Page 17

ETHAN

I’ll admit that showing up at Birdie’s café a second time was a risk, she has every right to kick my ass to the curb, but I’m nothing if not persistent. And to say I’m blown away by what she’s accomplished is an understatement. The café, as small as it is, is busy, filled with patrons coming in from the cold to not only grab a cup of coffee, but whatever Birdie has on the menu. Be it sweet, be it savory, everyone wants something, and Birdie has something for everyone. Hell, they queue for it, standing in line in the hopes of buying something delicious before it sells out. It’s smart too, what Birdie does with her menu. Tricky, but smart. While Daniel and Megan take care of the front, manning the tables and cash register, Birdie and I hustle in the kitchen, using the ingredients she has available to make whatever we can come up with. Pastries and baked goods has always been her passion, her talent, and while watching her is proving to be distracting for me, I also can’t not watch her. She’s been a natural from the moment we met, but to compare her skills from years ago to what she can do now would be a disservice to how much she’s grown as a patisserie chef. She’s precise where she used to fumble, confident where she used to doubt herself. And now she really is a boss in the kitchen. I didn’t know what to expect when I arrived this morning, Rowland’s assessment was my only reference, but it wasn’t this. A thriving business, and a kitchen that runs so smooth, Birdie is able to keep up with what her patrons want. And it’s not just today, it’s every day. If that’s not awe-inspiring, I don’t know what is. There’s a familiar energy in the kitchen too, a rush I haven’t felt in what feels like forever. I’m enjoying myself, even if it irritates Birdie. To her credit, she stays focused on what needs to be done, and has no problem telling me what to do. I’m liking this part of her, maybe a little too much. She’ll never admit it, but I think she’s enjoying ordering me around. There’s something to be said for chemistry in a kitchen though, which we have in spades. Bird’s just ignoring it, succeeding where I’m failing pretty damn hard.

“Stop staring, Woods,” she murmurs, rolling the coconut and condense milk mixture into balls and placing them on a baking sheet. “I can feel you looking at me.”

“You fascinate me,” I shrug, though she’s not looking at me. Laser focused on her task. “I’ve always liked watching you in a kitchen, you know that. You’re just a whole lot better at it now.” Poking the bear? Maybe. Do I care? Not really. Getting Bird hot and flustered is fast becoming my favorite past time, both in and out of the kitchen.

She fumbles with her cookie scoop, and lets out a frustrated sigh when it falls to the floor. “I was always good at it, Ethan. And when you left, I got better. Now stop irritating me, and finish those damn pinwheels. Please. We still have more to do.”

I grin, and get back to work. She wasn’t kidding about capacity, and when I walk to the front to place the puff pastry pinwheels, candied bacon strips and savory ricotta scones in the display case, it becomes even more obvious why Birdie needs a bigger storefront. And more staff. Daniel is bustling between the seated patrons while Megan hops between making coffee and serving the to-go patrons. How Birdie has been managing until now is a testament to her dedication. I’ve known grown men who have had break downs because working like this became too much for them to handle. It’s like it used to be when I had my own restaurants, just on a smaller scale. This, of course, gets the wheels in my head turning, toying with ideas for the space Birdie refuses to co-own with me. She’ll hate every single idea, I’m sure, but if I’m ever to get a second chance with her, I have to go big or go home, so to speak. And there’s only one person I can think of to help me. I shoot Rowland a quick text, and then get started on the next batch of today’s haphazard menu. Even unplanned, the menu is a hit and the food is going almost quicker than we can make it. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t be enjoying myself, having lost the pure lust for being in a kitchen well before my divorce and return to New York, but that sensation deep in my gut is slowly intensifying. Like an addict, I soak it up, aware that the chemistry between Birdie and I has a role to play. It always has. Even when I was in France, my drive to succeed wasn’t quite the same and it was easier to rationalize it with the change in environment, the difference in culinary practices and eventually, my marriage. I succeeded, yes, but it never tasted as sweet as it had with the woman currently hunched over her workstation. We might not have had our own restaurant/bakery yet, but even planning that future with her pushed me to be better, and I wanted to be better for her. Before I can start the spiral of thoughts about why I just had to leave, I get stuck into some toasted coconut mini pavlovas with coconut custard. Allowing my instincts, both natural and honed, to take over. We work in silence from then on, moving between the kitchen and the front until it all slows down later afternoon. I’m talking to Daniel when the bell rings above the door, and I look up to see a rather furious Harlan barreling towards me. The few patrons in the café naturally step out of his way, he has that effect, and I’m about to greet him when his right fist comes at my face, connecting with my jaw. He’d have hit my nose if he was taller, but he still packs a mean fucking punch.

