Real Kind of Love

by Sara Rider

  “And you thought you’d save money by using the same invitations with a little bit of white out?”

  She sucked in her cheeks. “Invitations, no. But I did spend six thousand dollars and two years of my life searching for the perfect wedding gown and color scheme for a courtyard wedding after you convinced me to have the reception here. I love that dress and I’ll be damned if your inability to commit keeps me from getting to wear it.”

  “That’s what this is about? A dress?”

  “Jake—” Julia growled, warning him off.

  Kelly shook her head, ignoring the other woman. “It’s more than just a dress. It’s a symbol of love and commitment. Something you never could understand. But the fact is you also forgot to cancel the photographer and the florist, and there’s something rather satisfying about knowing you’ll be paying for the wedding you weren’t man enough to go through with.”

  He curled his hands into fists. “Your parents must be proud.”

  “They are. So are yours. They’re attending the wedding, by the way.”

  The blow landed exactly where she’d intended.

  Julia jumped to her feet. “Jake, a word in private. Now.”

  She dragged him back to his office across the hall.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” He asked as soon as the door was closed behind him. He didn’t really give a shit about the answer but asking a stupid question was better than shouting at Julia just because she happened to be the person standing in front of him.

  “I swear I didn’t know. I’ve been working with the wedding planner all this time, and I only figured it out a couple hours ago when Kelly called to ask why she wasn’t getting the original discount on the alcohol that she would have if she were marrying…you.” The guilty expression on her face only made him feel like more of an asshole. “I’m sorry, Jake. I should have figured it out sooner.”

  He slumped into his desk chair and exhaled. “It’s not your fault.” Hell, it wasn’t even Kelly’s fault. He was the one who’d been too selfish to end things, staying in a dead-end relationship to appease his father.

  “What do you want me to do?” Julia asked. “I can’t keep her waiting in my office forever.”

  “Tell her she needs to find another venue and make sure I don’t hear another word about it for the rest of my life.”

  Julia brushed back the strands of her red hair that had fallen out of her messy bun. “We can’t do that.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because the wedding is one week away and we’ve already made arrangements with the vendors. We can’t risk ruining our relationship with them if we cancel a wedding this late in the game. We’d be out all that cash and put ourselves open to a lawsuit.”

  Fuck. That’s what this was about. Kelly wanted him to suffer. Make him serve her drinks and that fucking lemon-raspberry crème wedding cake with all his former friends and family to witness, or else sic her mom’s law firm on him to destroy his business. “We’re not hosting that wedding.”

  “We need the money, Jake. Property taxes jumped fifteen percent last year. There’s too much competition for craft breweries in this town. We need to diversify if we want to stand out. And now with the loan repayments…”

  “I don’t need a reminder.” He clenched his jaw hard enough to send a jolt of pain down his neck. They’d hosted a few weddings in the large courtyard that came with the grounds after Julia insisted it would be a huge moneymaker, and even though he’d thought she was crazy at first, she’d been right. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you. Just tell me what the hell I need to do to fix this.”

  Julia crossed her legs and leaned forward. “I want to throw the best wedding this town has ever seen. I want everyone who’s anyone to be talking about our incredible staff and picture-perfect venue. I want them craving our exclusive Matrimoni-Ale so badly that they all book weddings here just to get one more taste of it. I want to make the Holy Grale standout from all the other brewpubs in this town. I want it to be a huge success. Same as you.”

  He drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. The whole thing was a sick joke, but what choice did he have? His dad had been beyond furious when Jake told him he was calling off the wedding and threatened to pull the loan he’d given him to replace the Holy Grale’s steam boiler with a more efficient model. At the time, Jake had figured his dad was just pissed off that the marriage cementing the relationship between the Donovans and the Vanderburghs wasn’t going to happen. He hadn’t actually believed his dad would make good on the threat. Until he did.

