and research on theater-dinner packages in other places.
Maya: Wow, you aren’t kidding around here. Don’t you think we’re a slam dunk to get this thing?
Ben: Probably, but this is research we’re going to have to do anyway, once we have the money, so we might as well do it now and use it to bolster the application.
Maya: Right.
Not wanting him to be able to say she hadn’t pulled her weight, she’d thrown herself into tweaking her plans for next season.
Maya: I was going to go back to My Fair Lady for the musical next year, but what if it’s Chicago instead, and you do Chicago-style hot dogs or deep dish at the restaurant?
Ben: Great—plays with food tie-ins. Love it.
Maya: Or there’s always Titus Andronicus, where Titus captures the sons of his enemy, Tamora, bakes them into a pie, and feeds it to her. You know I do like to do a Shakespeare every year if I can.
Ben: Hmm. I’m going to say no on that one.
And on they went, ideas flying. But it was only ideas that were flying. Conspicuously absent were innuendo and conflict. And the more progress they made on the grant, the more she would have given for one or the other—or, ideally, both.
Maya: Where are you anyway? I haven’t seen you in the bar.
That was a legit question, right? He didn’t owe her an accounting of his whereabouts, but it was okay for her to notice his absence. In a friendly way.
Ben: Brie’s doing the heavy lifting while I work on this thing. I’ve gone to my parents’ place so I can concentrate.
That was accompanied by a picture of his computer on his lap on a Muskoka chair overlooking the lake.
So yeah, he hadn’t bailed on Maya, the grant coapplicant. But it sort of felt like he had bailed on Maya the person.
When Law arrived at his parents’ place, he sat them down and told them everything. He had to. He could hardly show up, announce his intention to stay in their guest room for a week, and spend his days hovering over spreadsheets instead of at the bar.
But more importantly, he wanted to. Not in the sense that he was looking forward to it, but in the sense that it was long overdue. And hell, he was apparently in the midst of overhauling everything else about his life, so no time like the present.
“I wondered if something like this was in the works,” his dad said after Law explained about the restaurant plans, hiring Brie, the grant—and his intention to take out a mortgage on the bar building.
“You did?”
“With the pizza, and the sandwiches, being so successful, it seems like the next logical step.”
“It does?” He was aware that he sounded like an idiot, with his astonished two-word questions, but he was just so damn shocked. “You’re not upset?”
“Why would we be upset, honey?” his mom asked.
“Because I’m mortgaging the place you guys built? That Grandpa built?”
“We took a mortgage out on the building in 1991 to raise some cash,” Mom said.
“You did?” And there he went again with the two-word questions.
“It was either that or close it,” his dad said.
“Okay, then. This is different. The bar is doing fine. It’s doing well.”
“Well, then this is a good time to expand, isn’t it?” Dad said.
“Did you think we were going to be angry about this?” His mom reached across the kitchen table and patted his hand.
Yes. “I don’t know.” He turned to his dad. “You’re always talking about the legacy of the place.”
“Yeah, because I’m proud of it. I’m proud of what I did with it—keep it afloat. And I’m proud of what you’re doing with it.”
“Even if you don’t always approve of what I’m doing with it? You were skeptical about the pizza.”
“I’m not in charge anymore. I admit I have wondered at times about some of your choices, but it was never that I didn’t approve. I’m more conservative than you are, but you clearly know what you’re doing. You have an entrepreneurial streak I never did. You remind me of your grandpa that way.”
“I do?” That was a huge compliment. “But,” he said, not sure why he didn’t stop talking and take yes for an answer, “you always used to joke that the bar was your second child. You don’t care that I’m risking it?”
“It’s not that we don’t care,” his dad said. “It’s that we trust you. Because you’re our child. The bar is not our child. That was a joke—maybe