Just Friends(65)

“Mm-hmm. Sounds like him. Well, the suing part, not the Matthew McConaughey impression you just slipped in there.”

Declan lifts his eyebrows like they’re shoulders he’s shrugging. His actual shoulders shake with laughter as he shovels another forkful of pancake into his mouth. Only Declan could laugh while retelling the aftermath of getting hit by a car.

Randall, Declan’s father, was a stern man who’d been head of a philanthropic committee called the Cypress Grove Community Fund for decades. It was responsible for distributing money to maintain Seabrook, providing scholarships, and hosting charity galas. His role in the small community made the Renshaws a well-known and well-loved family in this tiny, beachside town, which was why he cared about Declan’s accomplishments so much. It was also why winning a lawsuit was relatively easy based on their good rapport.

He swallows his bite. “By the time we won the case, I was finally walking on my own and actively figuring out what I wanted to do with my life. So, I figured buying the house on Brickstone was a good first step. It was a smart place to hold the money, plus, I could finally get out of my childhood home and get some separation from Randall and Gwen’s good ole expectations.” He says his parents’ names dully. “Being in the house you grew up in always feels like regression for some reason.”

“Heard that.” I raise my water. Those words rang truer than the sky being blue. “And did it work?” I ask, wondering about the house across from his under my name.

“It did, actually. And, you know, I’m grateful for my parents…” He nods as he chooses his next words. “But I didn’t realize how much stress I was under the whole time I lived with them. You’d think being hit by a car would cause some sympathy, but my dad seemed more concerned with how it killed my future career instead of being grateful that I was still alive. The sympathy he was earning from his son getting hit by a car had run its course, and it was time for me to impress him again,” Declan says with a sarcastic lilt. It was the closest he veered toward anger, which was something he didn’t even show when relaying how he got hit by a car.

“Man.” I shake my head, pushing my empty plate forward. “Randall sounds like a piece of work.” I wanted to say more, but I was aware that it was still his father, and a son would always care about his father’s approval, no matter how broken the relationship. “Has he backed off a little more since then?”

“He has.” Declan wipes a hand over his mouth in thought. “Although, I feel like it’s less a result of any character growth, considering my work on the coffee shop giving him a new reason to brag.”

“At least he’s proud of you becoming manager?” I offer, shrugging.

Declan laughs with a jolt of his chin. “Right. Manager.”

“Why is that funny?” The words trickle out like a broken faucet.

“Oh.” He jerks his eyes up to mine. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I was the owner?”

“Of the coffee shop?”

“Yes, Blair.” He chuckles. The sound is light and sweet. “You didn’t know?”

I shake my head, feeling bamboozled. Which, at this point, was difficult to achieve.

“Wait, but…” I lean back. “Everyone refers to you as the manager?”

“Because I am. But I am also the proud owner.” He grins ironically, straightening up and smoothing out his shirt like that should make it more obvious.

I laugh from shock, propping my elbows onto the table between us.

“Okay, wait.” I wave my hands. “So, now you have to tell me how that happened.”

He laughs so hard that the space between his temple and cheek pinch together, and the sight makes me bite the inside of my cheek. He mirrors me and puts his elbows on the table, leaning in.

“Well, after moving into the house and starting renovations, I still had some cash from the lawsuit to start something with.” He motions with his hands like he’s outlining a blueprint on the table. “And going to college felt too painful if I couldn’t play football. So, I mapped out some of my interests and figured: ‘Okay, I really enjoy building things, but I also want to work on a team.’?” He relays it like he’s narrating his inner monologue. It’s so cute and boyish that I grin. “And then, one evening, I was strolling through downtown when I saw a for-sale sign on a run-down property. I pictured myself opening a coffee shop the second I stepped inside. So, I put an offer in, got it, and then just dove in full force and figured it out as I went. And here we are.” He smiles a soft smile that makes me go warm inside.

I sit back in the booth, convinced only Declan would be capable of being so successful without hinting at it, even the tiniest bit. I’ve been working under him all summer and he never walked around the place like the owner.

“And you love it?” I ask.

“Oh yeah. So much. I get to lead a team. I’m familiar with all the regulars now. And anytime I get some whacky idea, I can build it and add whatever I want to the shop.”

“Like the birdhouses,” I marvel.

“Exactly. Like the weird birdhouses.” He beams with pride.

“What are the metal wheels on the side of them?” I ask. I’ve been wondering since the first day I walked into Seabrook Coffee House.