Jack chuckled, looking to May. “Now, you know how desperate I am for real food.”
“Chef Boyardee sets the bar pretty high,” George continued. “But maybe you’ll like mine too.”
Tommy studied George, assessing. “OK,” he said, finally. “We’ll see.”
George chuckled, standing. “I’ll do my best, Tommy. Promise.” He looked to Jack. “Now my goal for tonight is even higher.”
“He’s easy,” Jack said, picking theboy up. “It’s Wilson that’s a handful. See you later.”
“Looking forward to it. And please don’t forget Rachel. We mentioned some cross-promo ideas with Rainbow Harbor.”
“Oh, yeah? That’s fantastic. I’ll make sure she’s here.”
May held the door. She followed them as they went through, quickly glancing back at George. “Slick. Real slick.”
“Thank you,” said George. “I thought so too.”
The door closed, and he turned and leaned against it, relishing his cleverness.
Vengeance is a dish best served Greek.
He returned to where he and Shane had been working before, wiping things down around the espresso machine.
What the hell?he thought, and made himself a cappuccino.
When the beans finished grinding, the front door jingled again. George looked up to see a little old man wandering in as if lost.
“Hi there,” George shouted. “Welcome to David’s. How can I help you?”
“Hello,” said the man, with a thick Italian accent. “My name is Gianni. Mr. Ballinger sent me. He said that you would want to speak with me.”
“Well, that depends, Gianni. What exactly is it that you do?”
“I am an accordion player.”
Chapter 13
As the guests for the evening started arriving, so did George’s anxiety—not a full-on panic attack, but a quiet presence deep within, whispering doubts, accompanied by the occasional brush of imaginary cool fingers on his neck.
“What have I done?” he whispered to Zac. They were standing behind the bar, observing the room fill. “Did I miscount tables? There’s a lot of people here.”
“Relax,” said Zac, reassuring. “We hope to be this busy every night, remember? Your math is correct. We should have four extra seats, just in case. And someone won’t show, you know it’s inevitable. Why don’t you come back in the kitchen and let the servers handle the front?”
“I don’t think so. I want to be out here for now—unless you need me. Do you need me?”
“Nope, all good,” he said, heading back into the kitchen. “You know where to find me.”
George nodded, willing himself to calm down. They had only hired two servers so far, Theresa and Sadie—both competent. He and May were designated backups should they be needed. The menu was fixed, small, with three choices per course. He had tailored it for ease and wanted things to feel casual, homey.
He watched Theresa playing hostess. She was the friend Zac had recommended, a natural—vivacious and engaging. No worries there. She was seating faces he recognized from around the block... local merchants he had invited casually over the past week.
May entered wearing a chevron-striped wool poncho and a black beret. She spoke with Sadie briefly, pointing in George’s direction. As she moved toward him, he was struck by how gorgeous she was.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said. “Stop over-thinking. You look like you have hemorrhoids.”
“Thanks. I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are. I appreciate your ditching the soothsayer wear, temporarily anyway.”
She removed the poncho and tucked it with her bag behind the bar. She was wearing crisp black slacks with shiny flats, a white blouse, and a belt with an over-sized gold buckle.
