Page 9 of Lowering His Guard

Dad grumbles while grabbing menus. “I had the perfect table until they showed up.”

I snatch the menus from him. “Go! Go annoy the kitchen staff. I’ve got this.”

I shoo him away and he lumbers off muttering to himself. Poor Dad. He never wanted to own a Chinese restaurant. He had dreams of managing an Irish pub. But when we arrived on the island, Mayor Lana discovered Mom was Chinese and decided this was her opportunity to fill a glaring hole in the island's culinary landscape. Her words, not mine.

Mom pointed out that being Chinese didn't automatically qualify her to run a Chinese restaurant. Mayor Lana pointed out that Dad didn't know how to run an Irish pub either.

And, thus, Wok the Plank was born.

The restaurant does well, and it’s very popular. But still, I feel bad. Since I’m the reason my parents relocated to Smuggler’s Hideaway.

Back in the day, there was a well-known surfing instructor who lived on the island. Amos taught me everything he knew before he sold his land to Hudson, who built the Hideaway Haven Resort.

I now give surfing lessons to rich people where there used to be a dilapidated surfing shack. Life is weird sometimes.

The door opens and another group arrives. I glance down at the seating chart. There aren’t too many more tables available.

“Hi!” I greet the group. “How many?”

“There are six of us.”

I grab six menus. “Follow me.”

The door opens and three more people enter. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

“They’re with us,” the leader of the first group says.

I scan the area. “I count nine people.”

He nods. “Yep. Nine.”

“Okay.” I motion for them to follow me. “This way.”

I weave through tables until I reach a table for ten at the rear of the restaurant. “Here you are. The waitress will be with you in a minute.”

The group begins to settle at the table but I notice there aren’t enough chairs.

“Did your group multiply when I wasn’t looking?”

“They’re four more.”

Dad joins me. “Shall I knock through a wall for you?”

I elbow him. “Let me grab you more chairs.”

Dad opens his mouth to speak again but I point to the kitchen. “You. Kitchen. Now.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” he mutters as he stomps away.

I manage to get the group of thirteen settled. When I notice there’s no one waiting at the hostess station, I make my way to the kitchen.

Dad is glaring at the plates while the servers rush around him.

“Mom!” I shout to gain her attention. “Dad’s being grumpy again.”

Mom shakes her head, but she’s smiling. My parents have a loving relationship. I envy them. I’d love to find a man I can face life’s battles with.

My mind snags on another grumpy man. Brock. I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. To find out whether there’s a soft center beneath his grumpy exterior. To figure out whether Mr. Discipline can handle a bit of fun in his life.