Page 51 of Love and Lies

Jess grinned. “And you still came back? You must really love this city.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I do. I know you don’t understand—you want to get out of here again as soon as possible.” I considered him thoughtfully. “Is there really nothing you could be persuaded to stay for? Nothing that could reconcile you to New York City?”

He fixed me with a stare so long and intense that I almost had to look away. Almost. I held his gaze firm and waited.

“No,” he said then, although he did so with a smile. “Absolutely nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Do you ever accept an answer that you don’t like?”

“Not in this case,” I replied with a grin. “When you’re the owner of a restaurant where the pizza is this good, surely you have everything you need.” At the word restaurant, something changed in Jessiah’s expression. I didn’t know if I was imagining things, but I thought I saw longing in his eyes.

“What are you thinking about right now?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Tell me,” I pressed.

He bristled. “Ahh, I’m thinking about an idea Balthazar put in my head. There’s a place in the East Village that might be coming up for sale soon, and it’d be perfect for this concept I’ve been thinking about for years.”

“What kind of concept?”

“A breakfast restaurant. Not in the sense of scrambled eggs on toast all day, but dishes that work as lunches and dinners as well.” He gave me a sheepish look, as if expecting me to find the whole thing absurd. But the opposite was true.

“That’s a really great idea,” I said excitedly. “If anywhere is ready for new gastro concepts, it’s New York City. You should definitely do it.”

He sighed and shook his head. “No, I can’t. I already abandoned one business when I left Australia, and it broke my heart. I don’t want to do that again.” His voice sounded so sad that I sensed there was more to the story than just the restaurant.

“Does that mean you’re never going to open your heart to anything new again?” I asked softly, well aware of the double meaning. “I think that would be a mistake.”

“You think so?” Jessiah looked up. Without my being able to stop it, or wanting to, we caught each other’s eye.

“Yes.” I nodded emphatically, holding his gaze.

“And what makes you so sure about that, Fair Helen?” he asked, and I felt a thrill—he really did have a nickname for me.

I smiled. “No idea. Just a hunch.”

It grew later and later. We talked about everything under the sun, laughing and teasing each other whenever the opportunity arose. Midnight came and went, then one o’clock, and at some point Taddeo said good night and asked Jessiah to close up after him when we left. And still we stayed there, even after Taddeo and his wife had gone home. We talked about Cambridge, the peculiarities of the British, my college courses, his projects, and eventually got around to Jessiah’s stint in Australia.

“A surf lodge?” I asked, after he’d revealed that he’d bought a small bungalow hotel and renovated it together with a friend. “So you surf as well?”

He nodded. “As often as I can. But Rockaway Beach isn’t the Australian coast, unfortunately. Sometimes, there, I would get up at five in the morning just to get out on my board before anyone else. Surfing at sunrise might sound corny, but it’s fucking incredible. And then just sitting on the sand with a coffee and looking out at the ocean… it’s the most peaceful I’ve ever been.”

“It sounds like a dream,” I said.

“Yes. But the price was pretty high.”

The price? Was he talking about his brother’s death?

“What happened to Adam had nothing to do with you, you know,” I remarked softly, although I wasn’t sure if that was what he’d meant. But I knew all too well what it was to blame yourself.

“How can you be sure about that?” Jessiah gave a sad smile. “Don’t tell me you never ask yourself if you could have prevented it. Whether they’d still be alive if you’d done something differently.”

I felt a lump form in my throat and pressed my lips together as my eyes welled with tears. “Every day,” I said softly.

“So then you know there’s no absolution. There never will be.”