the spoonful before I ask another question. “So tell me about The Knight Cap. Your grandfather owns it and you decided to come work with him? Or take it over?”
“He lost my grams a little over a year ago; they worked here together since they were teenagers, so doing it without her was…hard. That’s what all the framed couple pictures are about on the wall opposite the booths. It’s the story of their life together, which was spent at the bar for the most part.”
I press my hand to my chest. “Did they meet there?”
“They did.” He nods, his eyes suddenly far away. “The bar has been in our family for three generations. Gramps bartended and Grams was a waitress. Fell head over heels in love with each other. Caused a big ruckus since she was a few years younger than him and her parents were hoping she’d marry up, but no one and nothing could keep them apart.” He smiles softly; it’s full of fondness and sadness. “They even dated in secret for a while. Lots of backroom and closet stories, I’m sure. Not that Gramps would ever disrespect Grams by telling any of them.”
I laugh and then sigh. “Did she get sick?”
“Uh no, she was healthy all the way to the end, thankfully. She had a heart attack and passed in her sleep.” He flips his spoon absently between his fingers.
The timer on the vanilla buttercream goes off, and I slow down the speed so I can add the sugar and vanilla. “Your poor grandpa. Was he with her?”
“Yeah. It was rough there for a bit and running this place on his own was just too much, so things kind of slipped. I was working in finance and hating it, so Gramps gave me an opportunity I couldn’t refuse.”
“Which was to bring this place back to life?” I supply.
“Yeah. He said if I could run it successfully for a year he’d loan me the money to start up my own brewery, which is something I’ve always wanted to do, but banks aren’t all that excited about giving you money for that kind of thing when you don’t have the entrepreneurial experience behind you.”
“Don’t I know it. It took me three years before the bank would give me a freaking loan for this place.”
“What’d you do before you set up shop here?”
“I had a cupcake truck.”
“Seriously?” He looks like he wants to laugh.
“Don’t knock it. I started out with tents at food festivals and then weekend market booths until eventually I had a pretty decent following. When I saved up enough I invested in a truck.”
“And you did that on your own?”
“Paul helped, actually.”
“What’s the deal with you two?” He gives me a curious look.
“He’s a friend, and he helped me get started. We worked together for almost five years.”
“And that’s all you’ve ever been? Friends?”
“Yup. We were good at being in business together, and even that had its limitations. But I learned a lot from him and he was a great mentor.”
“He never tried for more?” Ronan presses.
“Nope. Selling cupcakes out of a truck puts you in seriously close quarters with another person. He’s seen all my sides, the good, the bad and terrifying. Besides, getting in bed with a coworker or colleague is a recipe for disaster. Pun completely intended.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, can’t imagine it’s a great idea for a lot of reasons, although my gramps would likely disagree.”
“Those were different times, weren’t they?”
“Less complicated in a lot of ways, and yet more at the same time.” Ronan nods.
Twenty minutes later, I have batches of icing ready for decorating.
Ronan is practically drooling as he watches me put it in piping bags, so I get out a bunch of spoons and bowls and let him sample a bit of each as I decorate the cupcakes for dinner.
“I thought you weren’t opening up today.”
“I’m not.” I pipe chocolate mocha buttercream on the triple chocolate cupcake. “These are for my family dinner.” Although, half my family will probably make the sign of the cross at them. My mom and sisters are huge keto fans. The easy conversation shifts into that slightly awkward what-now limbo. “Do you usually spend Thanksgiving with your gramps?”
“Typically he was always here for Thanksgiving. Grams really loved the holiday and always wanted to make sure people who didn’t have family to celebrate with could go somewhere and have a nice dinner, which is why I ordered all the Cornish game hens. It’s