Trinity(13)

That day is looming. It’s closer than ever before.

I’m terrified to think of what my life is going to be like without him, so I try not to think about it at all.

I hold Pops’ hand while he sleeps, conscious of the time and my ever-present responsibilities. If he had the strength, he’d have told me to stop senselessly doting and go to work. Toss me right out of the room himself. After lingering a few more stagnant minutes, I leave. Walking past Daisy at the front desk, we exchange the same sad smile. We all know what’s coming.

Once at work, I drown my sorrows in fritter batter. The sous chefs usually prep everything, but it helps my depression when I keep my hands busy. Mainly by cooking. There’s just something therapeutic about it. And challenging and uplifting and fun. I like that it has a beginning, middle, and end, and that you have something to present after all your hard work.

I stare off into space mindlessly as I fold the ingredients together.

“Jenn?” A smooth male voice utters my name from behind. I turn with the large silver bowl in my hands.

“Shane?” Big hazel eyes and a bright smile greet me. “What are you doing here?” I scan the kitchen. “Where’s Chase?”

“Chase has a business dinner with Ty. So since I’m flying solo, I thought I would drop in and surprise you.”

“It’s definitely a surprise.”

“A good surprise?” He leans against the stainless steel counter and crosses his arms. I scan him from head to toe. His blond waves are tame and styled back neatly, his tan suit is pressed perfectly, and dress shoes are shining like new. The man standing next to me is a stark contrast to the laidback surfer on the beach the other night. So professional looking. I find it difficult to decide which version of him I like more.

“A very good surprise.” I smile genuinely for the first time today. The last forty-eight hours have been highly intense. He and Chase weren’t kidding about abducting me. After I had returned from visiting Pops and packing a change of clothes, they kept me busy in bed. The two of them have the stamina of racehorses. If I wasn’t pinned beneath one or the other, I was bent over, sandwiched, mauled, or manhandled. I’m surprised I can still walk after the punishing my pussy took.

In spite of it all, I liked spending time with both of them. I liked the carefree breakfasts in bed. The long walks along the beach at sunset and the late night talks. I liked connecting, even if it is a foreign concept. Shane was right; the three of us do have something special. Which seems crazy since we only just met.

“Since Chase is having dinner with Ty,” at the thought, I curl my lip, “I’m assuming you’re hungry, and you expect me to feed you,” I flirt.

Shane sucks on his bottom lip seductively, raking his greenish gaze over my face, down my chest, stopping at the bowl in my hands.

“I could eat.” He leans in, resting his mouth next to my ear. “Food and pussy.”

I glare over at him, concealing my smirk and the excitement that just soaked my panties. “Food I can accommodate right now. Pussy will have to wait until later.” I whisper.

“I can live with satisfying one need at a time.”

“Good. Because I can’t disappear into the stairwell tonight.”

“How disappointing,” he pouts adorably.

I flutter my eyes. Incorrigible. “Go grab a table, and I’ll bring out dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Shane saunters out of the kitchen, and I sigh like a stinkin’ love-struck fool.

“What?” I snap defensively when I realize the entire kitchen staff is staring at me.

“Jennifer’s got a boyfriend,” Slick, the line chef, mocks.

I smile conspiratorially. If they only knew. Jennifer has two.



I drop a plate of clam chowder fritters and two cups of lobster bisque on the table. Shane picked the best seat in the house. A two-top nestled in the corner of the restaurant right next to one of the large back wall windows.

“Do you have impeccable taste with everything?” I sit.

“Yes, why?” He regards me, self-assured and not arrogant. “I have a creative mind, and I search out the best and most beautiful places and things.” He aims his statement at me poignantly.

