As she lowered the glass and let the liquid roll over her taste buds, her eyes widened. I was suitably gratified when she took another, bigger swig, her reluctance gone.

“Holden, this is really good.”

Comments like that never got old. “See what you’ve been missing?”

“I’m impressed. If I didn’t have to work, I’d order the whole bottle.”

“You would not, lightweight.”

As Chloe raised her glass again, Seth came behind the bar and helped himself to a cola from the fountain.

“Chloe,” he said, showing some of the same surprise I had. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” she said. “What would you recommend for lunch?”

“Smoked pork sandwich is popular,” Seth said. “Or if you want a salad, the walleye niçoise is my favorite.”

“Thanks.”

While she continued to peruse the menu, Seth said in a quieter voice directed at me, “You okay?”

“Fine,” I said, managing to keep emotions out of it. I wasn’t fine, but I also wasn’t a four-year-old. And I didn’t really blame my brothers for not having a brewery underway. I blamed Cash for being an asshole but nothing more.

With a nod, Seth left the area and went to do what he did best—hide away in his office.

“I’m going to take the pork advice,” Chloe said. She studied the menu another few seconds. “A salad for my side, please.”

As I went to the register to enter her order, she said, “Why’d he ask if you’re okay?”

Once I input the order, I sauntered back in front of her, taking in the rest of the place with a quick glance. A forty-something couple I didn’t know had just come in the door and were being greeted by Elijah, the weekday lunch host. Sarai, one of the servers, was at table seventeen rolling silverware in napkins. Sergio and Marty were making their way from the parking lot to the door.

I let my gaze skim over Chloe sitting there in my bar, with her pretty brown eyes, soft-looking skin, and uncharacteristic unsureness. She was watching me not-so-patiently, so I blew out my breath and filled her in. “That possible investor I told you about at the wedding? Fell through a few days ago. My brothers are ready to sell off the Bergman lot.”

Her lashes lowered in disappointment that I knew was real—Chloe was always real with me. “That sucks, Holden. I’m sorry.”

My friendship with Chloe was weird. We’d been friends since grade school, when her mom had been a server at this very restaurant, which was then owned and run by my grandmother. On the nights when both of Chloe’s parents had to work late, my mom let her stay at our house, which was several evenings a week.