  They’d already purchased the new boiler by then. In addition to taking out a high-interest, emergency loan from the bank, Jake had to sell his house and move in with Eli to keep the business afloat. They were only just now starting to get back in the black. With Julia’s marketing acumen, they’d come to realize that expanding the business to take advantage of the unique grounds and large courtyard was a vital part of their economic plan to make the Holy Grale a success. He’d lost too much to let Kelly take one more thing from him. “Fine. But she’s not getting my beer for free.”

  “I’ll lie and tell her she’s getting the special wedding discount. I just won’t mention it’s no different than the regular price.”

  He hadn’t been sure what to expect when Julia Hardin marched into his and Eli’s office a year ago and demanded they hire her as their marketing and events manager, but it was the best decision they’d ever made. Turned out his friend’s once annoying little sister was whip smart and knew how to put her event-planning diploma to good use. “Deal.”

  She paused at doorway before jumping back into the pit of hell. “One more thing. If this is going to work, you can’t be here.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We have no margin of error with this. Zero. And you being here for the wedding isn’t going to work. Kelly’s going to be in and out of this place almost every day for the next week, which means you need to be somewhere else. Take a holiday or something. Just don’t be here. Okay?”

  “I’m not letting my ex run me out of my own business.” This was his bar. His brewery. He was here every single day overseeing the operations, cleaning the place, and tending bar to scrape every extra penny out his elbow grease that he could.

  Julia scowled. “Of course not. You’re going to do that all by yourself if you can’t find a way to get yourself under control.”

  “Martin Ellis came by the shop again today. I showed him pictures of you when you were little. Remember that one we took after finding you hiding naked in Grandma Jean’s closet with one of her books at Grammy and Gramp’s fiftieth wedding anniversary party? I think it was The Time Machine?”

  “The Left Hand of Darkness,” Clem mumbled, knowing exactly what photo her mom was talking about. She’d torn off her stupid party dress in a fit because she’d always hated being forced to wear identical outfits to match her sisters, and stole the book from her Grandma’s nightstand because she’d liked the cover. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t read the words. She’d just made up a story to correspond with the captivating image of a strange statue of two faces rising out of the ice planet. Twenty-two years later, her family of extroverts still didn’t understand Clem’s deep-seated need for solitude.

  “Gosh, you must have been about four. Not even old enough to read yet. Martin said you looked like an adorable kid who must have grown up to be such a smart woman.”

  Clem dropped the big knife she was washing back into the old farmhouse sink before she used it to gouge out her own eyeball, and inhaled deeply. She usually avoided stepping foot in her parents’ cramped, chaotic galley kitchen, but the towering load of dirty dishes had piled up dangerously high, and she’d been hoping the warm water and rhythmic movements would distract from the throbbing pain in her head. She should have known it would only make it worse. “Mom, why would you show a stranger a naked picture of me?”

  “Well, he’s not a stranger if he’s seen you n
aked, is he?”

  “Mom!”

  “I’m kidding! He’s one of my customers. Anyway, he said he’s free all this week.” Her mom pulled a cake pan out of the oven, filling the room with the scent of warm red velvet, which barely made up for the fact she’d just ignored Clem’s question. She set the pan on a rack on the counter right next to the sink. “You should go on a date with him.”

  Red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting was the one food the Cox family served that didn’t contain gelatin or canned meat. It was Clem’s two thousand calorie reward for getting through an entire afternoon of her family’s constant badgering about her single status. And after dealing with the police reports and insurance company all morning, she needed to stuff her face with that damn cake more than ever.

  “Mom’s right,” Chastity, her oldest sister, said while whipping up the frosting with a vintage green KitchenAid mixer than had sat in her parents’ kitchen for as long as Clem could remember. “You’ve been single for almost six months.”

  Clover, her middle sister, slammed a drawer shut so hard, the noise made Clem jump. “I agree. Has anyone seen the can opener?”

  “Got it,” her mom yelled a split-second before hip-checking Clem to get to the overstuffed utensil drawer, causing her to drop the soapy pan she was washing and spill hot water down the front of her jeans.

