“I remember seeing Sara’s photos from that trip. Colette looked . . . confident,” Colby ventured. “So what happened?”
“I came home.”
“No, I mean, what’s Hunter referring to that made the trip, and her, so memorable?” She stared at him, waiting.
Oh, that. “I was first commis to the poissonnier, whom she also flirted with. When he found us together, he made my life even more of a living hell for months.” He nodded toward Hunter and Sara. “These two were there when he caught Colette and me getting friendly.”
“Exactly why you shouldn’t shit where you eat.” Hunter swigged his beer and fended off a light punch from Sara.
“Hunter, that’s gross.” She frowned.
“Sorry, babe.” Hunter leaned over and kissed his wife with the kind of carefree intimacy Alec had never really known. “So, how’s it going with the restaurant?”
“Busy,” Colby said. “Actually, I’ve been doing some reading on restaurant promos to generate ideas to support a strong opening. I’m thinking about trying a ‘Hump Day Happy Hour’ on Wednesdays to draw customers.”
Alec coughed up his drink. “A CertainTea isn’t Hooters.”
Her cheeks colored. “We have a beautiful bar. Why not use it to our advantage?”
“The food will draw people in.” Alec rubbed his hand over his chest to loosen the band of stress constricting his lungs. Hump Day Happy Hour?
“People like to be social, Alec, especially over cheap drinks.”
Alec leaned forward, hoping his voice sounded calmer than he felt. “I choke out praise to the staff every day for your sake, but listen to me on this. ‘Hump Day Happy Hour’ is not the tone to set. If you insist on using alcohol to create interest, at least go upscale and do wine pairings.”
“I agree with Alec,” Hunter interjected.
Thank God!
“Shocking.” Colby rolled her eyes at her brother. “Luckily, I just signed those papers tonight, so you don’t get a vote.”
“Not officially, but I hope you still consider my opinion.” Hunter cocked a brow in challenge.
Alec didn’t want Colby to assert herself on this issue just to prove she didn’t have to answer to the men in her life.
“Colby, you won’t need gimmicks at A CertainTea.” He kept his voice calm despite the panic rising as he imagined loudmouths at the bar while his customers were trying to enjoy Kingfish–Osetra Caviar Tartare with Smoked Crème Fraîche Emulsion. “Please, save the happy-hour plan as a fallback if the restaurant falters, which it won’t.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment while Colby stared at a spot in the distance.
“I should head home.” Colby stood suddenly and straightened her dress.
Hunter rose to give her a quick hug. “Don’t be mad. We’re only trying to be helpful.”
“I know,” she conceded and then hugged Sara goodbye. “Dinner was delicious, thanks.”
“I’ll go, too.” Alec bolted from his chair without knowing exactly why, or what, he hoped to gain by following Colby to her car. He only knew he had to do it.
“Oh?” Sara’s brows rose.
“You two will enjoy the rest of your night better without a third wheel.” Alec gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
“You got that right.” Hunter grinned, tugging Sara against his side.
A flood of envy rippled through Alec. He’d had women—even hot ones like Colette—but he’d never experienced love. Except for the unrequited kind, he thought dimly. “Good night.”
He and Colby silently strolled through the house and to the driveway until they reached her car. As much as he had to convince her to drop this happy-hour nonsense, he was just as interested in what prompted that no-dating rule.
“I don’t like being lectured about what to do in my restaurant, Alec.” She sounded tired.
“I’m sorry, but I’m passionate about this.” He’d promised his goals wouldn’t conflict with hers, but this was too important. “You told me you want your customers to relax and be happy. How relaxed and happy will they be with a buzzed, disruptive crowd guzzling cheap drinks at the bar?”
“How limiting is it if the only people who come are foodie snobs?”
She had it all wrong, but he didn’t say that. “Restaurateurs generally like people who appreciate quality food. And locally sourced, organic, artisanal cuisine is hot now.”
“I agreed to let you handle the menu, but A CertainTea isn’t Une Bouchée 2.0.”
“Why not mimic a place that won Best New Restaurant the year I opened it?” My God, did that even need to be asked?