Love Around the Corner

by Amanda Weaver

  There was something familiar echoing in every page. Something in the shape of the windows, which looked like a smaller version of the bar’s windows, or the stone lintel over the doorway, which was the same as the one over the bar’s front door. There was a detail of the bar’s white and black hexagon tile floor with a scribbled note in Brendan’s handwriting, “bathrooms and kitchens,” and a big mirror feature in the middle of what looked like a dining room.

  “You can throw those out.”

  She spun around to see Brendan filling the doorway, thrown into silhouette by the bright golden late afternoon light behind him. He’d ditched his usual jacket and tie. His white dress shirt was open at the neck, sleeves rolled above his elbows, and his red-gold hair was in disarray, as if he’d been running his fingers through it all day.

  As she took him in, Gemma was hit with a pang of almost unbearable longing. She would give anything—anything—to rewind and go back to where they’d been just a week ago, when being with him had been so effortless. But there was no rewinding time or hiding in the past, she’d learned. Nothing to do but face the future head-on.

  “What are these?”

  He shrugged as he moved inside. “I like to brainstorm like that before I meet with an architect. So they know what I’m after. I brought those to show your dad...before. But it doesn’t matter now. Just toss them.”

  These were his ideas for the building he’d planned for this spot. And Romano’s was woven through every inch of it. He’d let this go to give her back her bar.

  “It’s the bar,” she finally said. “The building looks like the bar.”

  “I wanted what came after to reflect what came before.” Abruptly he stopped, squeezing his eyes shut. “Gem, I’m so sorry. I know that doesn’t mean much to you now. Your dad called me and it seemed like the best thing for everybody. I needed the building and your dad needed to sell. I don’t know... I thought that if it had to happen, maybe it would be easier for you if it was me doing it.” He waved a hand at the stack of drawings. “Maybe if that came after, it would make it better somehow. Maybe that’s just what I wanted to believe. Stupid. I know there was no making it better for you, no matter how much I wanted to.”

  Gemma toyed with the edges of the stack of papers. “See, this does make it better. What didn’t make it better was having my choices taken away. And not just by my dad, but by you, too.”

  He blew out a long breath, moving closer, until he was just a foot away. This close, she could see the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of strain in his face. “I know.” He nodded tightly, his jaw set. “And I’m sorry. It’s no excuse, but I’ve got a lifetime of experience taking on other people’s problems. It’s a hard habit to break. But you didn’t need me to step in and solve your problems, and I was wrong to try.”

  She nodded, but said nothing, just absorbing. Yes, he was wrong, but he was also so damned big hearted and caring. A huge part of him was still that overwhelmed twelve-year-old kid, desperately trying to take care of everybody he loved. That kid would probably always lurk inside of him.

  “What about this?” She drummed her fingers against the drawings.

  “It’s just a building. I’ll build one somewhere else.” This wasn’t just a development plan. This was his triumph over his shitty uncle’s attempt at sabotage. And he’d given it up without a moment’s hesitation to try to get her bar back. That counted for something. It counted for a hell of a lot, really. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he continued. “What matters is that you hang on to what’s important to you, that you get the life you want.” He hesitated, eyes dropping to the floor. “Even if I’m not in it anymore.”

  She didn’t think. She just reached for his face, pulled him in close, and kissed him. After a moment of startled stillness, his hands settled on her hips and he kissed her back.

  “Sorry,” she murmured when they broke apart. “I seem to do that a lot around you.”

  “I’m still not complaining,” he said.

  “I don’t like my life without you in it.”

  His face creased up with emotion and his fingers curled tightly into her hips. “I hate my life without you. I always have.”

  “You have to let me handle things myself. I’m not breakable.”

  He nodded. “I know. I never thought you were.”

  “And you’d better not throw these out.” She reached out and tapped the stack of drawings. “You’re going to need them.” When he shook his head and frowned in confusion, she leaned up and kissed him again, this time a little slower and softer. “The bar is staying closed and the building is yours,” she whispered against his mouth.

