I fisted my hand on top of the bar. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
He drew his chin back as though I’d slapped him. That would’ve been more satisfying, but it would have upset my mother, so I did not. My father, meanwhile—the one who gave me the Cavanaugh name—would be proud that I’d stood up for myself.
Drawing in a self-important breath, Grandfather stood to his full, unimpressive height. “If you’re going to be disrespectful, I see no reason to continue this conversation.”
I gestured to the exit. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything better from you, Oswald.”
“Oh my God, the persecution complex on you.” I shook my head, bolstered by Joel’s presence at my back. “You picked a fight, and you lost.”
“I believe my business partner asked you to leave,” Joel said, his voice a low growl. “And he’s a lot nicer than I am.”
Both men gave us the same imperiously wrinkled look, then left without a word. The door closed behind them, and the world started spinning again.
I leaned forward on the bar, banging my forehead against it. “That’s gonna cost me,” I groaned as our patrons resumed their conversations.
“Don’t worry,” Joel said, his voice back to its usual warm cadence. “Your mom will forgive you, and your dad will give you a high five.”
“He gives the dorkiest high fives,” I complained, even as the thought made me smile. “He misses them half the time. I don’t know what my mother saw in him.”
“I’ve seen you naked, buddy. If you got your dick from your dad’s side…”
Lifting my head from the bar, I attempted to kill my dearest friend with a glare.
“I’m just sayin’—it would explain a whole lot,” he continued.
“I swear to Jesus, if you mention my dad’s dick, or my mother’s interest in said dick, ever again, I will murder you in your sleep.”
“Please don’t murder my fiancé,” Tristan chimed in from the corner. “I happen to like his dick.”
Tommy, our most faithful customer, snickered into his third beer of the afternoon.
“Aren’t you glad you moved back to Seguin?” Joel asked, knocking his shoulder against mine again. Asshole.
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.
Unexpected visitors and shitty Texas politics aside, I loved living so close to my parents and friends, and the food here was fantastic.
He grinned. “Good. With the restaurant going in next door, Syrup is kicking ass.”
“Would you stop calling it that?” I begged, not for the first time.
It was such a stupid nickname for the moon shot we’d come up with, officially entitled the Seguin Revitalization Project. Actually, it wasn’t an official anything. Hell, it wasn’t even a community action plan. Syrup was me, Joel, and a dog-eared notebook full of Mr. Paige’s ideas to reinvent Seguin’s downtown area. Well, that plus a slightly terrifying business loan.
Mr. Paige had once heard me bemoan the lack of good Jamaican food in the area and had added it to his greatest-hits notebook, which he left to Joel and me at his death. Joel had insisted it was a good place to start, and I’d come to trust his instincts.
“Ozzie?”
I tilted my head back, silently asking God to smite me before I replied to the familiar voice of Guadalupe County’s longtime sheriff. “Hey, Uncle Ryan.”
I wish the Cavanaugh family would just leave me the hell alone.
CHAPTER3
walker
The waiting area outside the principal’s office was strangely inviting. I remembered sitting in this exact room when a prank between the baseball and football teams had gone wrong, and it had been a helluva lot more intimidating back then.
