Page 71 of Love and Lies

“Jess Coldwell,” Mick Harper stepped out from behind the bar to greet me; I’d called beforehand to let him know I was coming. “Good to see you; it’s been a while. Last time you were here you were only half so big.”

I had to laugh. “That’s not true, Mick. I was here just a few years back, just before I moved away.”

“Really? I must have forgotten. Or maybe it’s just that that time you took all my matchbooks and made an art installation out of them is so clear in my memory that it overshadows everything else.”

“I was eight,” I reminded him. “I think you should get over it.”

Now it was Mick’s turn to laugh. “Never. You know old people love to talk about the past. What was it that wise man said? The first forty years of your life is text, the rest is commentary.”

“That was Schopenhauer.”

“You see.” Mick nodded, impressed. “And I thought you never went to school.”

My mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “I did sometimes.”

“Come on, sit.” He waved me to a table in the corner. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Usually I’d never say no, but I have a date later, so I probably shouldn’t.” I took a seat on one of the old-fashioned chairs. The restaurant was fitted with wooden furniture, giving it a rustic aesthetic, and in my mind’s eye I saw immediately how I would style the place… but I put the kibosh on that fantasy right away.

Mick went to the bar and got us some coffee, then sat down opposite me. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something. Shoot.”

“No small talk today?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I told you, I’m old. I don’t have time to waste.”

He’d always been like this. I remembered him and Dad—they’d had different points of view most of the time but were bound together by friendly competition. When I thought about how Trish treated her competitors, it was another world.

“Okay, if that’s how it is.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Word is you want to close up shop and sell.”

Mick narrowed his eyes and knit his bushy brows together. I braced myself for a salty reply. But then, all of a sudden, his lined face softened.

“Do you want to buy it?” No questions about how I found out, or any great hoo-ha about how this was his life’s work. Mick was simply direct and to the point—and I appreciated that.

“No,” I said. “I have a friend who’s looking for a venue for his own place. I’d be involved in the planning and execution.”

“You’re not going in? How come?”

I hesitated, but only briefly. “Because I don’t want to be in New York forever. I don’t want to build something here that I have to leave behind.”

“So you’re planning to leave again?” he asked. “When?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said vaguely. “Whenever things here improve enough that it’s possible.”

“I understand.” Mick nodded slowly. “And I’m sorry to hear it, because in that case I’m going to have to say no.”

I’d thought as much. Mick was stubborn, and old-school. “Don’t you even want to meet my friend? Balthazar is really capable of pulling it off. I can’t think of anyone who would do a better job with something like this.”

“That may be, but I don’t know him. And I’m only going to sell to someone I trust, someone I believe is the right person for this place.” He grinned at me.

“Mick—”

“Son, I’ve known you since you could stand. And even though your dad and I didn’t always see eye to eye, I really respected him, you know that. Just like I know you inherited his head for business, and his way with people. You’ve got this in your blood. It’s very simple: if you’re on board, I’ll sell. Otherwise, no dice.”

I smirked. “That’s extortion.”

“You call it extortion; I call it terms.” Mick grinned. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a concept. You’ve been making a success of other peoples’ businesses this whole time, so I know you’ve got ideas about how to run your own. So what is it?”

At first I didn’t want to admit I even had a concept, but then I gave in. “A breakfast restaurant. Breakfast the whole day long—not like in a café, but appropriate for the time of day—so lunch dishes at midday, dinners in the evenings. International influence, nothing too crazy.” He met my eye, and I paused for a moment. “You think it’s dumb, probably.” Everyone in the New York gastro scene knew how conservative Mick Harper was. He had served home cooking for fifty years and had little time for new ideas.