Secrets We Whisper in the Moonlight (Decisions in Durham Book 2) Read online

  I thought about Will’s friends—other than Jonah—who were all restaurateurs with popular restaurants and national acclaim. Was he worried about stuff like that? Keeping up with the Joneses?

  But they weren’t really the Joneses, were they? They all had their own stories of meager beginnings and hardship. It was more like a survival club than a group of douchebags trying to one-up each other with new restaurants and fancy cars. Although someone always did seem to have a brand-new, shiny one or the other.

  Dang.

  “Eliza?” Ada asked in a tone that signified this wasn’t her first attempt to get my attention.

  I jumped off the spinning carnival ride of my mind and stepped back into the here and now. “Sorry?”

  “You can’t kill him,” she said slowly. “He’s your brother, and you love him.”

  I smiled softly at her reminder. But the thing about brothers was that they were some of the few people you could hate just as much as you loved them. “I’m not going to kill him, Ada. Maim, maybe. Assault, probably. Stab, definitely. But I won’t actually kill him.”

  She laughed, but it wasn’t totally genuine. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I’m glad you did.” At the absolute panic in her eyes, I added, “Listen, I’m pissed. But I’m not going to say anything.” At least not yet. I was definitely going to save this for a future moment when I could drop it like an atom bomb and make sure there were multiple casualties. Maybe that was sadistic. But I thought of it more sisterly than anything else.

  Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Okay.”

  When she took a step back, I threw out a quick but stern, “Don’t say anything to Charlie though. He would definitely murder Will. He wouldn’t even hesitate. And I don’t have time to deal with that drama.” After a beat of silence, I added, “Or a prison sentence as an accessory.”

  This time when she smiled, it was genuine. “Duh, I’m not a total idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot at all.” I held her gaze. “Especially when it comes to Charlie.”

  She turned around and started to walk off, but not before she threw out an oh-so casual, “Wrong. I’m a special brand of idiot when it comes to Charlie.”

  Her tone was just sharp enough for her meaning to remain a mystery. I was reasonably confident they used to hook up. But these days, she could hardly tolerate looking at him. Which was the way it went with most of Charlie’s exes.

  Whatever she meant by being a special kind of idiot when it came to Charlie, I knew this secret was safe with her.

  Meanwhile, what was I supposed to do with it?

  I pulled out my phone and clicked the contact before I figured out what I was going to say. Jonah was my closest friend in the whole world. But he wasn’t always my closest confidant. There were some things a girl couldn’t share with a man who was also best friends with her brother.

  Claire Swift answered on the third ring. Per usual, she didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Do you know what drives me absolutely nuts?” She didn’t wait for my reply or hello. “Grown adults who don’t know how to operate a four-way stop. It’s not a hard concept. But I swear, either they sit there and sit there and sit there and confuse every single car or they think they’re God’s gift to driving, and no matter whose turn it is, they just gun it. My kindergartners could figure this out better than most adults.”

  My mood instantly shifted from panicked fury to mildly amused. Claire had that power with everyone. She was serious and focused almost all of the time. Still, she also had this angry chipmunk mode that was highly entertaining. “I’ve found that kindergartners are almost always better at the things adults should know by now. Sharing, empathy, compassion, taking a nap when needed.”

  “You know, you’re not wrong.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Sometimes I miss it so much it hurts. What am I doing with my life, Eliza?”

  She’d switched from four-way-stop rage to her current career fear as abruptly as usual. I raced to catch up, but this was a well-trodden conversation, and I knew exactly what to say. “You’re following your dreams, Claire-bear. You’re taking control of your future.”

  Her pause was silent. I pictured her on the other end of the phone, hair pulled up into a high ponytail, cheeks flushed red and puffed out as she held her breath. She was just finishing school for the day, so she probably wore a dirty chef’s coat covered in flour and smudged with frosting. My friend was fierce and beautiful but going through a lot. We had this conversation at least once a day. Sometimes as many times as it took to convince her to stay the course.

