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“What?” Why was she riled up now? He’d just complimented her cooking, hadn’t he?
She sighed. “Tonight was a special occasion. You get that, right? We primed our guests to want to try something new and different.”
“Yeah. Wasn’t that the whole idea? Get people to show up?”
“It also means tonight’s sales aren’t an accurate prediction about how my salad and the bison filet will sell on a daily basis.” Summer leaned back and took a long sip of her ice water. “We don’t have enough data yet. But Idofeel comfortable predicting that during our next dinner service, a lot of our guests will be craving comfort food and classic American dishes.”
He wasn’t sure what she was getting at. At least she didn’t look mad anymore.
She continued, “That’s why I think our tonight’s dinner menu hit a nice balance. We had two fancy entrées, and two comfort food entrées. There was something for everyone.”
He thought about that for a long moment, then nodded. “So, do you think my gran’s lemon chicken counts as a fancy entrée or comfort food?”
He couldn’t help poking at her a bit. She was fun when she got feisty.
It won him a smile. “Depends on how we describe and plate it. It’s all in the marketing. We could put it on the menu as Grandma Russo’s Lemon Chicken with spaghetti and mixed garden vegetables in garlic butter, and describe it as your favorite meal when you were a kid, lovingly cooked by your gran. Or I could list it as Classic Italian Chicken Piccata in a tangy lemon and caper sauce over pastaal dente, served withverdure miste dell’orto.”
Wow. She really did have the gift for fancy descriptions. “And I’m guessing that the Chicken Piccata would cost more than Grandma Russo’s Lemon Chicken?”
“You got it, padawan,” she said, still smiling.
That made him laugh.
“And just for that,” he told her, “I’m gonna give you a brand-new toothbrush and ask you to stay the night. I’ll even run a load of laundry now, so that you’ll have clean clothes for breakfast service tomorrow.”
“Deal,” she responded. “Let me just text Mom and let her know I won’t be coming home tonight.”
He’d forgotten that if she stayed over, there would be questions from her family. Probably a lot of them. And how would Summer’s brother react to the news that Brock was fucking Summer?
But if she didn’t care, neither did he. Right now, he was looking forward to more sex, and then falling asleep with an armful of cuddly naked woman.
He wondered if she’d be willing to repeat the sleepover tomorrow night.
Whoa there, cowboy, he told himself.Don’t get ahead of yourself. Andwhatever you do, don’t spook her.
Chapter Seventeen – Summer
Saturday, June 18
Autumn: Sis, I noticed you didn’t come home last night. What happened?? Details!
Summer: I stayed out late celebrating the successful launch of YC’s dinner service. Like I texted Mom, I crashed at a friend’s house in town because I have to be at the diner at oh-dark-thirty this morning.
Summer: I am so tired right now. I would kill for a nap.
Autumn: A friend, huh? Is your friend named Brock the Cock, by any chance?::eggplant emoji::
Summer: Taking the Fifth. He hates that nickname, BTW.
Summer: Also, those eggplant emojis you're sending make me want baba ganoush. I wonder if I can get some eggplant and tahini at the market here in town.
Autumn: So you don’t want to tell me about your sleepover at Brock’s, excuse me, your “friend’s” place?
Summer: What sleepover?::angelic face::
∞∞∞
“Someone’sin an awfully good mood this morning,” Marlene said, tilting her head in Brock’s direction.