  Just great. Karmic revenge for refusing to wear the bright orange “Super Cox” apron her mom had hand-sewn and imprinted with a family photo from last year’s Halloween when everyone had been forced to dress up as giant yellow Minions.

  “Thanks, Mom!” Clover yelled back despite the fact their mom was only a few feet away.

  “Martin’s a nice guy,” Chastity said, swiping a lick of the cream cheese frosting from her scraper before dunking it back in the bowl. When it came to germs, the Cox family believed sharing was caring. “He has a good job, plays the guitar, and he’s part of a co-ed dodge ball league.”

  Clem pinched the bridge of her nose. The pounding in her head had just dialed up to an almost unbearable volume, making it feel like the walls were closing in on her. Ever since she’d broken up with her last boyfriend, these weekly family dinners had begun to feel like an exercise in humiliation. Today, it was sheer torture. The only thing getting her through the next three hours was the promise of a shamefully large corner slice of her favorite cake.

  “You want me to date someone who throws balls at women’s heads for fun?”

  “Soft ones. Jeez. Why do you have to be so picky all the time? You should give him a chance,” Clover said, almost giving Clem a heart attack with her sweeping hand gestures that nearly caused her to spill the can of tomatoes right onto the cooling cake.

  “Be careful with that can, okay?” She’d already had a hell of a day, but witnessing her sister dump chili- and marjoram-spiced tomatoes all over the dessert would push her sanity right over the edge.

  “Relax. It’ll be fine,” Chastity said.

  Clem snatched a chunk of frosting from her sister’s scraper with her index finger and popped it in her mouth. The rush of sugar immediately eased some of the tension in her head.

  Her dad came into the kitchen at that moment to grab a soda from the fridge, crowding the space with his booming size. “These three giving you a hard time about being single?”

  “Aren’t they always?”

  He cracked open the can and took a sip before wiping his thick mustache with the back of his hand. “You need to deal with your problems head on. Nip it in the bud. I can introduce you to a nice young man from the base.”

  “No thank you.” She loved her dad, but the last thing she needed was to date a carbon copy of him. He shrugged and went back to watch the football game with her brothers-in-law, forcing everyone else to part like the Red Sea.

  Her mom frowned and patted her on the shoulder. “Oh honey, all we’re saying is that you don’t want to be lonely forever. At some point, you’re going to have to get over your self-confidence issues and learn to talk to a boy. About something other than books or those weird TV shows about tornados you like so much.”

  Clem considered dunking her head in the dishwater to drown out her scream. She had an amazing job, her own home, good friends—even if she did only see them a couple times a month at most. Sure, she’d struck out on the boyfriend front more times than she’d like to count, but that didn’t mean she was lonely or unfulfilled. She liked her quiet little life. She just didn’t know how to convince her family of that.

  “Can we stop talking about my love life? Please?” They hadn’t even eaten dinner yet and she already felt her energy reserves leaching out of her body.

  “Sure. After you agree to a date with Martin,” Chastity said.

  “Ooh, better yet, we’ll stop talking about your love life if you tell us whether Marcus Red Bear is really dead.”

  The room went deadly quiet, save for the sound of chopped onions sizzling in a hot pot on the stove.

  Clem took a moment to savor the rare silence while pretending to consider it. As the audiobook narrator for the mega popular Red Zephyr series, she was one of a handful of people in the world who knew the outcome of the Dark Wind battle. Once her sisters got hooked on the TV adaptation, Clem’s insider knowledge became their second favorite topic of conversation—after her single status. But even if the confidentiality agreement chockfull of scary legalese wasn’t enough of a deterrent, there was no way she’d offer up that spoiler before the book released three months from now—exactly one day before the next season was about to air. She loved the series too much to ruin it, and her entire career rested on her ability to keep her mouth shut.

  “If you promise to stop talking about Martin Ellis, I will give you one spoiler.”