I’m unsure if that was an indirect compliment, so I let it slide right by. But somewhere deep down, very far down, I courageously hope I’m one of those beautiful places or things. Being involved with Chase and Shane is treacherous and challenging on so many levels. The most obvious obstacle is that our relationship works three ways. What is the kitchen staff going to say when they see Chase waltz in and watch us act the exact same way? I can’t care about one less than the other. Treat one differently than the other. A triad relationship isn’t exactly a social norm. But I understand in order for this to work, we’re going to have to be stronger than public criticism. And even if we do get over that hurdle, the subject of their employer and my animosity toward him will always loom over our heads. As the redevelopment moves forward and the pressure to sell becomes unbearable, will we crack under the pressure? Will being on opposing sides ultimately destroy us? I’ll be completely honest. I don’t care about getting my heart broken. I’m not some hopeless romantic who dreams about a husband (or in my current situation, two), a house, and a white picket fence. What I care about most is my home. This place. The movement within these walls defines me.

It gives me purpose.

I know who I am. A twenty-four-year-old woman with no college education who has a challenging future ahead of her. Take the Corkscrew away and I’ll be a twenty-four-year-old woman with no future. With absolutely nothing.

I can handle a lot of things, but losing this place isn’t one of them.

“This is my favorite seat in the whole house.” I encourage him with my spoon to eat some soup before it gets cold.

“I can understand why. The view is incredible.” He looks out at the sunset’s colors shimmering over the ocean. It’s a spectacular sight—bursts of orange, pink, and purples reflecting over the glassy turquoise sea. I could stare at the water for hours, mesmerized by just the curling blue current.

“Jesus, this soup is delicious. What does the chef put in here?” Shane swallows several indulgent spoonfuls.

“A little of this, a little of that,” I sing proudly.

“This is your recipe, isn’t it?”

“Guilty. I experimented for months until I got it just right.”

“It’s freaking out of this world. I can’t believe you never went to culinary school.”

I sigh as I stir the pink soup. “Maybe one day. For now, it’s YouTube videos and interrogating Edgar, the head chef, about everything he knows.”

Shane places his spoon down gently and looks thoughtfully around the room. “Jenn, I know talking about the Corkscrew is a sensitive subject with Chase and me,” he treads lightly, “but have you considered remodeling? The food is outstanding, the location is unbelievable, so why not make it a trifecta?”

I pause all movement and twist my lips into a sardonic smile. “You think I haven’t considered that? Haven’t dreamt day and night of turning this place into something more? Something better?” I finger my bangs agitatedly.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me. I just see everything you see. When Pops got sick, everything changed. I was left to care for this whole place and him. I’m not complaining. I don’t mind hard work, and I’ll gladly do it. But every penny we make goes to paying off the liens. There’s nothing left to put back in.”

“How much do you owe?” he probes carefully.

“Less now. I’ve been doubling the payments by cutting corners where I can. I think if we scrape by one more winter and have a busy summer, we should be free and clear by next fall. Then I can take out a loan and remodel. Redo everything from bathrooms to kitchen to bar.”

Shane sits across from me utterly silent, a sharp look in his green-brown eyes.

“What?” I demand.

“You’re very loyal. And passionate. And your lower lip quivers when you get upset.”

“I’m not upset. I’m determined. And I’m worried.”

“About Ty?”

“Yes.” I clutch the spoon. “He’s persistent. I feel like I’m under the gun every single second, racing against time.”

“The town wants this redevelopment, not just him. There are other factors at play.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. That’s why I am busting my butt to get this place in order. I can’t bear to see it ripped down just so another carbon copy condo can be slapped on the beachfront.” I realize what I said after the words bitterly fly out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Your work is very nice.”

“Nice?” Shane lifts his eyebrows. “Is that what you think when you’re sleeping in my bedroom or taking a shower in my bathroom? It’s just nice?”

“It depends if I’m alone or not,” I toy cheekily. This is exactly why I wanted to avoid all work -Ty -redevelopment conversation. Tensions rise way too fast, which can have our delicate situation spiraling out of control in a nanosecond.

Shane leans forward superciliously in his three-piece designer suit, which screams money and intimidation. “I’m going to have you eating those words. My enterprises are more than nice. They’re progressive, environmentally friendly, and stylishly designed to appeal to the eye.”