  Claire and I had met through our mutual circle of chef friends. Claire’s sister, Kaya, ran one of Ezra Baptiste’s restaurants, Sarita. Kaya and Will were friends, and on one of our Sunday nights out, Claire tagged along with Kaya. I’d happened to sit by her during a Korean/Soul Food fusion meal where our friends ordered nearly everything on the menu. We passed plates family-style until we were stuffed to the gills and the last people in the restaurant.

  Claire had just moved to Durham to live with her sister. She’d fled her small hometown to escape a bad engagement, a job she hated, and a life that felt prefabbed. We’d bonded over being the least food-educated people in the room, annoying siblings, and our love of true crime podcasts. Our friendship had grown exponentially in the past three years as we both stepped into uncertain careers—me into a fledgling bar and small business ownership, and Claire as she enrolled in pastry school and learned to live on her own for the first time in her entire life.

  Our friendship gave me life. And joy.

  All at once, she pushed her breath out. “Okay. You’re right. Okay.”

  “Also, you hate children.”

  She laughed. “I don’t hate them. I just . . . don’t really like them. But anyway, you didn’t call to deal with all my problems.”

  “I love dealing with your problems,” I told her sincerely. “They’re so much worse than mine.”

  This time her laughter burst out of her like a shotgun. “You bitch!”

  “You know it’s true.”

  “All right then.” She snickered. “Tell me your lesser problems.”

  It was my turn to sigh. And it was a heavy one. Long and drawn-out and with a direct line to my bones. “Ada was just in here. She said she overheard Will asking Lola advice about opening a second bar and wanting to talk to a real estate agent.”

  “A second bar? That could be a good thing.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I’m just not sure if he’ll include Charlie and me. This feels like something he wants to do on his own.”

  “Have you asked him about it?”

  Her levelheaded question made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I didn’t want logic and reason. I wanted wrath and vengeance. “I feel like I should do some recon first. Get all my ducks in a row. It might be a bar rumor, nothing else.”

  “Well, there are a lot of those flying around.” I could hear the smile in her voice. She knew all about our longstanding drama with half-baked rumors. For such a small staff, miscommunication was a serious problem.

  “It came from Ada, though. She’s ultra-reliable.”

  Claire hummed. “Ada is the best.”

  “Ugh, what am I supposed to do with this, Claire? I can handle Will being an asshole daily. But this seems excessive even for him.”

  “Okay, but why? What are you afraid of? Will moving on in his life without you? Or Will not asking your permission first?”

  Her questions were hard to answer, and I frankly didn’t want to think them through. “Gosh, Claire, why you gotta do that?” I whined, sounding much like the kindergartners she left behind. “It’s not like that. I’m pissed because he’s going behind my back and taking something that is ours and ruining it.”

  Her tone was gentle. “Allegedly.”

  “Allegedly,” I snarled.

  “You don’t know anything for sure yet. I’m just saying, you might want to examine this from all angles before you start fir
es you can’t put out.”

  This was why I called her. I knew she could talk me off the edge. While my mind whirled and spun and came up with all kinds of far-fetched scenarios that were too impossible to ever come true, she reminded me of rational reality. Just because I had strong feelings didn’t mean I was always right. “I know you love this whole pastry gig, but have you ever thought of becoming a therapist?”

  She laughed again. “Yeah, not sure I’m loving this pastry gig anyway. Maybe third time’s a charm.”

  “You’ll get it,” I encouraged gently. “You’re the smartest person I know. If you can master croissants and puff pastry, I’m positive you can handle cake design.”

  She growled. “I’m not so sure.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “Says the woman who showed up with fruit tartlets that literally changed my life last week.” Having a pastry chef best friend who needed people to taste test her recipes had its benefits.

