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Ghost scoots out of the booth, pulling his phone from his pocket once again as he heads for the parking lot.
“What is so important on that damn thing?” I finally ask when we get out to our bikes. He almost plowed down an old lady and a young mom holding her baby as he stared at the screen.
“Tank, Trigger, and I have a group text going. Just trying to stay on top of things.”
I roll my eyes when he doesn’t even look away from the phone to answer me.
After nearly ten minutes of standing in the parking lot while Ghost is glued to his phone, he slides the fucking thing in his back pocket. “Sorry, kid.”
I reach out, punching his shoulder. “I’m not a fucking kid anymore, Ghost.”
“You’ll always be my kid brother,Emmett.”
The way he says my name pisses me off. I let it go, knowing he only said it because I yelled his real name in the diner. “Fuck off. You going back to the clubhouse?”
“Got nowhere else to go, little brother,” Ghost grins.
“Fuck off with the fucking kid names, Booger.”
Calling him the nickname my mom gave him when we were little didn’t have quite the strike I was going for. His eyes soften a fraction, but immediately shift back to his playful self when he flips me off, throwing his leg over his bike.
Before I can even get my leg over my seat, Ghost’s engine is rumbling and he is taking off out of the parking lot.
I spend the drive home volleying between worrying for a woman I grew up with and anticipating what’s to come next with another woman I’ve also known for the majority of my life.
* * *
“Welcome to Lilah’s!” a teenage kid calls out from behind the counter as I step through the glass door to the bakery.
I look around the small shop in amazement as I think about the fact that the little girl that sold me and the rest of the club cupcakes and pies did all of this. Pride swells in my chest when I realize that there are at least fifteen people in line ahead of me. I even waited until after ten o’clock to come in, figuring the breakfast rush would have died down by now.
I was clearly wrong, and for Lilah and her business's sake, I’m happy for it.
I take in all of the small decor as I wait, not even paying attention to the large menu above me that’s written in perfect chalk calligraphy on the wall.
Lilah has always had a love for old stuff. Records and old band posters line the pale red walls. There is even an old electric guitar hanging above a cluster of old school diner tables in the corner. A jukebox near the front door blastsLearn to Flyby the Foo Fighters.
This place fucking radiates good vibes.
When I’m second in line, I finally look up at the big ass menu. I can’t even hide the fact that I’m overwhelmed with all the choices. The glass cases that are formed in the shape of an upper caseLhouse a variety of baked goods.
I know for a fact the one thing I’m looking for probably won't be on the menu. It never is in traditional bakeries.
When it’s my turn, I step up to the counter. The young kid smiles wide at me, beaming with customer service etiquette. His eyes briefly drop to my cut for a second, his smile never faltering. “Morning, man. What can I get ya?”
My eyes roam over the glass case and widen when they get to the end. A small pan of baklava is sitting on the top shelf. “Holy shit.”
“Boss lady makes a small pan of this shit every morning. Hardly ever sells out, but she insists.”
My mom used to make us baklava every Sunday. Ghost and I used to fight like cats and dogs over who got to eat the first piece.
“Is that right?” I ask, not really expecting an answer.
Kid nods his head and gestures to the pastry. “You want a piece?”
“Fuck yeah,” I cheer. I wince when I turn to the couple behind me, who are holding hands with a little girl. I smile in apology.
“It’s fine, man. She hears it all at home,” the man says with a wave of his hand and a smile.
