Читать книгу Table for Two - Jennifer McKenzie - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

TRAVIS SPENT THE two weeks post wedding not in a state of wedded bliss. But since he hadn’t been the one to get married, that didn’t come as much of a surprise. The lack of other bliss was more disappointing.

Sure, it might have been foolish to think that simply by apologizing Mal might forgive him. But she wouldn’t even agree to talk to him. He didn’t count the few minutes of conversation at the reception because...well, because he didn’t. He still had some things to say. Many somethings.

Fortunately, he had plenty to keep him busy so that he only spent half his time thinking about Mal, calling Mal and thinking about calling Mal. Okay, maybe a little more than half. Three quarters, tops.

He looked out the car window as Sara Thompson, his real estate agent, drove and chatted about the next potential bar location on the list.

The city hadn’t changed much in the three years he’d been away. There was new construction, but that was the norm these days. A formerly derelict hotel had been torn down to make way for new condos, more coffee shops, another few sushi restaurants. One of the good things about the constant gentrification and renovation was that there was always property for sale, and property was something Travis needed.

He had no intention of returning to Vancouver to work for someone else. No, now he had a taste for ownership, for being the boss. And now he had enough money to qualify for a loan on his own and no longer needed another signatory or the financial backing of an investor. It was a good feeling. Proof that he’d made it.

The Kincaids weren’t well-to-do. Travis hadn’t grown up with much. A small house with well-loved furniture, two pairs of shoes, two pairs of jeans—one set for church, one set for everyday—and the knowledge that if he wanted more than the tiny town where he’d been born, he’d have to do it on his own.

But they’d had love. His mother and grandma were quick to shower affection and praise, even his father, in his own silent way, showed he cared. A small proud smile, a solid clap on the back and a grunt for a job well done. Travis knew he and his brother, Shane, had been lucky. Many of the kids they’d gone to school with hadn’t been so fortunate as to have that love and support.

Until Travis, the Kincaids had always been blue collar and they liked it that way. He was different. The thought of working at the mill, running the machines, driving the forklift, always with the worry of closure hanging over his head as more and more companies downsized or shut down completely just wasn’t for him.

He much preferred the difficult and often backbreaking work of standing on his feet all day, handling customers with charm and overseeing the budget and obscenely thin margins that separated restaurant successes from failures. It exhilarated him.

The car slowed as Sara pulled into a covered parking garage still extolling the virtues of the space they were about to see. Travis already knew the details, but he listened because he didn’t feel like talking. They exited the parking garage out onto the cobblestone streets of Gastown, the city’s oldest neighborhood.

“I think you’ll find this space has a lot to offer.” Sara’s heels clicked as they walked. “Don’t expect it to be perfect. It’s been closed for just over a year.”

Closer to two years. Travis had done his homework. This place had been one he’d wanted back then, before he and Mal had decided to leave the country and try their hand in Aruba. But the old owners hadn’t been ready to sell, and he and Mal hadn’t been ready to wait. Now, it was as if the universe was correcting a wrong.

“There’s a lot of charm under the dust and debris.”

“Debris?” Travis’s research hadn’t turned up debris. Just that after many years of struggling, the restaurant that used to be here had finally turned up its toes.

“Nothing that can’t be cleared out in a few days. A few weeks, at most.”

Travis decided not to ask any more questions about debris that may or may not require a semitrailer to haul it away, but to wait until he actually saw it. The fact that the building might not be as ready to move in as he’d hoped was a small obstacle in his path. Anticipation tingled over his skin. He just wanted to see it with his own eyes.

“The building was originally built in 1910 and the structure is sound. You’ll note many of the original details have survived.”

They clicked down the sidewalk, Sara still rattling off notes about the property. But Travis no longer heard them. He only had eyes and ears for his new bar. Or his soon-to-be new bar.

The door stuck even after Sara unlocked it and Travis had to lean his shoulder into it to open it, but that was all part of the charm. The interior was dim, only one of the overhead lights turned on when Sara flipped the light switch. There was dust everywhere and plenty of that debris Sara had mentioned, but Travis saw beneath it. Past the white paint peeling off the wood ceiling, past the scarred 36-foot bar and past the wicker chairs and round tables.