  He pulled away in shock. “Gem, no. Carlos—”

  “Yeah, Kendra worked it out with Carlos. We could have kept it going, in some form. And I appreciate what you did to make that happen. But in the past few days, I realized something. I don’t want to keep it going anymore. I’m ready to see what comes next.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She let out a watery huff of laughter. When had she started crying again? “No? Yes? It was a hard decision to make. It’s still hard. I think I’m going to burst into tears about a million more times before it’s all out of my system. But...” She turned her head to look over his plans for what would stand here, and imagined the people moving in, the new families putting down roots in the spot where hers had flourished for so many years. “Knowing that this is what will be here instead...it does make it easier. You weren’t wrong about that.”

  “I’ll make it the best it can possibly be, for your sake.”

  “Just make it yours and I know it’ll be good.”

  “I’m sorry about what I said.”

  She looked up at him in confusion.

  “When we fought. I implied you were better than all this, as if there’s something wrong with this.”

  “No, I know what you meant. At the time, I didn’t want to know. But I do now. And you were right. Not...” After a pause, she shook her head. “Not that I’m better than this, but there’s more out there for me. Honestly, I was too afraid to admit it, because if I admitted there was something I wanted, then I’d have to go for it.”

  Brendan hiked an eyebrow. “And? What is it you want?” It was a tiny moment of levity, but it sparked something warm and hopeful in her chest.

  “I’m going to culinary school. I want to be a caterer.” Every time she said it, it felt more real, more like a concrete plan and less like some crazy daydream.

  Brendan’s grin was as wide as the world. “Gem, that’s...it’s fucking fantastic. Really.”

  “For the first time, I have no idea how I’m spending the rest of my life. That’s terrifying.”

  “Also a little exciting, maybe?”

  “A lot.” She reached for his free hand with hers, until she held them both. “Because I might not be able to predict what’s coming at me, but I’m seeing a little light up there at the end of the tunnel.”

  “Really?” He moved a step closer, until his toes were nearly touching hers. “What’s up there in that light?”

  “You,” she said simply. “You are. Along with the rest of my future.”

  Brendan’s hopeful smile was almost painful to see. “You see me in your future?”

  She nodded through encroaching tears. “In my past and in my future, for as long as you want to be there.”

  In a flash, he’d untangled their fingers and taken her face in his hands, pressing his lips to hers, so gentle and hungry all at the same time. It was a kiss she could get lost in, feast on. For the rest of her days, she’d never get tired of this kiss.

  “I gotta warn you, Gemma,” he murmured, pulling back and pressing his forehead to hers. “I think I can see forever.”

  “Forever sounds pretty good to me. See, I’m in love with you, so forever sounds just about perfect.”

&nb
sp; Epilogue

  “Sorry, guys, the taps are already disconnected. It’s bottles only. And all I have left is Molson’s,” Dad said, handing a couple of cold bottles across the bar to Dennis and Frank.

  “Ah, hell. Molson’s?” Frank moaned. “I was hoping for one last draft, for old times’ sake.”

  “This’ll do, though. Thanks, John.” Dennis tapped his bottle against Frank’s and the two of them took a drink.

  It had been a few weeks since the fire that closed the bar. When Dad told her Dennis had called asking about their future, Gemma suggested that they open back up for one night, just to give folks a chance to come say goodbye. Honestly, she’d figured it would just be their immediate family and Dennis and Frank. One final toast before they turned off the lights for the last time.

  But word had spread, and from the minute they’d opened the doors, people had streamed in. Joe brought a platter of subs from Sal’s. Pat Russo brought down a stack of pizzas. Maria DiPaola brought boxes of cookies. Amen brought trays of pita and hummus. Mrs. Kim had brought down armfuls of day-old flower arrangements. Suddenly, what was supposed to be a quiet goodbye had turned into an all-night party. Family, friends, neighbors...everybody had turned out to send off Romano’s Bar.