  “You’re exaggerating,” she said with her usual self-deprecation. “I still don’t have the pastry exactly right, and I shouldn’t have used the apricots.”

  “Stop,” I ordered, an uncharacteristic snap in my voice. But honestly, a girl could only take so much of her best girl not seeing herself properly. “The apricot was epic. And the pastry literally melted in my mouth. When can we do it again?”

  She gave in to my boss-girl vibes. “I have cakes coming out the wazoo. How about I bring one over tomorrow night, and we get sugared up and drunk while we figure out what it would take for you to open your own bar?”

  I smiled at her belief in me. “Let’s open one together. Half bar. Half bakery. We could share our affinity for cake and whiskey with the world.”

  She gasped. “That’s genius! Bakeries are always aligned with coffee shops. Which is fine, but a bar and bakery? Revolutionary.”

  Now I was really smiling. The day's stress had faded into the bliss of knowing this girl had my back. “That’s right. A whiskey and cake revolution. But I can’t tomorrow night. Jonah’s taking me to dinner.”

  “Ah.”

  “Do you want to come? He’s buying.”

  She made a sound in the back of her throat. “And be a third wheel? No thanks.”

  “You know we’re just friends.”

  She made the sound again. “I know he thinks his friendship with you is superior to my friendship with you. He’s not into me hanging around, Eliza. He’s very territorial.”

  Not wanting to get into it with Claire again over Jonah’s moodiness, I said, “What about Sunday?”

  “Sunday’s good,” she agreed quickly. “It will give me time to perfect my sponge and get the currant cream just right.”

  She was speaking another language now. “It’s a date then.”

  “It’s a date,” she agreed. “Have fun with Jonah.”

  “You know, one day, you guys are going to love each other.”

  She snorted. “Oh, Eliza. You’re delusional.”

  I laughed and said, “Bye, babe.”

  She clicked off without saying goodbye back. Which was so Claire. She answered without hellos. And hung up without goodbyes. And also had it out for Jonah. Argh.

  There really was tension between Jonah and Claire. But sometimes, Claire was too straightforward for her own good. She was all honest confrontation when Jonah wanted chill and laid-back.

  Why were the people in my life so complicated?

  Why did Will want to open a bar without me?

  Why did I still feel so uncomfortably lonely after my conversation with Jonah?

  I had plans this week. I got to work with my favorite people. I was busy. Yet a nagging sense in the corners of my heart said it could be better than this. That my life was missing some key element.

  And shortly on the heels of that loneliness . . . was a mystery anticipation for tomorrow night. Half anxious worry, half excited elation.

  The best part of my friendships with Claire and Ada was that they were free of these warring, complicated, stupid emotions.

  So why was my dinner date with Jonah the thing I was most looking forward to?

  four

  The bar was busy when I finally emerged from the office after a long day. I stepped into the kitchen stretching, only to retreat inside my office when Case spun by me, hands full of plates covered in bits of food and smeared sauces.

  “I need help in here,” he snarled at me on his way to the dishwasher.

  I pushed up the sleeves of my fuchsia button-up blouse and scanned the nooks and crannies for an apron. “Sure, what can I do?”

  Plates clattered, and food debris flew as he shoved his armful on a counter next to the industrial dishwasher. He pinned me with a glare from across the tiny kitchen. “Not you, Eliza. Not tonight. I mean, I need permanent help.” He wiped his glistening forehead with a black bandana he pulled from his back pocket, then tied it around his cleanly shaven head. “Listen, when I took this job, Will promised my one-man-circus would be temporary. But here we are, four years later, and I’m still running this shit show solo.”

  I tugged my sleeves down and switched gears into HR manager mode. “It’s a compliment,” I said genuinely, hoping he understood the sincere sentiment. “People are just as likely to come here to eat as they are to drink. That says a lot about you, Case.”

  He wasn’t charmed by my managerial skills. Or lack thereof. “You’ve got to find someone to help me, Eliza. Or I’m walking out. I like it here. I like you and your brothers. You gave me a job when nobody else would. But I have offers.”

