Page 14 of You, Again
The Asbury estate was more like a log cabin on steroids than a basic house. It was situated at the very edge of town, accessible via a winding dirt road, and surrounded by woods. The perfect spot for someone who needed a little privacy. But it was a lot of house for one person.
I didn’t say that, though. I went with, “I heard the Collinses redid the kitchen and bathrooms before they moved to Burlington last September.”
“Yeah, they did some nice work. You should come by and see it.”
Like that was ever gonna happen, I mused sarcastically.
I cocked my head. “How long are you staying?”
“Through the summer…I think.”
“Then you should coach for Ronnie.”
Vinnie widened his eyes comically. “Youthink I should do it. Why?”
“Ronnie could use a break. If that’s you…so be it,” I said flatly.
He furrowed his brow hard enough to give himself a headache. “Now I’m really suspicious.”
“Don’t be. It’s a simple proposition.”
“But?”
I sipped my coffee thoughtfully before setting the mug on the counter, my gaze locked on his. The ensuing stare-down was epic. Standing gave me a bit of an advantage, but Vinnie’d had years of practice intimidating opponents on the ice.
I finally looked away and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “But…I think you’ll walk away when it gets tough or when you get a better offer, or when you just get bored of this place. Like you always do.”
“Ouch. That’s gonna leave a mark.”
“I’m not being a dick. I’m being honest. Your life isn’t here…Ronnie’s is. You can walk away whenever you want and not lose a thing. It’s a little different for the rest of us,” I continued conversationally.
“And this is the part where you’re not being a dick?”
“Trust me, it is,” I huffed. “Just to give you a little background, Ronnie took on a boatload of debt and has been in over his head since he convinced the Thompsons to sell him the rink five years ago. He’d been treading water, trying to keep it going while raising his daughter on his own. The effort is paying off, but he still isn’t quite there. Sure, an influx of money would help immediate concerns, but Ronnie is convinced that your star power will do the trick.”
“And what do you think?”
“He’s probably right. Shaking things up is the only way to succeed.”
“It seems to have worked here,” he commented, swiveling on his bar stool.
“Exactly. I took a chance by bringing Jean-Claude in. No one in town liked my plan. I can’t tell you how many times I was told that my poor dad was rolling over in his grave. They gave JC a wide berth at first—friendly but not too friendly. But once they tasted hisbeignets, those same folks welcomed him with open arms. Of course, it helped that we kept most of the old menu too.” I lifted my forefinger. “Except for that terrible beet salad my dad loved.”
“Good call,” Vinnie hooted. “That was fuckin’ awful.”
His smile lit his eyes and catapulted him into a godlike level of handsome. It was so bright and unexpected, it took my breath away. Nineteen years ago, that unfettered grin would have melted me into a puddle of goo. He’d thrilled me and scared me, unintentionally throwing me into a new phase where self-doubt threatened everything in my world—my dreams, my escape plan, my sanity.
Dramatic, yet very fucking true.
But now I was back to neutral. I’d had a couple of days to get used to the idea of Vinnie being around and in spite of our awkward history, his presence didn’t have to affect me. He was just my brother’s best friend. That was it.
“More coffee?” I asked as my shoulders slipped a notch or two from my ears.
“Sure. Thanks.”
I refilled our mugs and slid a glass of water to him, letting him redirect the conversation back to Ronnie and the rink. He asked a dozen or more questions about the youth league programs, peppering in memories from the days my dad coached us. Vinnie was animated, amusing, and seemingly unperturbed by my stiff cordiality. I told myself this was good practice if he was going to be around all summer, but ten minutes of overly polite conversation was my limit. I was just too aware of this man.
Damn it.