Wow. Nora was not exaggerating.
The entire place quiets down at the possibility of cold-blooded murder.
"Yes," she breathes, breaking eye contact for a second to acknowledge the older man. "Yes, I know them."
He sits back down, and the conversation resumes.
"What in the world...?" Skylar stares at us like she's seeing the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future.
"You left without saying goodbye," Paul says matter-of-factly.
Skylar's mouth falls open in disbelief. "I left a note," she squeaks.
I narrow my eyes at her. "Yeah, we got the note." Moving closer to her, I inhale against her temple and close my eyes as her delicious watermelon scent hits me.
Skylar pulls back, staring up at me, then looks around to see the entire bar watching us. "Oh, my god. I'm at work," she blurts out, turning abruptly to hightail it into the kitchen.
We follow hot on her heels to find her pulling plates onto her tray and adding the sides. I immediately bristle when I realize she's in here with another guy. He's at least six-foot-five with muscles that make him look like he can pull trees out of the ground with his bare hands. Giant-Man glances up at the three of us in surprise, but continues to flip sliders and steak, pausing only to change out a fry basket like a machine.
"Look, guys." Skylar pauses what she's doing long enough to pinch the bridge of her nose and take a deep breath. "I’m so happy to see you. You have no idea. But every single person out there is waiting for their lunch order, and it's just Vance and me back here. I need you to go to the hotel and wait for me. I'll come find you in a bit."
That she thinks we’re willing to let her out of our sight ever again is more adorable than a basket full of kittens.
Skylar swallows hard as Paul stalks her toward the stairs. Her chest heaves when he leans forward and stares into her eyes.
"Or we could take you upstairs and remind you who you belong to, Skylar."
She lets out a hard breath, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. Biting her lip, she shakes her head, finally finding her voice. "Unless you want my father to get an eyeful, you'll need to hold that very sexy thought. He lives in the apartment upstairs."
Paul raises his eyebrows in surprise. Mark glances at me before returning his attention to Skylar. We didn't find anything about Skylar's father in our research. Not a single mention other than his name on the birth certificate.
Skylar's voice softens. "Wait for me at the hotel. I'll stop by after we close."
"No." Mark crosses his arms, voicing all our thoughts.
Skylar's bewildered gaze bounces between the three of us.
Vance clears his throat, and we all turn to look at him. "I'd love to leave so you all can sort this out, but I could start a fire. And those plates of food are getting cold."
"Oh, my god, Vance. I'm sorry." Skylar's cheeks redden, and she pushes against Paul's chest until he lets her pass. She picks up the tray, eyeing Mark as if he might tackle her right here in the kitchen, then hustles out the kitchen door like her ass is on fire.
And what an ass it is.
"All right, then. What's your system?" I ask, walking to the sink to wash my hands, and motioning for Mark and Paul to follow me.
Vance chuckles. "Get it all done fast is the only system I can handle for the lunch rush."
I nod. "Okay, I'm your sous-chef. Mark, grab a tray and pull plates for the next ticket so that when Skylar comes back, it’s ready to go. Paul, find out if the bartender needs an extra hand and clear plates if anybody is done. Our girl needs help."
If Vance finds my use of "our" surprising, he doesn't let on.
It takes a few minutes, but we get into a rhythm as I rotate plates from Vance to Mark and add the sides. When Skylarcomes back into the kitchen, she eyes us all cautiously but grabs the next ticket and tray gratefully.
We work like a well-oiled machine for the next few hours, with Paul washing dishes as if he's competing for an Olympic medal in the Dishes Decathlon.
By the time the kitchen is closed to new orders, the dishes are done, and Vance shakes our hands in appreciation. He's quiet, but he’s a hard worker, and his steak sandwich is better than anything I've had in the city.
"Good luck, fellas," Vance says with a chuckle as he packs up his knives and heads out the back door.
