Nella worked the bar with Shay, switching between drinks, food timing, and customer mood without wasting one movement. Shay handled tickets with her dry little half-smile. Taryn held the waiting tourists in order. Dusty ran food with surprising speed.
A man at table six lifted a square of tomato pie. “So this is pizza?”
Dusty set down two paper boats. “Family tree, not twins.”
The man studied the square again. “That makes sense.”
Dusty nodded. “Food genealogy is important.”
Mari lifted a spoon from the pass. “Food running is more important.”
Dusty moved faster.
I stood where Nella put me.
At the patio rail.
In the back hall with a stack of empty crates.
Beside the host stand when the crowd grew thick and one bachelor party started treating the entrance like a committee meeting.
One of them tried to step around the line with a grin that had worked for him too often.
“We’re just joining our friends,” he said.
Taryn checked the list. “Your friends can join you at the end of the line.”
He angled his head past her toward the patio. “Come on. We’ll be quick.”
I stepped to Taryn’s left.
The man’s grin faltered. “Is there a problem?”
“Not yet,” I said. “That’s the best time to avoid one.”
His friends laughed nervously.
Nella called from behind the bar without looking over. “If they’re deciding whether to behave, tell them the meatballs are worth personal growth.”
Taryn smiled. “You heard the owner.”
The man checked my face, the full patio, and then Taryn. “End of the line is fine.”
“Beautiful choice,” Taryn said.
I didn’t touch him. I didn’t threaten him. I didn’t even lean.
Nella saw anyway.
She caught my eyes over the room, quick and bright, before she turned back to the shaker in her hand.
I wanted that look again more than I wanted the fight.
At seven fifteen, my phone vibrated.
I checked the screen.
UNCLE SAL:
