Page 133 of Go Back to December

I lift my head, meet her sad smile. “I suppose so. It’s his café.”

“It’s your café too. Yours, Amal’s, that wackadoo in Environmental who orders the tofu smoothie.”

My shaky laugh doesn’t fight off the astonishment.

Baz must have proposed the deal to Badger on New Year’s Day when he consulted him about our relationship. We would only have had to disclose if both of us had intended to continue working at Blackhart & Steele. He knew about the real estate deal. Maybe not the timing, but once it was clear it was happening, he had one play left.

He forfeited his job, all the good work of his practice, so fifteen people could continue to receive half a year of employment.

And in return, I ratted him out to his family. Ripped open a wound that was healing between them, then abandoned him to deal with it on his own.

I failed him. I failed us.

“I’m such an idiot.”

My feet struggle to gain purchase as I scramble up the slippery glass wall, whip out my phone, and press Baz’s number.

It goes straight to voicemail.

Lacy shakes her head. “I’ve been trying him all morning, got the same thing.”

Dooley strides into the hallway, his overcoat half open and a flush on his cheeks as if he’s walked in from the cold.

“Where is he?” I wheeze.

He glances down at his watch. “Fifteen thousand feet, approaching cruising altitude.”

I grasp at the wall for support.

“Where’s he going?” Lacy asks impatiently.

“He didn’t tell me.”

“When will he be back?”

Dooley presses his lips together and marches into the Finance Committee meeting.

It takes all the grit I can muster to stitch my heart back together, pull my chin high, and follow him into the fray.

The sheer number of people out and about in the middle of the morning, in the middle of the work week, never ceases to amaze me.

As Amal and I exit the River Center train station, there are packs of pedestrians heading off to shop or recreate at the new development. In direct denial of the cold, windy weather, a river tour boat docks at the small pier. A dozen silver-haired tourists tumble out and complain loudly about the wind and the temperature in a variety of languages.

Amal raises an eyebrow. “If this place can attract tourist trade in the dead of winter, that’s promising.”

The daunting brick building ahead of us makes me shiver. Its renovated ground floor has full-length windows to maximize the river views. There’s a wide stretch of patio leading out to the River Walk. In the warmer weather, it will attract foot traffic from the nearby businesses and condos.

It’s promising, but it’s a far cry from the bustle of downtown.

I glance back at the train station. “It’s three stops from the café.”

“And three stops closer for people who live at the end of the train line.” Where rents and living costs are cheaper.

“The new medical building opens in a few weeks,” Amal adds. “Lots of waiting time with bad hospital coffee.”

When I reluctantly mutter an agreement, she frowns. “You’re being pessimistic because it’s her idea.”

“Don’t remind me.”