“I think it would look fab.” I’m pretty sure a paper bag would look amazing on Kira.
The restaurant has the feel of a 1920’s speakeasy, with dark wood furnishings, a mile-long bar, and white linen-covered tables.
We’re seated in a booth in the corner with a perfect view of old Las Vegas. Our waiter, James, is an older man with a handlebar mustache who reminds me of Daniel Day Lewis.
Kira wasn’t kidding when she said she would have wine waiting. Not five minutes after we’ve sat, James shows up with a silver bucket and two champagne flutes.
“I went with a sparkling rosé,” Kira explains. “I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.” By the way Kira looks and acts, I doubt the words ‘bad taste’ even exist in her universe. I’m utterly fascinated by the woman who tamed Ky Parish. She’s sodifferentfrom the women who hang around the Den.
After James pours us two glasses of bubbly pink prosecco, Kira clinks my rim, making it chime. “To new friends and all the yummy stories they can tell.”
“You are so devious.” I take a sip of the sweet, crisp, sparkling wine. Fucking heaven.
“I hope you’re not a vegan.” Kira looks over the menu. “That would be awkward.”
The restaurant is a seafood and steakhouse, and chock-full of premium cuts and delicious-looking fish dishes.
“You’re safe. I’m eyeing up this New York strip as we speak.”
When James returns to the table, we order enough food for a small army, including a seafood tower and that New York strip, medium rare.
“So . . .” Kira’s eyes sparkle like they did in the hotel room, and I know what’s coming.
“How far back do you want me to go?” I grin. “I have stories about Ky and Damon for days.”
“I mean, diapers would be a good start.” Kira laughs with such a sweet, sincere refinement.
“So, the oldest memory I have of Ky is actually about his mom. I think we were like seven, and our dads were playing cards at the Den like they always did on a Friday night, while we ate pizza at the bar and drank Shirley Temples until we got sick. Well, Ky’s mom came barging into the place, dragging him behind her. Back then, he was small and skinny as all hell. His Winnie the Pooh doll could throw him around. Anyway, she’s a bit of a character.”
“Ky’s told me all about her.”
“Yeah, well, she hated the idea of conventional school. She wanted to homeschool him, but Gerard wasn’t having any of that. So, she comes barging into the Den with the crown of flowers she always wore on her head, yelling and screaming about how the schoolteacher was teaching Ky to curse. It was a whole big scene. I’ll never forget Ky’s face. He was mortified. So, when Gerard came out from the back room to see what all the fuss was about, they got into this huge screaming match in front of everyone.”
“That sounds horrible.” Kira frowns.
“It was, but the story gets better. Once everything calmed down, and Ky’s mom left, Gerard sat Ky down with Damon and me and asked him what happened. He said the teacher taught him a new word at school. Shin. And when he got home, he was running in the house and hit his leg hard and cried out, ‘Ow, my shin’. Well his mom heard ‘ow, my shit.’ Or so she claimed, and went off on a tear.”
“Oh, no.” Kira covers her mouth, as James drops off our appetizers.
“Yes. When she asked Ky where he heard the word, he told her his teacher. Well, that just added a whole bunch of fuel to the fire. I think she called the school and got that poor teacher in so much trouble. Ky was such a mess, he started to cry while he told Gerard the story. He said he was never going to use the word shin ever again. It took Gerard two Shirley Temples and an ice cream sundae to convince Ky shin wasn’t a bad word.”
“Poor Gerard.” Kira pours herself another glass of rosé, then motions to James for another bottle.
“Yeah, he definitely put up with a lot back then. But from what I hear, he’s happy now. I’ve been away from the club for a long time, but heard all the gossip from my dad.”
“So, you know he and Ky were estranged for a while.”
“I did. Which shocked me. They were always so close. The part I don’t know is how you and Ky ended up together.” I spy her engagement ring that is exploding with sparkles.
“There was someone stalking me, and I went to him for help,” she explains as she digs around her Caesar salad. “It did not go well at first. He hated me. We were constantly at each other’s throats, and then I don’t know, we ended up falling in love.”
“An enemies-to-lovers kind of thing?”
“Yeah, you could call it that. He almost died for me. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.”
“Me neither,” I agree.
