I took the first bite, allowing the comforting flavors to hit me full-on. I sighed. "How could Tara give this up? You did cook for her occasionally, didn't you?" While I knew Bo hadn't lived with Tara, preferring to wait until after marriage for intimate relations, I also knew he couldn't resist cooking for those he loved.
Bo, who had already taken three bites to my one, stared at his plate. "Of course. Sometimes she stayed late and I'd bring her dinner."
I wanted to ask Bo all kinds of questions, but it was clear he was still unwilling to share much information. How would Auntie A approach this conversation with him?
She'd talk about herself, offering stories from her past to prod him into talking.
"You know how Jake ran around on me," I started.
Bo's head tilted up and his eyes met mine. Eyes that reflected a thorough disapproval of his wayward ex brother-in-law. His one-word response reflected it, too. "Yes?"
"I asked myself a thousand times if it was something I'd done wrong. Maybe I'd been lazy about cooking and ordered too much take-out. Maybe I hadn't been as supportive as I should've been. Maybe I'd let myself go a little."
Bo gave a fierce shake of his head. "No way, sis. It was nothing you did. Guys like that are jerks from the get-go; it just takes a while for it to become apparent."
"I agree," I continued. "That's the conclusion I finally came to, that it was nothing I'd done." I stood and walked over to the sink, putting water in the kettle so I could give Bo some space. "It's probably the same in your case, you know, with Tara. It wasn't anything you did, I'm sure."
My back was to him, but he didn't hesitate to respond. "It's not like that. It wasn't anything I'd done, just something she thought I'd done."
"Okay, that's clear as mud." I turned on the kettle and returned to my seat. I didn't want to see my brother's wounded look, but I forced myself to meet his eyes. I immediately wished I hadn't because his pain was so intense.
"Someone lied about me and said I was involved with her while I was engaged to Tara. This person deliberately torpedoed our engagement. I tried explaining that it was all a pack of lies to Tara, but she wouldn't listen."
"Why would she believe some random woman over you?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't clam up.
"Because the random woman produced ticket stubs and other receipts with my name on them to prove I'd been out with her on certain nights."
"What? How is that possible?"
"I haven't figured that out yet. I was just so embarrassed that this woman—a new coworker—was able to convince Tara that I'd been with her. You know I'd never cheat on a fiancée, sis. Or any girlfriend, for that matter."
"Of course not. It's ridiculous."
"I guess it's just a woman scorned and all that. I couldn't fight the accusations, and it got so awkward working closely with Tara that I decided to pull up stakes and head home."
Coal, who had snuggled into his pillow, lifted his head for a moment to offer a loud whine, then returned to his resting position.
Bo grinned. "Well, the dog's on my side, so I feel better."
"You know I'm on your side, too. Always."
Bo polished off his sandwich and dusted the crumbs from his hands. "Hey, let's you and I get out tonight. We've hardly done anything while we were setting up Barks & Beans, but they're having a chamber orchestra on the lawn outside Carnegie Hall at seven—Bach, I think. Didn't you used to like Bach?"
I enjoyed a well-played harpsichord as much as the next girl, and the historic Lewisburg Carnegie Hall building was a gorgeous spot. Although it was doubtful they'd move a harpsichord onto the lawn.
"Sounds like a plan." I glanced at the clock as I stacked our plates in the sink. "We'd better get back to work," I said.
As if he understood English, Coal stood, stretched, and walked to my side, pushing against me for a final pet.
"How do you do that?" Bo asked, opening the door for me. "It's like you're communicating with him somehow."
I patted Coal's head, then told him to go sit on his pillow. He obediently marched off that direction. "I don't know, but dogs aren't stupid. They pick up on body language, tone of voice, all that."
Bo clapped a hand on my shoulder. "I'm glad we have you at the cafe, sis. You're perfect for this job. And I'm glad you've found a doggie friend."
Though his words were cheery, his tone was despondent. I wished I could erase everything that had happened with Tara. I wasn't sure when my brother was going to attempt dating again, but I had a feeling it wouldn't be anytime soon.
The concert was relaxing, even without a harpsichord. When intermission came, a tall man with black-framed glasses and a devilishly strong cleft chin strode toward us. The tips of his tousled brown hair touched the jaunty scarf he had twisted around his Oxford collar, and he'd topped this look off with a tweed jacket. The overall effect was one of bookish masculinity.
My brother pushed up out of the lawn chair and reached out to shake the man's hand. "Dylan! Good to see you." He turned and gestured to me. "And this is my sister, Macy. She liked those prints you chose for the cafe."
I stood. "Oh, this is the art gallery owner you were telling me about?"
The man, who smelled a little like woodsmoke, gave a slight nod as he leaned my way and nodded. "Yes, I'm Dylan Butler—my art gallery is called The Discerning Palette. I'm glad you liked those prints."
"Well, if left to my own devices, I wouldn't have picked Redon prints for that space." Noting his startled look and realizing how rude I'd sounded, I placed a hand on his arm and rushed to continue. "But I'm so glad you did! Somehow they pull out muted colors in the interior and they add a touch of whimsy, which is perfect for a doggie cafe."
Dylan's raised eyebrows returned to normal and his voice held a note of appreciation. "You know your artwork."
"I minored in art history in college," I said. "It hasn't really come in useful, though. I have no artistic skills of my own. I just like to admire beautiful things."
"What did you major in?" he asked, stepping closer as the orchestra began to warm up.
"Broadcast journalism," I said, somewhat under my breath.
The music started and Dylan gave me a look I couldn't quite decipher before he whispered goodbye and headed back to his seat. Maybe he wondered how I wound up working at a doggie cafe instead of being an anchorwoman on the news. Shoot, it was a question I'd asked myself often enough.
The bitter truth was that I'd had a bit of a breakdown after college. It was like the tragedy of my parents' early deaths by a stupid, random flood finally hit me in one swelling blow. The breakdown derailed my confidence...and probably left me wide open to the eventual advances of one Jake Hollings.
I glanced over at Bo, who was gazing off into the distance as the music wafted around us. We were like orphaned Lost Boys, with no parents to tell us which people would prove dangerous to our psyches or which paths we should avoid.
Barks & Beans was a grand experiment for both of us, and it simply had to work. Not because of the monetary investment Bo had made—he'd assured me he didn't lack for money after selling his Coffee Mass shares. No, it needed to work because neither of us could return to the lives we'd had before. We needed to blaze a new trail and follow it without looking back.