The delivery driver handed me the clipboard. “You’re short one case of limes.”
My face went very still.
He took half a step back.
Smart man.
“What do you mean, short?”
“I mean they loaded four instead of five.”
“This is a margarita bar.”
“I know.”
“I’m not making vacation drinks with thoughts and prayers.”
“I know.”
Nico set down the crate in his arms. “I can get limes.”
I turned on him. “From where, the ocean?”
“From another supplier.”
“With what, your magic shark phone?”
“With a phone.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What’s the point?”
“The point is I solve my own problems.”
“You can solve it while I make a call.”
“That’s a very slippery sentence.”
“It’s a case of limes, Nella. Not your deed.”
I opened my mouth.
Then I closed it, because the man had picked an extremely inconvenient time to be right.
I pointed at the back counter. “Set those down. Then you can make exactly one call for exactly one case of limes. You don’t negotiate debt, discuss my business, threaten anyone, buy anything in bulk, or bond with citrus.”
Nico held my stare for one long second.
Then he said, “Understood.”
The delivery driver wisely stared at his clipboard.
I unlocked the service door and stepped into the back hallway. The quiet dark of Bite Me wrapped around me, smelling like scrubbed floors, garlic in the walls, and last night’s tequila. It was mine. Every inch of it. Even the pieces that misbehaved before sunrise.
Especially those.
Nico came in behind me with the produce, too big for the narrow hall and too wet for my peace.
