her fiery hair across her face. It was the summer after graduation, the sky full of clouds and the air charged with electricity. She wasn’t just talking about the future.She was inhaling it, her dark-green eyes blazing with intelligence and drive.
“My parents worry that you’ll never be able to get areal jobin Dove Key.” Her voice was full of fierce, youthful frustration as she gestured out at the churning water. “They don’t get that you could build something amazing right here.”
A knot formed in my gut, the familiar shame of my family name. “Yeah, well, to them, Coleridge is just another way to say ‘going nowhere fast.’”
It was the truth I’d been running from my whole life.
But she turned to me, her expression full of belief in me I hadn’t yet found in myself. She grabbed my hand. “They’re wrong. You’re going to accomplish whatever you set your mind to, Braden. I know it.”
