Page 27 of Carver’s Craving

Sarabeth put our plates before us and added a bottle of syrup. Then she pulled out her notebook.

“I just got off a brutal shift.” Finn batted his eyes.

“Trucker’s breakfast with extra bacon. Got it.” She turned her attention to Ulysses.

“Omelet, sourdough bread, sausages, and we’ll both have coffees.”

She snagged the menus the men hadn’t opened. “You got it.” She sauntered off.

Finn grasped Ulysses’s hand in his and placed the other on the table. “So, there’s a story here. Friends? Lovers? Ex-lovers? Carver’s always been a dark horse—I want to hear it all.”

Ulysses cleared his throat. “Sweetheart?”

“Yes?” Finn—attempting innocence. And failing miserably.

“Maybe they want privacy?”

Finn snorted. “They wouldn’t be joining us if they did.”

Ulysses met my gaze, offered a yes, this is really happening and I’m so sorry, then turned his attention to Styx. “I’ve only been in town for a year and a half. Unlike Finn, who is a native-born son, I don’t claim to know everyone.”

“Arrived Friday. Enjoyed the hospitality of The Grand Hotel that night, met Carver on the street in front of The Owl’s Nest yesterday and he offered me a place to stay.”

Well, that confirms it. Not that Friday had really been in question. I’d had a few momentary wayward thoughts, but the whole Steven thing had already made me certain.

Finn pressed a hand over his heart. “Carver. That’s so sweet.”

“And fast.” Ulysses’s gaze traveled between Styx and me.

I shrugged. “We knew each other back home.”

“Eat your food before it gets cold, but also tell me everything.” Finn grinned.

The grin I found difficult to say no to. The one Ulysses always caved to.

Styx shrugged as he dumped a crapload of syrup onto his French toast. “Pretty simple. I used to be a rock star.”

“Still are.” I muttered—directing at him, but obviously catching the attention of the men sitting across from us.

“So is Styx your stage name? Or did you have weird parents? I’m Finnegan, which is the name of a character from a Canadian kid’s show from, like, fifty years ago.”

Ulysses rolled his eyes. “That’s the story your mother told you?”

“Yep.” Finn jutted his chin out. “Along with it being a family name as well as a favorite of hers and—” He rolled his hand. “You know Mom.”

“I do.” Ulysses’s smile could only be termed tender. “Mrs. O’Sullivan is a lovely woman.” That he directed more at me. “My mother loved James Joyce. That simple.”

Styx snapped his fingers. “Right. That long-ass book. If I’d stayed in university, I probably would’ve had to read it.”

“Poor you.” Ulysses grinned. “Rock star?”

“Yeah. My parents call me Steven, but I haven’t gone by that name in, like, almost ten years. I’m Styx and my band is Dyre Crossing.”

“D-i-r-e or D-y-r-e?” Ulysses perked right up.

“With a y. We just wanted to be different, you know? Me and Baxter and, uh, Frank.” He cut a piece of French toast.

Finn’s gaze softened. “But not anymore?”