Page 22 of Better than Yesterday
The bell on the door chimed as I stepped out onto the street and headed back to my townhouse.
By 5:30,I’d changed outfits three times.
I stood before my bathroom mirror, studying my reflection with the same critical eye I’d use on a questionable data set. The simple sundress I’d finally settled on—a soft coral that brought out the auburn in my hair—felt both too casual and too deliberate. My hair hung loose around my shoulders, and I’d applied just enough makeup to look like I’d made an effort without trying too hard.
The whole exercise was ridiculous. This wasn’t a real date. It was a trial run for our twelve-week arrangement. A test of our boundaries.
A slow-motion heartbreak I willingly signed up for.
Lila’s words echoed as I grabbed my purse, and I shoved them aside. She was wrong. I could do this. I was a scientist, trained in objectivity and rational thinking. Emotions could be managed, controlled, compartmentalized.
The knock on my door came at exactly six o’clock. I opened it to find Braden standing on my doorstep, and my carefully constructed rationale evaporated. He wore dark jeans and a button-down shirt in a deep blue that made his eyes look impossibly bright. His hair was slightly damp, as if he’d just showered, and the scent of his cologne—something woodsy and clean—made me want to step closer.
“Hey, you,” he said, his voice low.
“Hi.” I sounded breathless, which was mortifying.
His gaze traveled over me, slow and deliberate, and his jaw tightened. “You look... that dress is...”
“Too much?” I asked, regretting I hadn’t stayed with Outfit #2.
“Perfect,” he said roughly. “You look perfect.”
The compliment sent warmth flooding through me. I grabbed my purse and stepped out, locking the door with hands that weren’t quite steady. His truck was parked at the curb, and he opened the passenger door for me. The drive was quiet, the air between us charged. I snuck glances at him, noting the way his hands gripped the steering wheel and how his index finger tapped rhythmically. He was as affected as I was. As uncertain.
“So where are we going?” I asked finally, needing to break the silence.
“Rousseau’s. French-Caribbean fusion hole-in-the-wall place.” He glanced at me. “Neutral territory. No family connections, no memories. Just us.”
The thoughtfulness of his choice made my belly flutter. He’d considered his decision. This wasn’t just a casual dinner. It was a deliberate step into unknown territory.
Rousseau’s was on a quiet street on the eastern part of the Key and overlooked the mangroves. Its exterior was a soft yellow with dark green shutters. String lights hung across the porch that extended the length of the building. Through the windows, candlelit tables and exposed brick walls created an intimate atmosphere without being overly romantic, sophisticated without being pretentious.
Inside, we were led to a quiet corner table. The menu was small and carefully curated. I ordered without really seeing the words, too aware of Braden sitting across from me, his presence filling my entire awareness.
“So, tell me about the early days,” I said once thewaiter had taken our orders and left us with wine. “When you first started Tidal Hops.”
He shook his head with a rueful smile. “I had an idea and a passion for brewing, but no real business plan. No investors. Just a lot of stubbornness and a willingness to work myself into the ground.”
“How did you fund it?”
“Some savings. I’d been working odd jobs around the resort and town—boat maintenance, bar backing, then bartending. I saved every penny.” He paused, his fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass. “And I took out a loan that would have buried me if the brewpub failed.”
The risk he’d taken staggered me. “You bet everything on it.”
“I had to prove something,” he said simply. “To myself, to my family, to...” He trailed off, but I heard the unspoken words.To you.
Guilt twisted in my stomach. “Braden?—”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, reading my expression. “I did that all on my own. But yeah, when you left, when your parents made it clear I wasn’t good enough... it lit a fire under me. I was going to build something that mattered.”
“And you did. You built something incredible.”
“I had to.” He stared at his wine, swirling the dark liquid in the glass. “You remember what it was like back then. After my dad left.” His voice dropped, losing its confident edge and becoming quieter, more raw.
The memory was instant and sharp. The shift in him when his world had been turned upside down. The way his easy grin had tightened, the new, hard edge of anger that had entered his eyes. I remembered fights between his siblings in the resort’s kitchen and the exhausted, overwhelmed look on Helen’s face. Archie Coleridge hadn’t justleft his family. He’d ripped a hole in the center of their world.
“I remember,” I said quietly.
