She’s off-limits. Don’t even think about it.
Of course, they could still be friends, couldn’t they? Before he had time to dismiss the terrible idea—befriending a beautiful woman he already found far too appealing could only end badly—the cowbell above the entrance jangled. For a split second, he hoped she’d come back.
Luckily—since he apparently couldn’t heed his own advice—his son, Vick, walked through the front door instead. VickJohnson. Under different circumstances, the fact that his son chose to go by his mother’s maiden name might have wounded his pride. But at this point in his life, after his myriad of mistakes, he didn’t have much pride left. His son could go by whatever name he wanted. Rhett was simply grateful he’d given him a second chance.
Vick tossed a wave in his direction before heading to an open booth, followed by his boss and mentor, Frank Barrie.
Rhett buried a sharp pang of envy, reminding himself that Frank and Vick’s relationship was a good thing. Agreatthing. Until recently, Vick had wandered aimlessly around the country, taking one random job after another, running from his ghosts like so many haunted veterans before him. Now, his son had a promising career as a coffee roaster, a sweet and supportive girlfriend, and a close-knit community who cared about him. What more could a father ask for?
At the internal question, a powerful longing pierced his heart, and not for the first time. What he wouldn’t give to finally hear Vick call him Dad. A title both simple and monumental, taken for granted by so many. But in truth, a title he had yet to earn.
Carlos Hernandez, a hard-working college-aged kid and whiz with a chef’s knife—the guy could julienne a stack of carrots in seconds—finished marrying the ketchup bottles and grabbed two menus.
“Mind if I take this one?” Rhett asked.
Carlos glanced at the booth, recognized Vick and Frank, then handed him the menus. “Be my guest. Frank nearly bit my head off the last time he ordered.” He flashed a wry smile before slipping behind the bar. “But to be honest, I’m more afraid of Beverly.”
“Me, too.” Rhett laughed. Ever since Frank’s heart attack, Beverly had her husband on a strict heart-healthy diet. Except, she knew he couldn’t be trusted outside her own kitchen, so she’d enlisted the loyalty of every server in town, much to Frank’s chagrin.
Rhett left the menus on the bar, knowing he wouldn’t need them. Between Vick and Frank’s frequent visits and the fact that Jack, the owner, didn’t like change, they had every item memorized. “What’ll it be, gentlemen?”
“I’ll have the BoomTown Burger.” Vick ordered the triple patty, triple cheese, bacon, and fried jalapeño monstrosity nearly every week and still managed to stay fit. Oh, to be in his twenties again, able to inhale a day’s worth of calories in a single meal without breaking a sweat. At fifty, he got heartburn merely by looking at trans fats.
“I’ll have the Motherlode,” Frank said brusquely, referring to the smoked tri-tip plate with a bacon-smothered baked potato, cheesy creamed corn, and a behemoth-sized biscuit dunked in garlic butter.
“Not so fast, Jesse James,” Rhett teased. “You might like to play fast and loose with the law, but I’ve already served my time in the slammer, and I ain’t going back.” The joke slipped out before he could think better of it, and he shot a sideways glance at Vick. His son kept his gaze glued to a scratch in the wooden tabletop. While Rhett had learned to poke fun at his sordid past—like doctors with their gallows humor, it helped add levity to an otherwise dehumanizing experience—Vick wasn’t ready to laugh about it yet.
“What’s the warden got on you, son?” Frank asked.
“She threatened to revoke my library card.”
Frank chuckled. “That sounds like my Bevy. Sweet as a peach, unless she’s protecting someone—or something—she loves. Ole Burnsy Boy better watch out. Between Cassie and my Bevy, he doesn’t stand a chance.” The old man’s eyes glinted with pride and affection, softening his prickly appearance. Rhett pegged him to be somewhere in his late eighties, and despite the wonky heart and the walking stick, he still looked pretty good. Distinguished, in a rugged kind of way.
“Cassie has us working on an exclusive blend for the silent auction.” Vick appeared relieved at the change in conversation. “Frank just ordered these insanely expensive beans from Molokai.”
Rhett nodded, recalling an article he’d read recently on the Hawaiian island’s coffee production. “There’s something in the red soil that gives the coffee a richer flavor profile, right?”
Vick’s eyes widened in surprise, the same gray-hued eyes as his own. The one visible contribution he’d made to his son’s life. “How’d you know that?”
“Just a random fact I picked up somewhere.” Rhett hid a smile, not ready to reveal he spent hours on the internet in the library researching anything and everything about coffee, hoping for even one second of connection.
“Hey, Douglas,” Jack Gardener bellowed in his loud, jovial baritone, swapping Rhett’s last name for his first—a sign you’d made it into his close circle of friends.
“Yeah, boss?” Rhett grinned. Jack, who was closer to his son’s age than his own, refused to be called boss, which Rhett conveniently forgot on a regular basis. Although they gave each other a hard time—always in good fun—there were few men Rhett respected more. And not just because Jack had given him a job when most people tossed his résumé in the trash—once, right in front of his face. Jack’s big heart matched his hulking six-foot-four frame, like a big ole soft teddy bear with surprisingly muscular biceps.
“Can you hold down the fort? I have to put out another wedding-related fire.” The moment Jack noticed Vick and Frank, his perpetually cheerful features broke into an even bigger smile. “Well, if it isn’t two of my favorite customers. What’re you having?”
“A burger for this one.” Frank jerked his thumb toward Vick. “And rabbit food for me.”
“What do you think?” Jack placed an enormous palm on Rhett’s shoulder. “Can we add some lean steak to that rabbit food?”
“I think I can make that happen.”
“Great. I’m leaving you guys in good hands. I shouldn’t be gone more than an hour.”
“How bad’s the fire this time?” Rhett asked. Ever since Jack proposed to his fiancée, Kat, on Thanksgiving, they seemed to deal with one issue after another, most of them involving Jack’s mother, Elaine.
“Let’s just say I’m feeling the heat.” He turned to Vick. “Do me a favor, Johnson. Propose to Lucy so my parents can start fussing over your wedding and leave ours alone.” Jack’s chuckle rumbled from deep inside his chest, making it clear his suggestion was only a joke, but Vick squirmed.
