We would have time.
Oodles of it.
“We’re solid,” I confirmed. “Though, you do imminently face the grave task of wowing me with your grilling skills.”
His lips curved up.
“Do not take this lightly, my man,” I warned. “Our future depends on it.”
That was when I heard and felt him chuckle.
I also got much more than a lip touch after he bent his head to mine again.
“Finish the salad, beautiful,” he murmured when he was done with my mouth. “I’m hungry and I got a test to best.”
“I’m rooting for you,” I told him.
He shook his head, smiling.
I let him go and went back to the salad.
He returned to the hamburgers.
Spoiler alert: he manned a grill like a master.
I didn’t have any doubts.
I was at work, behind the bar at The Surf Club, leaning on it, staring across the space toward Byron.
Byron and his laptop.
Byron was a regular. As previously mentioned, like, a daily regular.
Like, he had his table across The Surf Club from Tito’s “office,” and no one ever sat there, except Byron.
Tito’s office was also just a table, but it had his books, his journals, and some little potted plants as décor. He was usually sitting there, unless he was out watering Lucia’s herb garden that was behind SC, or further afield, on a bender.
Our three owners/bosses were completely different.
Tex, who manned the coffee cubby, was loud and hilariously obnoxious.
Nancy, his wife, was sweet, and we were all loving it that, now she and Tex had settled themselves in the Valley of the Sun, she came in more often than not and helped out (this also had to do with the fact their house was in the perpetual state of renovation since it hadn’t been touched since it was built in the ’60s, and the Rock Chicks were making it their mission to come down and see to bringing it into the new millennium, one room at a time, so being at SC was an escape).
Last was Tito, who was very quiet, had an eclectic wardrobe, always wore sunglasses, had a mysterious past, and we all adored him.
Byron came in so often, and drank so many dirty chais, I didn’t remember the last time I was there—and I’d worked at SC for six years—when he wasn’t at his table with his caffeinated beverage, and if the hour warranted it, some of Lucia’s food, and his laptop.
Hmm.
His laptop.
“You okay?”
At this question, I turned to my left to see Harlow loitering there.
What I wanted to say was that I’d be okay if everyone stopped asking if I was okay, a question the girls had been asking me since I came out about Knox.
But these were my best babes. I’d told them about Knox, and they were worried about me.