Megan screams, and Daniel is trying to pull Harlan away before he tries to hit me second time when Birdie rushes out from the kitchen. “What happened?” Frenzied, Birdie looks around, only connecting the dots when her gaze falls on me, and then to her irrate brother. “Harlan?”

I rub my jaw, and wince, muttering, “Shit,” under my breath. Though not soft enough because Birdie hears, looking from me to her brother and back again. “Did you hit him?” Her shriek is loud enough to make my ears ring, but that could also be because Harlan clocked me good and proper.

“Yes,” Harlan growls, still trying to get past Daniel. His ability to keep Harlan back is rather impressive, too. Harlan must outweigh him by a few pounds, and packs more muscle. “He shouldn’t have laid his hands on you!” When the remaining patrons’ phones come out, Birdie’s humiliation is clear for all to see. Against my better judgement, I step towards her, and tell Harlan, “Kitchen. Where you can’t embarrass your sister in public.” I lead Birdie back to the kitchen, she must be in shock if she’s allowing it. Not far behind is Daniel, and Harlan. Who at least has the decency to look shamefaced now that he knows he’s both upset and embarrassed his sister in her own café and in full view of her patrons. She’s quiet as she goes about getting me an icepack, something that further infuriates Harlan, but as soon as she lifts the icepack to my jaw, I see her eyes are glossy. I place my hand over hers, and whisper, “I’m okay.” I watch her throat as she swallows, noting her trembling lips, and she’s slipping her hand from beneath mine so she can face Harlan. She squares her shoulders, doesn’t cower. Or hide behind him like she used to. My little Bird has grown a stronger backbone.

“You have no right,” she starts, “to walk in here, and throw punches. Just who do you think you are?”

Harlan snarls. “Your brother. And I’m doing what I always promised you I would, and that’s protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” she snaps. “We’re not kids anymore, Harlan. We don’t just fucking hit people in my café, in front of everyone no less, when it’s something we can talk about in private, without humiliating me.”

“Can’t you see what he’s doing?” Harlan asks, not sparing he a glance. “He got you wasted on Saturday night, got you into bed, and—”

“No!” Birdie yells. “I got drunk on my own, after you announced your engagement, and Ethan just happened to be at Björn’s. And whether we fell into bed afterwards or not really isn’t any of your business. I’m thirty! Who I fuck is none of your goddamn business!” Furiously, she wipes her cheeks. To Daniel she says, “Please finish up with the patrons in front, and close the café.” He gives Harlan a cursory glance, and does what Birdie asks. She huffs out a breath. “God, Harlan, you can be an ass. Ethan was helping me today, okay? You had to bring your personal grudge to my work, and for what? Because I didn’t want to talk to you after you hurt my feelings?”

“This prick hasn’t even been back a month and he’s already toying with you, Birdie. How can you not see that I’m stopping you from making the same mistake again?”

“Firstly, we got drunk and had sex. Adults do that, Harlan. And if I recall, you and Liv had sex the night you met, so don’t come at me with bullshit. And second, it happened once. But lets recap: knowing you’d hate it if he came back into my life, you reached out to Ethan and like an idiot assumed he wouldn’t see that as an opportunity to get to me. If you were so concerned about that, you shouldn’t have said anything to me when you found out the space I wanted is his. But hey, love makes you stupid, right? Oh, wait, that’s just me, those rules don’t apply to you.”

