"This is your penance for not working for me." I nudged him with my elbow. "You're being judged and this is your payback."
"Shit. Do you think they'll know if I pretend to be religious for the next two weeks?" He turned to meet my eyes. "Yia-Yia will have my ass for breakfast if she thinks I don't practice anymore."
"You don't," Parker pointed out. "You go at Christmas because she calls you every year on Christmas Eve and you feel guilty."
She did that to me, too.
She also liked to drink and believed I was doing Christ's work by feeding people cocktails and that he would forgive me for skipping church during such a stressful period.
I was going to take it. Take it, record it, and run with it.
I also suspected she liked me more.
Yia-Yia was a strange woman.
"This is really good," Lani said, steering the conversation back to the here and now. "I'm kind of annoyed Raven's been hiding you. Can you cook for me every day?"
Great. He'd even charmed the reporter.
"I haven't been hiding him," I told her, grabbing some calamari. "Avoiding him, yes, but not hiding. Besides, he's been in New York for years."
"Almost four years isn't years," Parker retaliated.
"Is it more than a year?"
"Well, yeah..."
"Then, it's years." I grabbed my glass and met his gaze. "And not nearly long enough."
His response was a smirk followed by a bite into a ring of calamari. He held my gaze just long enough for Lani to cough and draw my attention.
She raised her eyebrows quickly in a silent question.
I shoved the rest of the calamari into my mouth.
Whatever.
***
Mom: Flight lands at 9pm. Me and Dad are driving up to get everyone. Breakfast tomorrow.
Me: Let me know when, I'm up until close.
I tucked my phone back into the drawer beneath the register and took a deep breath. As glad I was that my family wasn't landing until late, giving me an extra twenty-four hours of peace and Parker an extra day in my kitchen, it didn't seem like long enough.
I'd made the decision to open for food tonight. Only for three hours, but it was important that we had some kind of flow going before my family came here to eat every night. After all, over the next week, more and more of my family would arrive.
I was still not happy about being the central point for the reunion . I didn't even know why we needed a reunion . It wasn't like it had been ten years since we'd all been together. The kids wouldn't even remember us, they were that young.
Yeah. I wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of having kids in my bar either. Dirty simply wasn't made or designed for functions. It was enough hard work to make it right to serve food.
I picked up the stack of menus Brett and Camille had arranged to be printed overnight.
"They're good, right?" Brett asked, wiping his hands on his jeans.
I nodded. "Thank you for getting them done quickly. I feel so unprepared."
"Do you want me to come serve food?"
My eyebrows shot up as I looked at him. "I want people coming in here to eat food, not to want to eat you, Brett."
He grinned. "Six months ago, I would have been all over that offer."
"I know. I still pinch myself just to make sure I'm not dreaming and that Lani has actually tamed you."
"I didn't say she'd tamed me. She gets all my wild."
"That's way too much info." I laughed anyway. "Are you busy or can you take the board out to the front for me?"
"I'll take it out. Where is it?"
"In my office. Thanks." I walked across the bar and put the menus by the door. Sienna had already agreed to be my front-of-house girl until we hired another member for waitstaff. I kept a few menus back for the bar in case people wanted to eat there and almost collided with Brett on my way back.
"What's this made of? Rock?" he huffed, righting it in his grip.
"Oh, come on. I move that twice a day without complaining. You could put someone's eye out with your arms-stop whining." I slipped the menus in the upright file holder next to the register and turned back. He was bumping his way out of the door, and it wasn't until a familiar figure showed up and grabbed the door and held it open that Brett successfully got the board outside.
"What's with the torture?" Parker asked, gesturing to Brett.
"Torture my ass," I replied. "He's just being a wimp."
"Hey," Brett said, coming back inside. "Just because you're stressed doesn't mean you get to be a shit to me."
"The fact the first words you said to me two years ago were 'Nice ass, how does it look in the air?' does."