Chapter Fifteen

Making a clean break was pretty damn hard when you left your wallet at someone’s house. Mitchell stood on Hannah’s doorstep, waiting for her to answer the bell. Her comments this morning on the group chat had been cordial, and she’d found his wallet on the floor below where his coat had been, but it didn’t mean he wanted to be here so soon after leaving her house.

Hannah opened the door and gave him a neutral smile, waving his wallet. “Here you go.” She paused, maybe considering whether to just shut the door in his face. “You want to come in for a bit? I just made some coffee.”

“Sure, maybe just for a minute.” He didn’t want to stay long, but seeing her in the doorway like this, he had really missed her.

Daylight made everything seem harsh, the events from the night before too fresh for him to deal with. He followed her to the kitchen, where she was already pouring him a cup.

“Thanks.” He stirred creamer into his coffee, then looked over at the kitchen table, which was strewn with papers. “Mind if I sit here?”

She was already headed out of the kitchen. “Sure. I left my phone upstairs. Let me grab it.”

These papers looked important. Mitchell started stacking them up to move them aside so he didn’t accidentally spill coffee on them or something. There was Hannah’s nice handwriting again. Ben’s was chicken scratch, and his was utilitarian print, but Hannah wrote in scrolling loops and swirls. Even her numbers were beautiful. He absentmindedly perused a sheet out on top, looking at the patterns and figures. Oh, wait. This was a budget sheet for next year, with months sketched out along the side. The pluses and minuses, the labeled amounts—rent, loan payment, vendor bills with a bunch of companies listed—these were her expenses, and then her income, a much smaller amount. He took it all in within a moment, not even needing to read much more closely, and quickly put the paper aside and stacked a few other documents on top of it. He shouldn’t look at that. He shouldn’t have seen it at all. He should forget what it was, the way her bills were so much greater than her income, the numbers carefully inked in red with a terrifying figure. Maybe he had flopped his numbers again. He took another look at the sheet, reading it carefully, making sure he wasn’t switching figures. Unfortunately, no, he had been correct. He put the document back under the others.

Hannah wasn’t making enough money, or at least, she wasn’t going to be making enough money next year. Shit. Was she in the red now? How long had it gone on like this? How was she staying in business? Her net sales were strong, but her rent was astronomical.

Now that he had started looking, he couldn’t stop, all the papers jumping into his vision. Here, a financial adviser’s name on letterhead. Over there, a series of promissory notes from the bank. He glanced at the figures again. She was actually pretty close to breaking even, regardless of that crazy rent. If she had a loan, she could probably turn that around.

“Sorry about that.” Hannah reappeared, carrying her phone, just as Mitchell had set the papers back down. “My mom’s supposed to be calling this morning, and she’ll give me so much shit if I don’t pick up.”

“You close with your parents?” Anything not to talk about the current subject and the papers he had just seen.

“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged. “Liberal hippies up in Burlington. I love ’em. A little overbearing at times, but they want what’s best for me. How’s the coffee?”

“Good, good.” He looked back down into his mug.

Hannah sipped, holding the mug in one hand while she pushed a few tresses of hair out of her face. All at once, she seemed to notice the state of the table. “Oh god, this is all still out.” Grimacing, she swept all the loose papers toward her, piling them messily on the other side of the table. “Sorry about that.”

“I said I didn’t mind.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know what I was asking you not to mind.” She sighed. “This is a fucking mess. Nobody should have to deal with that.”

“Yeah, so.” He had to bring it up. She was on the verge of losing her business, from the looks of things. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine.” The words came out automatically, like a reflex. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about last night. It’s okay.”

“No, not that.” He hesitated. He was crossing a line, but he couldn’t just let it be. “Did you get all the money you needed from the festival?”

Hannah looked at him, her eyebrows drawing together, and then all at once seemed to realize what was happening.

“Oh my god.” She looked around at the papers. “You went through my shit. What the fuck, Mitchell?”

“I didn’t mean to see anything! I was just moving papers out of the way. I saw your budget sheet. I couldn’t help it.” He spread his arms out to the side. “It was an honest mistake.”

“Well, it isn’t your business, so forget what you saw.” Hannah’s nostrils flared as she got to her feet, folding her arms. “I’m fine. Things are fine. And even if they weren’t, it’s not your business.”

“Maybe I can help.” He couldn’t leave her like this, not when he had the means to support her. “I’ll talk to Ben. We can give you a loan, or a gift, or something. We’ve had a good year. Really, we’d do it with any of our friends.”

Her jaw looked so tight, she was practically shaking. “You should go.”

What the hell? On the heels of confusion, anger rushed in. “You’re turning down help? You’re just going to let your business collapse?”

“It’s my business, Mitchell!” She was shouting now, trembling, and he wanted to reach out and comfort her, but she was already pressuring him toward the door.

He left his coffee on the table, backing away. “Okay, okay.” What the hell was up with her? Why didn’t she want his help? Did she really hate him that much?

“How could you think I would say yes to this? I barely know you.”

“Barely know me?” Rage and hurt stabbed at him. “I thought we’ve moved pretty far beyond ‘barely knowing’ each other.”

“Fucking doesn’t count. It doesn’t mean anything when we fuck. And you don’t even want to fuck me anymore.”