The space had once been a family dining establishment, one that provided a clean and cheerful ambience that particularly appealed to little girls. Or maybe it was the princess cakes they’d been known for. Mal had been wistful when she talked about them. She and her family had come to The Blue Mermaid for her birthday every year from the age of six on. Right up until it closed down two years ago. But the princess cakes and the clamoring little girls couldn’t pay the kind of bills associated with a restaurant in the area. A bar could.

Travis moved farther into the room and ran a finger down the bar. It only needed a good sanding and a few coats of varnish to shine once again. The wood ceiling would need to be scraped, but the massive pillars remained unpainted, worn smooth by years of customers and no doubt little girls who hung on as they twirled around the bases. If they weren’t part of the original structure, he’d be surprised.

The brick walls had been saved from paint, too, for which he was grateful. It was possible to scrape brick, but it was usually easier and cheaper to rip it out and start over. And since that was neither cheap nor easy, he was glad he wouldn’t have to.

He could see damage in a few places, but the spots would be easy to replace with the same materials and maintain the old-world charm that still permeated the space. He inhaled, sucking in some of that charm and the dusty smell of disuse. But there was no mildew, no dankness, no watery scent that indicated deeper, hidden problems that would be uncovered once he cleared out all the debris.

Sara had stopped talking and was just letting him absorb. Smart woman. There was nothing that needed to be said. This was his place. His paradise. His future. Okay, perhaps he was being a little melodramatic, but it felt big. He’d picked up and left home at eighteen. Did the same thing with Mal when they moved to Aruba. And now? He inhaled again. Third time was the charm. This was not a place he would be leaving.

He turned, his eyes searching for Sara in the low light, and as his gaze tracked across the room he could see what it would look like. The wood, polished to a perfect gleam so that it glowed, comfortable bar stools covered in leather, a mix of low and high tables, some couches. He envisioned something that looked as though it would be found in an English manor. A place where people retired after dinner for drinks and discussion.

“I’ll take it.”

* * *

TRAVIS LAY BACK on the bed in Owen’s guest room, smiling at the knowledge that The Blue Mermaid would soon be his. Sara was writing up the offer and meeting with the owners to present it to them tomorrow morning. He had a feeling that it would be good news, or at least an opening to negotiations.

He would have to rename it. The Blue Mermaid was a name still known in the city and didn’t indicate the kind of establishment it would become. But he had plenty of other things to do first. There were licenses to have approved, permits and renovations, staff and budgets and food and beer lists. Plus he had to find his own place to live, go visit his family, since he’d been back in the country for a few weeks now and still hadn’t made the trip home, even though flights there, including check-in and disembarking, took under an hour. And then there was Mal. Always Mal.

The apartment was silent since Owen wasn’t around. Travis never would have stayed if he had been. But Owen had moved into Grace’s apartment after the wedding, so his place was sitting empty, and he’d told Travis it would be good to have someone there until he and Grace figured out what they were going to do with it. Sell it, rent it, keep it for no good reason.

Owen had told him to use the master, but Travis didn’t want to get too comfortable and he didn’t want to take advantage. It was more than enough that Owen had offered the space. But Travis needed his own place. His own bed. He made a note to mention it to Sara tomorrow. She specialized in commercial property but there would definitely be someone in her office whose focus was residential and he trusted Sara to steer him right.

He crossed his arms behind his head and exhaled. Things were coming together. Really, except for the fact that Mal didn’t answer his phone calls, it was better than he could have expected.

His stomach growled, reminding him of the fact that there was nothing in the fridge but bottled water and he no longer owned a bistro where he could just wander into the kitchen and order something. But Vancouver was a city filled with great restaurants. All he had to do was push himself off the bed, head outside and go find one.

But he didn’t. He lay there, staring at the ceiling and thinking about all the things he needed to do for his new bar until his phone rang, disturbing his planning. Travis smiled when he saw Owen’s name on the call display.

“How was the honeymoon?” Owen and Grace had spent the past two weeks in Fiji, no doubt having a lot more sex than he was.

“I am now officially a sex god.” And there it was.

“I’m sorry I asked. Oh, wait. I didn’t ask.” Travis would have given Owen a punch in the shoulder if he’d been in the room, but he was happy for his friend. Owen had changed from the light-hearted guy Travis had once known, but he liked this slightly serious version even better. This was an Owen he could talk to about things deeper than sports, deeper than the mechanics of cars or their workout routines. “So, how was it?”

“Very, very good.” Owen sounded relaxed. To be fair, Owen usually did, but this was a different kind of relaxed. A comfortable kind. “We’re thinking of retiring tomorrow and then going back.”