  Already it looked different in here, partly because the big mirror behind the bar was gone, baring the brick wall underneath. Brendan had had it removed for her. Currently it was wrapped in tarps in the basement of the house. But one day? Gemma was going to hang it in the front office of her catering company. That wasn’t a dream; it was a plan.

  “It’s the end of an era,” she heard Willie Fortman say mournfully to her cousin Paulie. They’d heard that one all night, along with “It’s not like it used to be around here.”

  But Gemma refused to be sad about that. No, it wasn’t like it used to be, and she was going to miss the old days. They all would. But there was no way they could live in the past. Change was coming no matter what, so best to face it on your own terms.

  Jess came over to lean on the bar. “If nobody wants it, I think I’ll take the Michelob sign in the window.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Livie asked, wrinkling her nose. She and Nick had flown back home for the weekend, so they could be here for this, too.

  “Hang it in Alex’s office. He’ll be appalled.”

  “I heard that.” The man himself came up behind Jess and dropped his arm across her shoulders. “A neon beer sign isn’t exactly my taste,” he said, eyeing the sign suspiciously. “But it’s part of your history, Jess. You should keep it.”

  “I took the mirror,” Gemma pointed out. “Dennis and Frank are splitting the bar stools. And Dad’s taking the taps.”

  “What for, Dad?” Livie asked.

  John Romano shrugged. “There’s a finished basement in the house we’re looking at.”

  Teresa came up next to him, slipping an arm around his waist. “We’re thinking of installing a little home bar down there. Put up a flat screen, get some comfy chairs...make it into a man cave.”

  “So the Superbowl’s at your place this year, John?” Nick asked.

  “Sure, why not? We’ll start a new tradition.”

  “Traditions are good,” Gemma said. “It’s about time we started some new ones.”

  “So when’s the big move, Frank?” John asked.

  “As soon as I close on the house, we’re heading down to Vero.”

  The mysterious Veronica had shown up in the flesh tonight, and what flesh it was. Her skin had the burnished bronze of a dedicated sun worshiper, set off to even greater contrast by her bleached platinum-blond hair. She was across the bar, chatting with Uncle Richie and Mariel Kemper, towering over them both in four-inch heels, a leopard print miniskirt, and a hot pink, very tight shirt. Richie and Mariel looked a little shell-shocked, because Veronica had one of those huge personalities that sort of hit you square in the face. But Gemma had to admit, the affection between her and Frank seemed genuine. She hoped they made a real go of it down there in Vero Beach.

  Dennis shook his head in wonder. “Gonna miss you, man.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re not even gonna be here!”

  They all looked at Dennis in question, and he shrugged awkwardly. “Moving to Toms River with my daughter. She found a little place near them.”

  “Dennis, that’s great,” Gemma said, sincerely meaning it. Dennis needed to be closer to his family, to be there as his grandkids grew up. She wondered how long his daughter would be able to hold out before she invited her dad and the widow Marjory to dinner on the same night.

  “Glad to hear that, Dennis.” John reached across the bar and shook his hand.

  “Brendan and Dan seem to be really hitting it off,” Livie observed.

  Across the bar, tucked into a corner behind her cousins Amber and Nicole, Brendan and Dan Drake were deep in conversation. Gemma’s heart gave a silly little pulse of happiness as she watched Brendan.

  “He looks like he’s going all George Bailey again,” she sighed. He was so hot when he went off on one of his impassioned rants about affordable housing. She swooned every time.

  Jess elbowed Alex. “Has your dad ever considered investing in middle-class housing? Because it looks like that might be in his future.”

  “Diversification is good, and Dad knows a solid plan when he sees one,” Alex said.

  “We’re going to turn your dad into a philanthropist yet.” Jess grinned up at him.

  Kendra approached the bar, busily typing on her phone. “You guys still going to be here in an hour? Mikey wants to come by when he gets off his shift at the station.”

