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“Remy, thank you for giving us the room.” I stand, Breeane’s hand still in mine, which I use to pull her with me. “This is Breeane,” I say as I shake his hand. He wisely doesn’t touch her.
“Ah…” he tilts his head. “You are beautiful. I’m glad you found…” he looks at my brothers. “The brothers.” Remy has met Lucas and Logan, but he’s heard more about them through our conversations.
“Who are you to Breeane?” Rita asks snidely.
Remy slowly turns his head. “I just met her.” He gives his attention back to me. “If there is anything you need, let me know. I have given you our best server. She is truly gifted and a very hard worker,” he says gracefully.
“How gifted is a server?” Rita whispers, once again proving what a horrible human she is; how she gave birth to such a caring daughter is mind-boggling.
“Fuck, Mom,” Breeane snarls.
“That server is a wonderful woman,” Remy says, leaning on the table, his fierce eyes locked on Rita. “She is barely twenty-two, working her ass off to put herself through school and take care of her ailing grandfather and his house full of animals. She works tirelessly here. I pay her double what she deserves. She will be treated with respect. I don’t like people that talk down to others.” He makes his point and straightens. “Guys, Breeane, I will leave you to your meal. Please enjoy the food.” He nods and leaves quickly.
“Geez, he didn’t have to bite my head off,” Rita complains.
“Yes, he did,” Breeane says, dropping into her seat. “Can you be a normal mom for one fucking night?”
“I didn’t mean anything,” she mutters.
The young waitress walks through the door with a smile. I can tell Remy must have warned her because it’s strained as she turns to Rita. It feels like we have been here for hours instead of minutes. I am grateful when she leaves to place our order.
“What did you tell Caleb?” Breeane asks.
“I really think we should talk about that alone. You could tell me how you met these men.” She grins.
“I hired them. They are going to do the work for the bakery.” Breeane puts her other hand on Logan’s leg.
“How nice. I’m so glad you are trying to bake. Are you any good? I remember when you would try to cook. It was always a work in progress.” She chuckles. “That cake you made,” she starts, shaking her head. “Dreadful. We choked it down to spare your feelings.”
I start to growl when our food comes through the door. Conversation stops. I smile at the server, Rachel, hoping it’s a little less strained than hers.
“Keep the drinks coming,” Mark mutters and takes a long drink.
I narrow my eyes; he’s just as bad as his wife. He’s contributed nothing to the conversation, letting his wife take over and saying nothing to stop her comments. I can’t imagine our parents’ reaction to these two. I can picture my dad punching Mark in the face, though.
“This looks delicious,” Rita gushes, smiling blindly at Rachel.
“Thank you, Rachel,” Logan says.
The food is the only bright spot of the night.
“Is that friend of yours going to help with the cooking?” Rita asks, and all of our forks pause midair.
“Yes, she will be here soon.” Breeane resumes eating.
“That’s good. She needs a friend.” She tastes the food and hums. “It’s good but needs something.”
“Do you cook?” Lucas snaps. We are all remembering Breeane’s story.
“I just didn’t have time to cook. I worked and believed that my children should learn how to do it for themselves. They needed some responsibility.” Her smile becomes strained.
“Your grandmother taught you, didn’t she, baby,” Lucas continues.
“My mother wasn’t the greatest cook either,” Rita sneers.
“That’s not true,” Breeane disagrees. “She taught me a lot.”
“Mother didn’t cook for us. She was the master at ordering takeout, right, Mark?” Rita elbows her husband and it connects as he is taking another drink.
