The Key She Could Never Give Me Chapter 08

The Key She Could Never Give Me Chapter 08

On the day the Westbridge location opened, the line stretched out the door.

Miles Carter had been transferred in to help with the opening.

He stood at the pickup counter, checking orders and calling out numbers.

“Mr. Mercer, order twenty-seven is ready!

I came out of the kitchen and swept a glance across the front of house.

“Don’t stack the delivery orders at the pickup counter.”

“Move them to the right.”

“And pull the sampling table back another foot and a half.”

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“Don’t block the line.”

My coworkers immediately got to it.

When the grand opening started, a company executive stepped up front and took the microphone.

“From site selection to product adjustments to building the team, Blake has been the key person behind this location.”

Applause broke out.

I stood on the stage.

For once, I wasn’t standing behind anyone.

The executive continued.

“He’s proven something.”

“Someone who really knows how to run a restaurant won’t stay in the background forever.”

Someone in the crowd called out with a laugh,

“Mr. Mercer, get in the picture!”

I was pushed into the middle…

The moment the lights came on, I suddenly thought back to years ago, when Sloane Bennett

opened her first restaurant.

I’d spent that entire day in the kitchen washing dishes.

I wasn’t in the group photo.

But today, my name was on the poster.

Sloane never came inside.

Later, one of my coworkers told me she’d stood across the street with a bouquet in her arms.

She watched for a long time.

Then she left.

“Maybe she saw how busy you were.”

“She probably didn’t want to interrupt.””

I just smiled and went back to checking the afternoon order volume.

There were already plenty of people around me now.

Someone handed me water.

Someone kept the crowd from pressing too close.

Someone pulled me over for photos.

And when I frowned from exhaustion, someone else said,

“Take five.”

“I’ve got the rest.”

I didn’t need to be anyone’s favorite anymore to know I mattered.

Once the Westbridge location was running smoothly, the company started preparing to involve me in a bigger regional expansion.

Director Claire Donovan pushed a contract across the desk toward me.

“It’s a bigger role.”

“And a lot more responsibility.”

She looked at me.

“You’ve got a week to think about it.”

I didn’t sign right away.

After work that day, I went back to the old street where Sloane and I used to run the food truck.

The night market was still there.

But most of the familiar faces were gone.

The coffee vendor didn’t know me.

The building where our basement apartment had been was surrounded by construction

fencing.

I stood by the curb.

There was a long line at the food truck now.

The whole street was packed and lively.

Back then, Sloane and I used to count our money here after closing up.

When business was bad, we’d spread out every last coin and count them one by one.

If we worked too late, we’d go back to the basement apartment and eat discounted bread from the grocery store.

She’d split the only slice of ham with me.

“Blake, once we have money…”

“We’re buying a place of our own.”

I believed her for a long time.

So long that every time she said, “Just wait a little longer,” I convinced myself it would be the

tast time.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

I turned around.

Sloane was standing there.

She was holding a photo album she’d had rebound.

“I figured you’d come back here,” she said.

I didn’t answer.

She held the album out to me.

“It’s not the wedding suit catalog.”

“They’re photos from all these years.”

I took it and opened the cover.

The first photo was from our food truck days.

I was bent over, organizing ingredients.

She stood beside me taking payments.

Then came our first restaurant opening, the two of us painting the walls, and me falling asleep on the steps from exhaustion.

In so many of the photos, I wasn’t the one out front.

I was always somewhere in the background, working.

Sloane spoke quietly.

“Those five years were real.”

“I did love you.”

“And I really did think we’d get married.”

She paused.

For once, it sounded like she’d stopped trying to defend herself.

“Every time someone came to me for help, I told myself you’d understand.”

“That you’d stay.”

“That you wouldn’t leave.”

Her voice started to catch.

“It wasn’t that I never chose.”

“I did.”

“Every time, I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“And I still chose to let you be the one who got hurt.”

I looked down at the album.

After a long while, I pulled out a few photos from the early days of the business.

Then I closed the rest and handed it back to her

“You keep these.”

She didn’t take it.

“You don’t even want the photos?”

I looked at the cover and spoke quietly.

“It’s not that I don’t want the past.”

“I just don’t want our past to soften what you did.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Is there really no way for us to start over?”

I slipped the photos into my bag and looked at her.

“I’ve already forgiven the part of me that kept waiting for you.”

She froze.

Then I said,

“But I’m not going back.”

“I’m not going to keep loving someone who always made me wait.”

With that, I turned and walked toward the end of the street.

After I’d gone a long way, I still looked back once.

Sloane was standing in the same spot, holding the album against her chest.

People moved around her.

The lights were bright.

But she just stood there.