Mitchell pulled back, her words cutting into him like a physical pain.

Hannah crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “I’m not your girlfriend and I’m not your pet project and I’m not your charity case.”

Jesus. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this. He’d thought they were close. Months of flirting at the restaurant, that first date and the way he’d held her afterward, their threesome, evenings hanging out at the apartment, the Fall Festival, all the in-between times and laughter and friendship.

How could she ignore all that?

“I thought I was being helpful.”

“Well, you’re not. Thanks.” She spit the last word out like a curse.

Throat tight, he walked out and slammed the door behind him.

…

Ben was down in their brewery in the basement of the restaurant when footsteps echoed on the stairs. Mitchell usually walked more lightly, so hearing him thundering down, it was obvious something was wrong.

Ben turned in his swivel chair and looked up from his work, waiting with hands folded for Mitchell’s arrival. Mitchell was already scowling as he entered the room.

“What’s up with you? Get your wallet back?”

Mitchell held it up, then put it back in his pants pocket. “It’s Hannah.”

“What about Hannah?”

Mitchell hesitated, and Ben was instantly on his guard. Whatever Mitchell had done, it wasn’t good, or he wouldn’t be giving his guilt face.

Mitchell rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I was trying to help.”

“Oh god.”

“Hey.” Mitchell lifted his chin indignantly. “She had financial paperwork out on the table. Her business is headed deep into the red, and it looks like the festival didn’t help her that much at all. I don’t know how she’s staying in business. Her rent is completely ridiculous.”

Ben frowned. It made sense that she had to be paying too much with a storefront on Main Street. “Well, shit, that sucks. No wonder she never wants to talk money.”

Mitchell looked over to the side, toward the large, gleaming brewing tanks. He started to pace, walking back and forth across the floor in front of Ben, his black chef shoes squeaking when he turned to make another lap.

“I just don’t understand it. She knows me. She knows I care about her and I don’t want anything bad for her. I don’t get why she won’t just let me help.”

“How did you try to help?” This could be really bad.

Mitchell paused, hands in his pockets. “I offered her to give her the money.”

Aww, shit. “You didn’t.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that.” Mitchell got a little louder. “What am I supposed to do, sit and let her go out of business? I care about her! And I know you do, too.”

Too bad he didn’t have a beer.

“Clearly, I don’t want her to go out of business. But nobody wants to feel like they’re getting charity. It’s embarrassing.” How was he supposed to communicate this to Mitchell? “She’s got pride.”

“Well, she shouldn’t!” Mitchell stopped and threw his arms up. “She’s going to let herself go bankrupt because of pride.”

“People have done more for less.”

Mitchell sighed, the sigh of someone who had just given up. “I don’t get it. I thought I was approaching this from a perfectly logical standpoint. But she acted like I insulted her.”

“You did insult her!” Ben tried not to explode, suddenly torn between his embarrassment on Hannah’s behalf and his irritation with Mitchell. “You told her she needs your charity, like she isn’t good enough to do it herself.”

“I don’t understand why someone isn’t going to confront the complete truth of their situation and do whatever they can do to get out of it. You have a friend who wants to help, you swallow your pride and you take the help.” Mitchell slowed his pacing until he was really just wandering back and forth in ever-dissolving lines, soon making loops and circles in the open space, meandering as he spoke. “She should have been grateful. I didn’t have to offer anything.”

“You’re really caught up on this, aren’t you?”

Mitchell looked over. “Caught up on what?”

“Being the one who saves the day. Having her be grateful to you.”

Mitchell flushed. There it was, that savior complex, the one that was going to get him in trouble over and over again. He mumbled something and turned his face away.

Ben got up. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mitchell sighed. “I said, I don’t care if she’s grateful to me.”

That was a crock of shit, so much that Ben didn’t even need to argue with him. They both knew it.

“Hey,” he said gently, trying to get Mitchell’s attention.

Mitchell looked up at him, then away again, his expression sour. “What?”

“You remember back when we decided to open the pub?”

Mitchell nodded.

Ben swallowed, because this was the worst part. “You remember how I had, like no money, because I blew it all at the casino, and was about to lose my apartment? You remember that?”

“Of course I remember that. I don’t get what that has to do with anything.” Mitchell shifted in discomfort, probably unsure why Ben was bringing this up now.

“You told me you wanted to go into business with me and open a pub. Move together to western Massachusetts. You said you needed my help.”

“I did need your help.”

“Bullshit.” Ben pointed at him, because dammit, Mitchell needed to understand this. “You had more than enough money to open the pub on your own. You could have paid for everything and hired me on to work on the beer. But instead you waited until I could buy in to it. We even signed a contract to make sure we were each putting in equal shares. Equal shares, equal responsibility.”

“Well, yeah.” Mitchell shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing. “I didn’t want you to feel like you owed me anything. We wouldn’t have been equals.” He paused, and then his face fell. “Oh.”

“Hannah’s allowed to have her pride. She’s kept that business going for four years.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Just sit back and watch her fail?” Mitchell’s agonized expression reflected back in the steel of the tanks, distorted by the curved surface.

Ben sighed. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do. It’s her business. If she doesn’t want help, that’s her right.” He looked up at the ceiling, staring into the distance…and then focused on the ceiling itself, imagining the building above.

“Actually, I might have an idea.”