Brothers of Paradise Series

“Hi,” he says.

I look down at the key to my bike lock. Spin it around my finger. “Hey.”

“I’m sorry about earlier. About that guy.”

I shake my head. “Not your fault.”

“My restaurant,” he says, “my responsibility.”

My embarrassment bubbles over. “Gosh, Parker, I’m sorry. I didn’t know the yacht club was your place now. I would never have applied if I did!”

He frowns. “Why not? I’m glad you’re back. Looked like you were doing a great job in there. Was it your first day today?”

I nod. “Yes, I haven’t been back in town long.”

“I didn’t know you were back at all,” he says. “Have you spoken to-”

“No,” I say. “We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“Ah,” Parker says. He must know about Lily and me. They’ve always been close. All the Marchand siblings had been, a tribe of their own. I’d been fiercely jealous of that once.

“Congrats on buying this place. It looks great. I heard you’ve renovated?” I say, inching toward my bike. Attack with compliments, and he might not ask me about myself. Where I’ve been, what I’ve done… why I’m back.

“Thank you,” he says. “I didn’t know you’d applied for a job here.”

“Again, sorry about that. If you want me to, I can…?” I trail off. It’s not like I can quit, not really. I desperately need this job.

Parker’s frown deepens. “I’m glad you’re back,” he says. “Jamie, we’re friends. I’d have introduced you to the place myself if I knew.”

“Oh. Thanks. But Stephen did a good job.”

“He’s a good manager,” he says. “Where are you staying?”

My hands curve around the handles of my bike. “On Greene Street.”

“Your mom’s house?”

He remembers? “Yes.”

“I can drive you. There’s space in the back for your bike.” He puts his hands in his pockets, a gesture I remember from our teenage years. But the Parker in front of me is a man grown. Some of the golden Abercrombie handsomeness has matured, settled into a face that’s familiar, and warm, and a bit weathered.

He’ll tell Lily, I think. Right after this. “Thank you, but I’d rather bike.”

“Okay.” He smiles crookedly, like he’s trying to draw my own smile out. We’d argued a lot once. About everything, but actually nothing. Mostly over the remote. He’d watch games and I’d argue with him over how stupid organized sports was. Lily would roll her eyes.

“I haven’t been back very long. It feels… kinda strange.”

“I get that,” he says. “Has the place changed?”

“Not particularly.”

He laughs a little. “No, I suppose Paradise never really does. How have you been, Jamie?”

How do you sum up a decade? “Good, but busy.”

That makes him laugh again. “You always were,” he says. “Have you managed to set the world to rights?”

God, that must be how he remembers me. Idealistic and argumentative and naive. I feel a million miles away from that person.

I’m still trying to set my own world to rights.

“Not yet,” I say. “How have you been? How’s the family?”

“They’re good, all of them. I’m an uncle now, but I’m sure you know that?”

“To little Jamie,” I say. The word almost gets lodged in my throat. Lily’s son is named after me. It had been a stupid pact we’d made, years ago. That our kids would be named after one another. Middle names, we’d said. She’d gone one step further.

Parker nods. “Yes, and Hazel.”© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“Hazel?”

“Henry’s daughter.”

“Oh.”

“She was born a year ago now.” He runs a hand over the scruff along his jaw. “Maybe a year and a half. It’s hard to keep track.”

“Your parents must be overjoyed.”

“They are,” he says dryly. “Takes the pressure off the rest of us childless bastards.”

I swing a leg over my bike. It’s unsettling to talk to him again. It’s nice, and deceptive, because we’re not who we once were. So he doesn’t have kids. My eyes drop down to his hands, resting tanned and relaxed at his sides. No rings on either one.

“Thanks for today,” I say.

He shakes his head, something ticking in his jaw. “Thanks for taking the job. You’re a great waitress. I’m just sorry about that asshole touching you.”

“Was he a regular?”

Parker shrugs. “I’ve seen him around town a few times, yeah. He has his boat in the marina. Doesn’t mean he has a right to eat in my restaurant, though.”

“Thank you.”

He smiles again. “No need to thank me, James.”

I pause, a foot on the pedal. He’d called me James when we were kids, and then continued as teenagers. Back when he’d been my best friend’s older brother and one of the most popular guys in our school. My name is not James. It’s Jamie. He’d known, and he’d teased me about it, and I’d pretended to be more annoyed than I actually was.

Parker’s eyes hold a question. Will I remember?