“I want you to have everything you want,” Rhys protested. “That’s the man I am, the man I’ve always been. And that’s never going to change.”
“You don’t need to get a tux here,” Beckett said. “I’ll gladly take you out of whatever you’re wearing.”
Rhys’s entire body burned hot, and not from the sun.
“When you say things like that, it’s impossible to want to be in public with you,” he muttered.
Beckett laughed and picked his phone back up, returning his attention to the listings that Rhys’s realtor had sent his way the day before.
“I like this one.” Beckett handed his phone to Rhys.
He adjusted the brightness so he could see the pictures. “Is this the twenty table one?”
“Yeah.”
Rhys gave the pictures and the listing a look, but he didn’t know anything about running a restaurant. He knew money and he knew business, but he didn’t know what a restaurant or a kitchen needed to be successful. Although none of that was his concern because it was Beckett’s deal, not his. They’d settled on an amount and the loan money was Beckett’s to use as he pleased.
“Is the kitchen good in this one?” he asked, handing the phone back.
“It’s a good start.”
“And there’s like…room for everyone?”
Beckett nodded and dropped the phone back beside his leg. “I already asked Audra if she would come manage the front of the house.”
“The table parts?”
“Yes.” Beckett smiled. “The table parts.”
“And what did she say?”
“She told me for the right price.”
Rhys chuckled and finished off his drink, flagging down the waiter for another refill. He liked Audra, quite a lot. She reminded him of himself, but in a less abrasive way and with much better legs. But most of all, he got the impression that she cared for Beckett, greatly. And anyone who cared for the man he loved was allowed some grace in his eyes.
“Then you better pay her well,” he said.
“I’ll have to.”
“Tell me about the menu.” Rhys gestured vaguely. Again, something he knew nothing about, but Beckett’s passion for it permeated his existence. “Pre-fixe or standard?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know, darling. This isn’t my niche.”
“I know.” Beckett pursed his lips, looking utterly exasperated. “But I still want your opinion.”
“What do you think Myers Bluff needs?” he asked instead.
“I think there’s a market for pre-fixe,” Beckett said, not sounding sure.
Rhys gnawed on the corner of his lip. “Do you know who you should talk to?”
“Who?”
“Callahan.”
Beckett choked on his drink. “Why on earth?”