  Gemma looked around at the crowd. No one seemed to be in any hurry to leave. “Tell your brother he’d better get his ass over here. And tell him to bring Christopher, too.”

  “Oh, he’s coming,” she said, checking her texts. “So’s Nathan and Tony. Jimmy, too. Pretty much everybody.” She pocketed her phone. “So, when do classes start?”

  “May fifteenth. And I’ll be full-time for nine months. Then I’ll do an internship somewhere.” Every time she thought about it, her stomach erupted in butterflies, but they were the good kind, nerves and anticipation, not dread and fear. She was doing it—cooking school.

  “I’m so proud of you, Gem,” Livie said.

  “We all are,” Jess chimed in.

  “Thanks, guys.” A couple of weeks ago, she’d have immediately protested that she was probably going to fail, that she was too old, too minor league, to succeed at this. But she was doing her best to turn off that destructive little voice in her head. This was her big chance, and she wasn’t going to defeat herself before she’d even started. She wanted it too much.

  “She’s going to be amazing,” Brendan said, appearing at her side and draping his arm across her shoulders.

  “And very busy,” Kendra added.

  She had two more dinner parties lined up this summer. Experience was good, right? At least, that’s what she was telling herself. And the more contacts she made now, the better positioned she’d be when she eventually launched her own company.

  “Between school, catering, and finishing the kitchen, you’re going to be swamped,” Brendan said.

  She hadn’t meant to start tearing the house apart, she really hadn’t. But in those early days after the bar closed, after she’d sent in the first payment for her culinary classes, she was left home alone with too much time on her hands, full of optimism and energy, and ready for change. And suddenly that tired old harvest gold linoleum in the kitchen was too much to bear. When Brendan had stopped by hours later, he’d found her dirty and sweaty, and the kitchen floor stripped down to the original wood.

  The wallpaper in the downstairs rooms went next. Brendan helped with that one, spending the weekend shirtless and sweating, steaming it off in great, long strips. Gemma had been g
rateful for his help for more than one reason.

  Brendan was spending an awful lot of time with her in the house. They’d finally christened her bedroom, although his bed was still more comfortable. So maybe they’d move his bed to her place. The way he listened to her ideas for fixing up the house, suggesting upgrades she could make, or period-appropriate fixtures she could install, she suspected he could see himself maybe living there one day soon. Which was good, because Gemma could see him living there, too. Maybe with his mom. After all, they had plenty of room, and family was family. And she was very much hoping that they’d be part of the same family before too much longer.

  But that was all in the future, a future she was no longer afraid to face. Tonight was about honoring the past.

  “Dad,” Gemma said quietly, reaching out to touch his hand. “You ready?”

  He looked to Teresa apprehensively, and she gave him an encouraging smile. “You can do it, John.”

  When they’d discussed this, Dad had thought he’d be making this speech to family and a couple of friends. Now the bar was packed with dozens and dozens of people. But it was still the right thing to do, maybe now more than ever.

  Gemma tapped the side of her beer bottle against the brass rail to get everybody’s attention. Gradually the hum of voices subsided, and everyone turned to look. Nick had flipped a crate over behind the bar, and now Dad climbed up on it, so he stood head and shoulders above the crowd.

  He cleared his throat, running the palm of his hand across the back of his neck. Gemma felt such a rush of love for him, she didn’t know what to do with it all. She was lucky, so very lucky, to have this man for her father, and these strong, amazing women for her sisters. With them at her back, she felt like she could accomplish anything.

  “I want to thank you all for coming tonight,” Dad began. “It means more to me and the girls than I can say. As you know, this place has been in the Romano family since 1934.” He motioned to an old black-and-white photograph propped up on the bar, Great-Grandpa Romano out in front on the sidewalk, taken the year the bar opened. “Prohibition ended and Grandpa Angelo knew an opportunity when he saw one. He sank his life savings into this place. And it’s been good to us. Four generations of Romanos have stood behind this bar. Countless generations of your families have come through that door and sat on the other side.”