“Bird, that’s not what I’m saying,” Harlan replies, softening his tone. “Do you remember how broken you were when Ethan left?” Oh, good, they’re still not acknowledging that I’m here. “You wouldn’t get out of bed for days at a time, you wouldn’t eat, you cried all the time—”

Birdie throws her hands up. “Jesus! Can everyone stop reminding me? If it’s not Björn, it’s you, and when it’s not either of you, its me! I know what he did, I know what happened to me, and right now, I don’t need anyone else adding to my already messy feelings! I don’t need you or anyone else to make me feel bad for feeling something for someone I have a history with. You don’t just fucking forget your first love, it’s not that fucking simple!” Birdie’s rage is palpable, and to be honest, I’m just as shocked by her outburst as Harlan is. He’s staring at her, wide-eyed, as if he has no idea who she is. And maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he hasn’t accepted that, while she’s his baby sister, she’s also a grown woman who’s quite capable of taking care of herself. I can’t imagine he’s quite ready to take a step back after caring for her for most of their lives. Birdie covers her face, shoulders shaking, and when Harlan and I both go to reach for her, she shoots her arms out. “Come anywhere near me, and I’ll slap you both.” Megan comes in then, takes one look at Birdie and stands between her and me and Harlan, an almighty frown on her face. “I think it’s time for you both to leave, and if you don’t want to, you should know I grew up with four older brothers. I ain’t afraid to fight scrappy.”

I’m quiet as Harlan makes one last ditch effort to speak to Birdie. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking around Megan. “I just..” He sighs, shakes his head. “I love you, Bird. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, okay? I should have done things differently with mine and Liv’s engagement, I know that now and I get why it hurt you, but I can’t just stand by and watch you lose yourself again because of Ethan. I know you’re an adult, but you’re still my baby sister, and I’m always going to be the overbearing, overprotective brother because it’s always been you and me, Bird. I can’t lose you again.”

Birdie doesn’t respond, but I can hear how she’s trying to stifle her crying. Harlan looks dejected, and I’m… I feel like a dog. To know the damage I caused, to hear it… I can’t. Shamefaced, I step away, remove my chef’s jacket.

In a single breath, my next move is obvious. “The space is yours if you want it, Birdie. Harlan can send the paperwork to my dad, and we’ll settle on a price.” It doesn’t negate the regret I feel, or the guilt. And it doesn’t make me feel any better. I’ve made yet another mistake where Birdie is concerned, and that’s to force myself into her life and, without really realizing it, toy with her feelings. For me, this is worse than when I left her. Worse because I can see what I’m doing to her, and chose to disregard the ramifications. I can’t, however, regret what happened two nights ago, or even what happened yesterday. I won’t. But I see now that Birdie needs space. And I’m going to give that to her. Indefinitely. I should never have sought her out. Showed up at her café. Hell, I should never have started that treat shit, either. And I can’t go back in time, but I can make sure Birdie has what she needs to grow. I won’t deny her that. Grabbing my coat, and scarf, I debate whether or not to say something, and figure I have nothing left to lose if I do. “Birdie,” I search my mind for the right thing to say, and blurt out, “You were my first. My last. My only.” She’ll know what it means. I don’t look back as I make my exit through the back of the café and not the front. It’ll take me longer to walk home, but whatever. I’m in no hurry. I don’t have anything to go home to anyway when my home is right where I just left her.

“You still haven’t heard anything?” Rowland asks, dropping onto the armchair in my living room.

Pulling my hand through my hair, I shake my head. “Nothing.” I sigh. “I mean, we’re just about done, and Dad still hasn’t heard from Harlan. I’m not sure this is the right thing, Row.”

“Bit late now, bud. Like you said, you’re just about done with the renovations. The kitchen is done, the walls are painted, and the front counter was put in today with the display case. All that’s left is the tables and chairs, which we do tomorrow. And the branding. You still need to do that.” It’s been over a week since I walked out of Birdie’s café, I haven’t heard from or spoken to her since then. Christmas has passed, I spent the day with my dad and Rowland but my mind was on Birdie and what I’ve been working on. For her. Rowland has been helping me, and if my restaurant space wasn’t so well-maintained, this would have taken me far longer. But once I’d decided to give the space to Birdie, everything else kind of fell into place, and that alone reassured me I was doing something right.