  Chastity and Clover nodded like a pair of blond bobbleheads.

  “A small spoiler,” she clarified.

  “I don’t care what happens to that Marco-what’s-his-face. I’m going to keep trying to find you a nice boy until I die,” her mom said over her sisters’ groans. “Which will be sooner than later if you don’t give all these nice boys a chance. Now be a dear and open this package of meat for me while I stir the onions. By the way, did you know Martin is a big fan of onions?”

  She thrust two pounds of lean ground beef into Clem’s hands. Clem sighed as her moment of peace was wrenched away. Chastity and Clover started back up with the pestering before she managed to turn around.

  With the four women packed into the tight galley kitchen, there was almost no counter space left to put the meat.

  “Here, let me help.” Clover balanced the opened can of tomatoes on the lip of the cake pan, and lifted both up to give Clem room to set the beef down.

  Clem winced as Clover adjusted her grip. “Just be careful with that cake, okay?”

  “It’s fine, I did this all the time back when I was a waitress.”

  “Listen to your sister, Clover. I can’t make the chili without those tomatoes,” her mom scolded with her head buried in the fridge. “Oh darn. We’re out of apple cider vinegar. I wonder if a dash of apple juice would work instead?”

  Clem’s heart jumped into her throat. Her mom immediately clapped her hand over her mouth with undeniable regret.

  “JUIIIIIIIICE!”

  Oh god, now they’d done it. They’d uttered the secret word that triggered six-year-olds everywhere to lose their ever-loving minds. The entitled scream was the only warning before her twin nieces stampeded into the kitchen like a pair of bulls unleashed on the streets of Pamplona, bumping into everyone and setting off a domino-like chaos. The package of ground beef was the first thing to go flying, right into Clem’s face. The can of tomatoes was next, emptying itself in a spattering arc of red against Clem’s hair, followed by the clatter of dishes and utensils against the tile floor, and the unmistakable, heartbreaking sound of shattered glass.

  Everyone started shouting and screaming so loud, Clem couldn’t breathe.

  “Shut up! For once, can you all
just please stop talking and be quiet?” She wiped the chunks of tomato out of her eyes to see the glass cake pan scattered in a million pieces at her feet, chunks of crumbled, ruined cake on every surface.

  Tiny arms wrapped her thighs. She looked down to see her twin nieces Ellie and Millie staring up at her with their giant blue eyes. “Sorry, Aunty Clem. Can we have a juice box now?”

  3

  By some miracle, the bowl of frosting had emerged unharmed from the chaos, so naturally Clem took it hostage when she locked herself in her parents’ master bathroom to clean herself up. It seemed fitting to add a sugar binge to the already pathetic image of herself sitting on the edge of the tub in nothing but her underwear, smelling like a food-processing factory.

  She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours and couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so tired. Like every last drop of her lifeblood had dried up, leaving her soul cracked and brittle. Her lungs ached with each intake of breath. Normally, she could pull herself together enough to fake enthusiasm for her family’s stranger quirks, but she was empty with no reserves left to drawn on. It would take at least another week before she could get the mess at her house all cleaned up, but she had no idea how long it would take before she could shake the overwhelming feeling of wrongness suffocating her from the inside out.

  Skipping out on her family’s weekly dinner might seem like the more logical course of action, but the last time she did that her parents acted like she’d announced she bought a one-way ticket to Mars. Telling them about the break-in would be even worse. The more she tried to carve out a little bit of breathing room, the harder they pushed.

  She sighed and shoved one last spoonful of frosting into her mouth before turning on the shower. If she didn’t get a move on, her family would start banging on the door, asking if she was okay. Not that she blamed them. She’d never exploded like that before. Never yelled. Something inside her had just snapped today. They were probably all downstairs, frantic with worry, plotting ways to cheer her up and erase her sour mood in the most aggressively cheery way possible. They couldn’t understand that all she wanted was to be left alone once in a while.