It feels strangely appropriate.
José heaves a sigh. “I’d put a hundred bucks on those kids getting hold of the inflatable dick.”
“Why would I put money on a losing bet?”
He smiles as he gets up, and then turns to face me before leaving. “Thank you, Nora. Thank you for being cool about this.”
“Of course. I’ve got your back.”
I always have. Always. Because he had my back when it counted. I had the vision for our business, sure, but he poured his resources into opening this place, and he’s fought for it as hard as I have. He’s been a true friend—one who’s believed in me—and I’ve tried to be one to him too.
“I know you do,” he says.
Another shriek rents the air, and he huffs and goes scurrying off, but I know he loves it. We both thrive in chaos and busyness. We thrive in the hustle. Anything else would be boring and lifeless.
I’m Nora Takes Things Too Far, and José is my male counterpart. That’s why I’m doing this. I want him to be happy, the way he deserves.
I take out my phone to text Cormac the news about bowling,and also because I’m dying for an update on Ann’s date. It was supposed to take place this afternoon. Cormac confirmed earlier that Mick and Liam were still planning to go with him. I wanted to go too, but I didn’t want to ask. It felt like I would be overstepping.
When I turn on the phone, I discover he’s already sent me several messages:
Do you have a fire extinguisher?
Never mind. Middle-of-the-night freak-out. But do you?
And then, a few minutes ago:
They say a picture speaks a thousand words, Nora Leigh.
This last text is followed by a photo of Ann sitting in a booth across from George Cronin, a huge bouquet sitting on the table between them.
Holy shit.
I haven’t seen many recent pictures of the guy, but it’s most definitely him.
I stand up, immediately needing to tell someone, although I can’t exactly announce the news in the tasting room. There would be a stampede on the bakery.
But there’s no way I’m sitting in here, looking at the month’s expenses, when there’s a freaking movie star on a date with Ann a few minutes’ drive from here. I need in on this, and I know Hannah would absolutely eviscerate me if I didn’t tell her about it. Briar and Sophie probably couldn’t care less, but if we’re going over there to peek in through the window, then it only seems right for them to get arrested for being Peeping Toms right alongside us.
So I send off a quick text to my friends before leaving through the front so I can tell José.
When I walk into the tasting room, I have to swallow a laugh, because José is holding the inflatable dick tucked under his arm while the girl with blond pigtails tries to jump up and swat it from him. Two women are standing directly in front of him, obviously pissed off. One of them is wearing a pink “Mom Therapy” T-shirt with a full glass of red wine depicted on the front, while the other is dressed in a pink tutu and a T-shirt that reads “Bride Squad.” At a guess, the child’s mother wants the inflatable dick out of commission, and Bride Squad wants it back.
I walk up to them. “What seems to be the problem?”
I deserve an Oscar for not laughing.
José’s lips twitch. “Escaped…paraphernalia. There’s been some discussion as to whether it’s appropriate.”
“It’s not,” snaps the woman wearing a “Mom Therapy” T-shirt.
“It’s a cartoon. Lighten up,” retorts the woman in the tutu. “Besides, what are you doing bringing your kid to a brewery in the middle of the day?”
“She has every right to be here,” the other woman replies in a clipped voice. “But you don’t have every right to be rude and vulgar.”
“She does, actually,” I say, before turning back to Bride Squad. “Sorry, though, no inflatable dicks before five. It’s a hard house rule. You’re going to have to deflate it. It can…” I meet José’s gaze, daring him to laugh. “Rise to the occasion later.”
I get a flash of his dimple, and it feels fantastic. Our friendship is returning. We’re supporting each other, making each other laugh. This is the bedrock of The Ginger Station’s success—José and me, friends.