“I said it was a risk for a reason,” I reply, sitting back. “If she doesn’t like it, or even want it, then we open something different.” Even if it’s not with Birdie, the idea of having a restaurant excites me and that’s because of her. She ignited that flame, I just haven’t been able to tell her.

“You’re completely disregarding the possibility that she might not hate it, Ethan. Don’t do that.”

“I haven’t heard from her, Row. And now I’m about to blind-side her.” I stand, feeling restless. “I mean, I want to fix things, you know? And I went about it all wrong at first, but now it feels like it’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“So, get the girl,” Rowland says. “Anyone who sees you with her can tell you love her, and if I’m totally honest, I don’t think you ever stopped. Willah was just a fucking band-aid, man. As hurt as Birdie was when you left, you weren’t exactly a ray of sunshine to be around when we first got to France, and every time I said, let’s go back, you were hell-bent on seeing things through. You said you hated New York, but you didn’t fall in love with France immediately, either. You were a wreck.”

Right. I know he’s telling the truth because he was there with me, but a huge part of me blocked out the first few months in France. I was homesick, I was missing Birdie and beating myself up for leaving, but I was determined to make it work. Prove to myself, to Rowland, even to my dad, that I hadn’t fucked things up beyond repair. Or that I’d made a mistake, which bit me in the ass anyway. Of course, only Rowland knows all that. He stands, puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’ll work out. You’ll see. I need to get to La maîtresse, it’s Harlan and Olivia’s engagement party tonight.” I’d forgotten about that. Apparently, Birdie and Harlan sorted their stuff out, and Birdie asked Rowland if she could host Harlan and Olivia’s engagement party at his restaurant. I’m happy for her, but I fucking miss her, too.

“I’m going to call it early,” I tell him. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.” When we wrap up on what I hope will be Birdie’s new storefront.

“Sounds good.”

Once Rowland’s gone, I lie down on the couch and stare out the window. When I came back, I didn’t think I’d be busy. I thought I’d take more time to process my divorce, adjust to life as a bachelor again. But I should have known better. Birdie is in New York, and if I thought we wouldn’t, somehow, gravitate towards each other, I was foolish. The sting from my divorce isn’t as acute, the rejection not as sharp, but these past few days have forced me to consider whether I’m ready to start something more with Birdie. My presence has obviously been a trigger, and too easily did we slip into some old habits. Again, I should have thought about this sooner. Birdie’s confused, and maybe I am too. Which leaves us where, exactly? Maybe Birdie had a point when she said it’s happening too fast, I can only understand what she means now that I’ve taken a step back. I’m still contemplating everything when there’s a knock at my door. I check the time on my phone, and frown. It’s 23:00. Who would be here at this hour? Can’t be Row, he’s at his restaurant, and it sure as hell won’t be my dad, he’s always in bed by nine unless he has a benefit to attend or a work function. When there’s a second knock, I stand, and walk to the door. Opening it, I’m surprised to see it’s Birdie. And God, she looks beautiful. Her long brown hair is curled over her shoulders, her make-up flawless. She’s a sight, dressed in a beautiful black lace fitted knee-length dress, a double-breasted white coat and black high-heeled shoes. For a second, I’m speechless, and when I am able to speak, I stammer, “B-bird, what are you doing here? You should be at La maîtresse, does Harlan know you’re here?” I realize I’m rattling on, everything out of my mouth out of order. But I wasn’t expecting her to show up.

She nibbles on her red lips, her beautiful eyes naturally wide. “He’s not thrilled about it,” she says on an exhale. “But he wants me to be happy.” She shakes her head. “I’m not saying this right. Can I come in?”

I step aside, and shut the door behind her.

And wait.

And hope.