“Well, that does sound like you.”

“Want to come with us and open a restaurant?”

“I would.” Travis felt a burble of excitement. “But I’ve made an offer on a place here.”

“Congratulations. Where? When?”

The immediate interest reminded Travis of why he liked Owen so much. No matter what was going on in his life, he always had time for someone else. Travis thought it was because Owen just really liked people, one of the reasons he was now in charge of managing all three wine bars owned by the Ford Group. “Remember The Blue Mermaid?”

“That tacky place Mal always made us go for her birthday? Ugh. I think my teeth are still pink from the frosting on the princess cake.”

“No, that would be because you don’t floss. And it won’t sell princess cakes on my watch.” Though maybe he could do a bit of an honorific with some sort of drink—bright pink and sweet enough to rot teeth. He made a mental note to consider it later.

“Mal might like you better if it did.”

“Well, then, princess cakes are back on the menu. If only I’d known it was so simple.”

Owen laughed. “Speaking of, have you talked to her?”

“Not since you dragged her across the backyard during your wedding reception. I think she’s avoiding me.”

“You’re probably right. She can be a little hardheaded sometimes.”

“She’s not being hardheaded.” Travis had never told Owen what had happened between him and Mal, and he had to assume from the fact that he and Owen were still friends that Mal hadn’t shared that piece of history, either. “I deserve it.”

“Oh?” Another thing he liked, Owen would stop showing interest if Travis cut the subject short.

And he did so now. It wasn’t his place to tell Owen. Yes, Owen was his closest friend but Mal was Owen’s sister. And if she didn’t want him to know, Travis had to assume it was for a good reason. “If your sister wants you to know, she’ll tell you. I’ll only say that she’s not out of line with her anger.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Travis could imagine Owen shrugging off the comment. “Mal can hang on to things too long.”

“I hope I’m not one of those things.”

“No, you’re the thing she’s trying to throw off the cliff, but you just keep hanging on.” And Travis had no plans to stop. “Let’s get together this week for dinner. We need to catch up and I’d like you to get to know Grace.”

“Sounds great.” It did. Travis stretched. His head bumped the wall, but he couldn’t slouch down any lower unless he put his feet on top of the footboard. Just another reason to get his own space. A bed that fit. “As long as you keep your sex life to yourself—I don’t think Grace would appreciate your sharing it.”

“That’s because you don’t know her very well.”

He didn’t, but Travis had a hard time believing Owen’s pretty blonde wife would find sex an appropriate topic for dinner conversation. “You willing to lay a bet on that?”

“No, but her mother did offer me condoms the first time I met her. True story. I’ll tell you about that over dinner. Sunday at eight? Elephants?”

“I’ll be there.” And not only because he had nothing else to do.

They chatted for a few more minutes, about the beaches in Fiji, the Vancouver hockey team and whether or not Travis was going to buy a car. Assuming he bought a condo in the downtown core, there was no reason he couldn’t walk to work and everything else he needed. He could join a car co-op which allowed him access to a car a certain number of hours a week on those rare occasions that he might need one.

But then he wouldn’t have his own car that was at his disposal any time he wanted it, wouldn’t have the ability to pack a bag, toss it in the back seat and just drive somewhere else. He exhaled. There was something about the freedom of owning a car. The freedom to convince a certain brunette to hop in with him and go away for a weekend in Seattle or Whistler or to visit his family. And he’d need a car when he visited his family.

Buses in Duthie River were so rare as to be practically nonexistent, and his parents shared a car since his dad had to drive past his mom’s hair salon on his way to the logging site. He could have borrowed his grandmother’s Buick, but Gram had sold it last year when the doctor recommended that she stop driving. She’d turned around and given the money to his younger brother Shane.

Shane had used the car money to buy a new truck—one with four-wheel drive, undercarriage lights, a hemi engine and a custom paint job that Travis had been relieved to learn didn’t include flames.

Travis didn’t resent the gift. His grandmother had given him money for his education. She hadn’t had much and he hadn’t wanted to take it, but she’d insisted and it had motivated him not to waste her generosity. And Shane had never seemed resentful about that, so if his brother wanted to soup up his old truck, then Travis was all for it.

He added car shopping to his ever-growing list, then settled on the couch with a bag of chips and a soda and watched sports highlights for the rest of the evening.

His plans for the renovations, his own apartment and a car could take a night off.