and had burned a lot of bridges in town. But he’d recently started trying to get his life back on track. “Thanks,” Law said, relieved she wasn’t mocking him but also a little embarrassed that he’d just laid his ambition out so plainly for her to see. There was no guaranteeing she wouldn’t mock it later.
“Well, Benjamin, as much as it pains me to say this, I think your plan sounds excellent.”
“I know it’s a big leap,” he went on. “I’ll need a staff, a chef, and I’ve been thinking it’s finally time to get a manager for the bar. I need to free up some time to work on the plans, and once the restaurant is open, I’ll have to go back and forth between the two spots. I mean, I love the bar. I grew up there. In a lot of ways, it will always be home. But I don’t want to stand behind it slinging drinks until I die. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he added quickly. “My grandpa and dad had good lives. It’s just that…” Ugh, he was rambling again.
“You have ambition. That’s allowed, you know.”
Yes. That was well put. Not that he needed her blessing.
“It’s hard to be the inheritor of a legacy,” she added.
She knew. Well, of course she knew. “Does your dad want you to take over the flower shop?”
She was silent for a long time, her lips pressed together like she was angry. The rest of her body didn’t telegraph “angry,” though. The way she was slumped against the wall suggested defeat. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, quavery. “No. He’s been remarkably supportive of both me and my brother. I think he’d be thrilled if one of us wanted the store, but he would never push it. I mean, all he ever wanted to do was flowers, and there was no precedent for that in his family. And let’s face it, not a lot of little boys grow up wanting to become florists, so he had to work pretty hard to get what he wanted. So he respects that we have different dreams. I’m just—”
“What?”
“I’m starting to wonder if I should just hang it up and take over the store.”
Everything started shifting in his mind. Her comment about needing Much Ado about Nothing to do well. How upset she’d been the other night at his place, before Holden called. Her competitiveness when it came to the grant.
“But my dad is selling and retiring,” she went on, “so if I want to do that, I gotta make the call now.”
Wait. What? He’d heard that Mr. Mehta was retiring, but it would never in a million years have occurred to him that Maya might want to run the store.
She turned her head away from him, but he didn’t miss the hand that darted up and swiped at something on her face. Holy crap. Was that a tear? What was happening here?
He had no idea what to say. Maya was normally so fearless. His first impulse was to say, No, no, you shouldn’t take over the flower shop! She was so clearly meant to be doing what she was doing—murder mysteries and Shakespeare and teaching ten-year-old campers stage combat on the town green. But he checked himself. He didn’t know what kind of pressure she was facing, and she didn’t need empty platitudes. If she was seriously thinking of taking over the store, she must have her reasons. “Well, A Rose by Any Other Name. Who doesn’t love roses?”
He had been trying to lighten the mood. It must have worked, because she did one of her little eye rolls. And he must have imagined that tear before, because now she looked fine. “A wise man once said every rose has its thorn,” she said.
“I think that was Bret Michaels from Poison.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed. One of the best things about Maya was how funny she was.
“The thing is,” she said, turning thoughtful, “I do like flowers. And I’m actually good at running the store.”
He’d thought their jokey exchange would signal an end to the conversation, but clearly she wanted to keep talking. That was a little unprecedented, but he was here for it. “You say ‘actually’ like the default position would be that you’re not good at it. You’re the one who had the idea for me to start selling flowers at the bar. Your dad and I worked out a deal on that, by the way.” She hadn’t been around