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“Good!” Al said as she sipped from her steaming mug of chicory coffee. “You deserve the good food and the time off.” Sloan had been just as busy with year-end closings as she’d been, plus preparing for a cross-country trip with two kids. “And what did Tyler get you?”
“A bottle of Chateau Rayas and tickets to see Six on Broadway.”
“That’s my boy.”
“He did good,” Sloan said with a smile. “What about you? Did you get to spend Christmas with CC?”
“No, she’s home with her family. We hit a bit of a rough patch, but I’m hopeful we’ll work it out.” She had woken to CC’s reply text, an unexpected gift that had made the dreary Christmas morning outside brighter.
“You’re a catch, Al.”
“So is she.”
Ty flopped onto the couch beside his wife. “What happened there? As of Thursday morning, you thought you’d still make it here.”
“Client was hiding the ball. Secondary transaction, which may not even happen, that I’ve had to work on all weekend. Tell Miller and Clancy I’m sorry.”
“It’ll be all right. From the pictures you sent, you had a good Christmas morning there.”
“I did.” She patted her stomach and eyed the mound of dishes peeking out from the island farm sink. “Greg and Tony fed me well, and Amos was a madman with the presents.”
“The madman,” Tony said as he tiptoed into the kitchen, “is passed out on the couch from the breakfast food coma.” He snagged two snifters and his Christmas bottle of Boss Hog and slid into the nook beside Al.
“Grandpa’s on Holland nap duty here,” Sloan said.
“Noah with him?” Al asked, missing her family but happy to have some of it here still.
“Try again,” Clancy said as he wobbled on-screen with a bottle of champagne. He plopped onto the couch on Sloan’s other side. “He and Miller are in the kitchen planning spring menus.” He glanced at Sloan, then affected a conspiratorial whisper they all heard. “I forgot the orange juice.”
“Good man.” Sloan made grabby hands for the bottle, then drank straight from it.
Clancy clapped while Tyler rolled his eyes. “All manners are gone.”
“Good,” Tony said, then, with a waggle of his brows, raised his voice just enough for Greg in the other room to hear without waking Amos. “We’ll drink this Pappy straight from the bottle too, then.”
Al clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her laugh, but gave up holding it in when Greg appeared in the doorway, murder in his dark eyes. He glanced at the bottle of Boss Hog, then between the two of them. “I should fucking disown you both.”
“Nah, baby, you love us.” Tony grinned and turned his face up for a kiss. “Get yourself a glass, Mr. New Orleans.”
On the other end of the line, Tyler was handing out champagne flutes, but still no orange juice as he filled their three. Everyone lifted their glasses, toasting, “Merry Christmas.”
After a sip, Greg lifted his again. “And here’s hoping we have better luck next year for location two.”
Tony patted his knee. “Took you four times to get it right with Dram.”
Greg took a longer swallow this time. “Was hoping for three on this one.”
“Did you think more about what I suggested?” Tyler leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his still mostly full flute dangling from his fingertips. “Going the speakeasy route for the time being?”
“What’s this?” Al asked. A speakeasy was not something she’d heard them talk about before as an option.
“Sloan and I were at Bourbon and Branch last week,” Tyler said. “And it made me think. A speakeasy could be a way to expand that wouldn’t require as much space, at least not right away.”
“We’d consider it,” Tony said, and Greg nodded, clearly something they’d discussed since Tyler had brought it up. “Wouldn’t take as much time or overhead either.”
“I’d still want a food license and a small kitchen,” Greg said. “For events and Sunday brunch, but we wouldn’t need the kind of space we have at Dram. Simple line, that’s all.”
“It would do well there,” Ty said. “There are plenty of places in New Orleans that are just bars, and we’d be offering something more than that. Upscale and inclusive.”
