Chapter 9 - The First Right Date
Seven months after the storm, Keene & Daughter reopened with a window wide enough to catch the morning sun.
The sign had been restored rather than replaced. Hannah’s childhood ampersand remained slightly crooked. Elliot refused three offers to straighten it.
“Historic feature,” he said.
The shop was smaller. The back rooms had been reconfigured under the new property agreements, and Rowan’s revised waterfront project retained the commercial block while using more of its own yard for construction.
The plan included apartments, improved drainage, public access, and fewer luxury units than the original rendering. The numbers worked after months of revision, a different financing package, and arguments Hannah was grateful someone else understood.
Elliot’s agreements were signed. His compensation claim was settled. Independent advisers had reviewed the terms. Caleb had remained outside the negotiations as required by the board’s arrangement.
At the reopening, he arrived carrying no oversized gift.
He bought a small desk clock at its marked price and shook Elliot’s hand.
“Looks good in here.”
“It should. My daughter has developed unreasonable opinions about lighting.”
Hannah emerged from the back room carrying paper plates.
“Customers like seeing what they’re buying. Controversial, I know.”
Caleb smiled at her, and the months between them seemed suddenly full of things they had not said.
Later, while Elliot demonstrated a movement to his new apprentice, Hannah stepped outside with Caleb.
“My father says you paid the invoice before he’d finished checking his email.”
“I’ve been warned about his collections department.”
“She’s terrifying.”
“I remember.”
They stood beside the window where the crooked lettering cast shadows across the sidewalk.
Caleb looked at her carefully.
“The business agreements are complete. I’m still a shareholder in the company. I can’t pretend that history disappears.”
“I’m aware.”
“I’m also stepping out of the chief executive role this summer. That was a board decision we reached together. I’ll work on long-term operations strategy under a different reporting structure.”
She studied his face.
“How do you feel about it?”
“Bruised. Relieved. Less interesting at expensive parties.”
“A devastating loss.”
He laughed, then grew serious.
“Would you have dinner with me? As an actual date. With the whole truth available before the bread arrives.”
Hannah had imagined this moment often enough to resent how nervous it made her.
“I still have student loans.”
“I remember.”
“I like nursing. I intend to keep doing it.”
“Good.”
“My car’s window continues to have emotional difficulties.”
“I won’t offer unsolicited treatment.”
She smiled.
“Then yes.”
They went to a small Italian restaurant on the other side of town, where no one knew which table had started the trouble.
Hannah ordered garlic bread.
Caleb looked solemnly at the server.
“A meaningful development.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Hannah said.
They talked about everything they had neglected that first night. Her terrible taste in road-trip music. His inability to keep houseplants alive. The summer she spent learning to sail and discovering she preferred shore. The brother he still missed at odd moments in ordinary days.
He asked questions and stayed for the answers.
When she reached for the check, he asked how she wanted to handle it.
“You invited me. You can pay tonight. I’m choosing the next place.”
His expression warmed.
“There’s a next place?”
“Pending satisfactory performance through dessert.”
Outside, the rain had stopped. Caleb walked her to the garage without directing her toward his car.
At the Subaru, he paused.
“May I kiss you?”
“That depends. Do you have dental insurance?”
He laughed, and she kissed him before he could answer.
It was neither perfect nor cinematic. Her bag slid off her shoulder. A car alarm sounded somewhere below. They bumped noses once and tried again.
May you like
Driving home, Hannah realized she had spent an entire evening being curious about tomorrow. For months, tomorrow had meant another problem to prepare for. Now it could also mean a message she wanted, a meal she would choose, a man who had finally learned not to let silence do his explaining.
At home, she texted Marisol that the date had gone well. Her friend replied with six exclamation marks and a reminder to sleep. Hannah set an alarm, plugged in her phone, and obeyed. Romance, she decided, could survive until she had recovered from a perfectly normal workweek.