  He put his head down to scrape the food off the plates into the trash, and I realized how humbling that was. I had no doubt he had other offers. For starters, the restaurant industry was fucking cutthroat, and good chefs were snatched up and moved around every day.

  But also, Case really was something special. We’d gotten lucky because Killian Quinn, one of Will’s friends, had passed his name along. Case had been new to town, looking for a job, didn’t have a reputation, and didn’t have great references from the last kitchen where he’d worked. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten along with the head chef. Eventually, Case fled his hometown and ended up here.

  From what Will had said, his old boss had nothing good to say about him. But we’d been desperate. And the kitchen had always been his alone to run.

  “Have you talked to Will about it?” I asked, my voice strained with tension from the secret Ada had spilled yesterday.

  “No,” Case said simply.

  Will wasn’t the easiest to pin down once he was in work mode, so I wasn’t surprised to hear that Case hadn’t managed to corner him.

  I’d showed up early to work today, thinking I would have a better chance of confronting Will alone before anyone got here. But then he’d been accepting deliveries, and I still hadn’t worked out my approach. I purposed to try again after lunch . . . but then I’d eaten late, and everyone else had arrived by then.

  Also, he wasn’t always the easiest guy to spring things on. And by “wasn’t always,” I mean he was never, ever the guy to surprise attack. He lashed out first, waged a full-fledged attack, then once everyone was bloody and bruised, finally considered reason.

  At least he was that way with Charlie and me.

  He managed at least some composure when other people were involved. And with Lola, he was a downright pacifist.

  But to be fair, Charlie and I were just as bad. It was the only way to do business with family.

  Case abandoned the plates to grab something off the grill. His arms and hands moved at super-speed while he plated with absolute precision. After he’d wiped the edge of the dish clean and made its perfect twin on a separate plate, he thumbed through instructions on the computer, letting the front of the house know there was an order up, then turned around to level me with his surprising ferocity. “I’m telling you, Eliza. Isn’t that the same thing?”

  I glanced away, unable to answer that question. Was it the same thing? Shouldn’t it be? I was a co-
owner, same as Will, same as Charlie. So why did I need Will’s permission to hire a position all of us knew we needed.

  “Let me talk to our accountant. But it should be fine. We’re short a few waitresses now anyway.”

  His lips twitched into the shadow of a smile. “I want the final say.”

  It was easier to glare at him now that the tension had broken. “Don’t push your luck, Cason. You can’t remind me I’m the boss to get your way, only to try to then be the boss.”

  His smile turned sheepish. “I don’t play well with others.”

  So the rumors were true. Well, damn. This was going to fall on me when it went badly. I shouldn’t have let him bait me into a fast answer. It wouldn’t have hurt to think about his request. Or talk to my brothers first—even if I was still fuming at Will. “You’re going to have to learn.” I picked up my leather jacket and crossbody purse from the hook next to my door and slipped them on. “Or you’re going to have to look into those other offers.”

  His sheepishness turned into something else, something that was surprised I was calling him on his bullshit. “I’m just saying, just because you know your way around a kitchen doesn’t mean you know who should be in it.”

  Ada flew through the door, interrupting our conversation to grab the two plates under the heat lamp. Case spouted off a warning about how hot they were. Ada spouted off something about not caring. I slipped through the door while they were both distracted.

  Will and Miles, our weekend bartender who had been bumped up to almost full time lately, were behind the bar. I checked my phone before walking to the corner of the long mahogany bar, the only bare spot on the whole counter. Charlie was on the floor taking orders, along with a new girl who I could tell wasn’t going to last a week. Which was too bad because she seemed nice. Although I had thought the same thing about Lola when she first showed up at the bar, all green and flighty. She’d been a terrible server at first. But in the end, she’d managed to figure it out. So it was possible this girl could too.